Page 81 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

“No!” I strain for them, but the terrain is too uneven. I can’t regain my balance and my fingers grasp at muddied earth. Then air.

What must take seconds feels like an eternity of falling… Eyes shut, I brace for the end that I’m sure is coming.Wham!I feel it: sharp, unrelenting pain searing through my shoulder. From above?

“Fuck! Give me your other hand.”

Dazed, I look up. Thick fingers encircle my wrist, belonging to a figure hunched over the cliff, his eyes like fire.

Mischa.

“Give me your other fucking hand!”

I try, straining my fingers through the air. But his are too far away. My legs kick at nothing. His grip is slipping…

“Don’t let me go.” I don’t even know why I beg. Because he will go after Briar. I can sense the hesitation in how his eyes cut to his right. He shifts his posture, adjusting his grip and my heart sinks. “Don’t!”

Agony rips through my shoulder as I’m suddenly yanked higher. Wet earth scrapes along my flesh. Solid ground. Looking up, I see Mischa hunched over and panting. I barely register the look in his eyes. Relief?

It’s only there for a second before his hand curls into a fist. I hear the sickening blow as white dots explode across my vision.

Then darkness.

Pain.

And silence.

* * *

I’m home. Either that or dead. Only in heaven or hell could the air be so still and the world so quiet. Silk sheets chafe against my skin, and it’s painfully easy to picture what will await my eyes when I dare open them.

White walls.

A canopy.

My old cage.

Already, my capture lurks nearby, tainting my reality with his scent. Male. Unbearable. My lips flutter to put a name to him. “R-Robert?”

But Robert never smelled like blood.

“No,” my captor replies. The voice. The accent. They tether me in place more securely than physical binds ever could. “Guess again, Little Rose.”

My eyes open, but the reality facing me isn’t the one I pictured. These walls are red. Heavy drapes shield the windows, and a lone figure lurks in the corner. His hair is unbound, partially shrouding his face. The only hints of his expression I can make out are a stern, clenched jaw and hollow eyes.

“W-what happened?” I croak, though the question is merely a formality. It’s like we’re following a script, he and I. I feign ignorance while he smothers with rage, ready and willing to exert his authority.

“You tried to run away, Little Rose,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. Mud and leaves cling to his fatigues and I remember.

Running. Falling. Briar…

My heart is throbbing. I cradle it in both hands, desperate to make sense of my thoughts. Sergei came to visit me. Like a fool, I escaped. I ran. But, of all people, I ran into my sister?

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Mischa warns. “Hopefully there is no permanent damage—”

“You went after me,” I whisper, ignoring every instinct in my body warning me to stay silent. “Not Briar. Why?”

“Hmm?” He cocks his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rose. There was no one else. Just you. This property stretches for miles. Tell me, what would Briar Winthorp be doing so close?”

My heart beats frantically in my chest, picking up on the suspicion lacing his tone. Is he being serious? Or merely trying to confuse me?

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