Page 7 of Spark of Madness

I’m fast, but I’m not fast enough to outrun the pace of his determination. His voice is too near when he calls my name again.

Climb.

I skid to a stop, reaching out into the darkness and grappling to find the nearest tree. My knuckles scratch across the bark when I find one, and I press my palms against the trunk, reaching in front of me and high above my head in hopes of finding a low hanging branch I can climb. I circle the tree with quick side-steps, feeling all around.

Good fortune finds me. The side of my hand bumps up against the stubbed remains of a branch that must have fallen away. Feeling around, I find another branch above it, just within reach. I think I can pull myself up onto the remains of the broken branch and climb higher.

It’s that or continue trying to outrun Hyatt, and my lungs are already screaming.

Climb.

Grabbing hold of the higher branch, I plant my foot on the tree trunk and hoist myself up. I grunt with the effort as I climb, managing to place my foot on the stub. I use it as leverage to climb onto the higher branch. I steady myself, ensuring it will hold my weight as I find my balance before reaching, searching for another branch to climb.

The orange glow of Hyatt’s torch approaches, burning enough light around me that I can see the shadow of a limb at chest-height in front of me. Without hesitation, I scramble, jumping from the branch I’m standing on to wrap my body around the one in front of me.

The lace of my skirt catches and tugs behind me, as if it wants to pull me back. But I pull against it, lifting my leg over the limb, pulling enough that the lace snags and rips, a piece of it tearing off as I wrap my body sideways around the branch, hugging it, and holding on tight.

I settle just in time to see firelight move into the space beneath me and the dark shadow of Hyatt’s form attached to it.

He’s not running.

He’s slowed to a walk.

He must know I’m nearby.

Turning my head, I place my cheek against the rough bark, and I can see the torn strip of dark lace caught on the stub I climbed from. I squeeze my eyes shut, ridiculously wishing thathecan’t see it ifIcan’t see it.

“Mercy,” he sings my name tauntingly as he creeps between the trees twenty feet below me.

All he has to do is look up, and he’ll see me.

Quick footsteps from behind him pad across the dirt, plodding to an abrupt stop. “Where is she?” I hear a second male voice, along with the sonorous pounding of my heart.

I open my eyes to look down, wondering who it is, uselessly hoping it could be Theo, that he might be willing to rescue me. I know it isn’t him, though. I saw the look in his eyes when he ran after poor Delle—he was lost to the Impulse.

“She’s near,” Hyatt replies as I see the top of another head approach. “I’m claiming her. She’s mine.”

“I’ll help you find her.”

No!

“Help me find her if you wish, but I’m telling you now, she’smine.I’ve been waiting for my turn with her,” Hyatt says.

“And you should’ve had your turn by now. She retreated, and that won’t go unpunished.”

“She won’t need punishment from the Control by the time I’m through with her. My impulse to defile her is strong.”

“Then find her and purge.” I see the other man snatch the torch from Hyatt. “But don’t burn the forest like a damn fool just to spite her running from you.”

“I need the light.” Hyatt lurches forward, reaching for the torch, but the other man draws his arm back, holding it away from him.

“You’re lost to the Impulse. I won’t allow you to set fire to the trees just to serve it.”

Hmm.

A rationalthought from a man during a purge?

Hyatt postures, stepping closer to him, moving unnervingly close into his space. But this other man doesn’t step back; in fact, not a single muscle twitches as he stands his ground.

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