Page 81 of Captive Bride

Isobel

The window fogs as my breath washes across it. The chilled glass presses against my forehead. The sight below has my head spinning.

It’s a virtual war zone down there. I clench the dagger tighter in my hand.

The grounds outside are beginning to run red. Tristan and the other Montagues are defending their land and me with single-minded intensity. A well-aimed bullet hits a Capulet guard directly between the eyes, and he goes down.

I think I might vomit. I close my eyes against the image, breathing hard.

If only there were some way to drown out the noise as well. I feel powerlessness wash over me. Just outside, men are dying, and I can’t do anything but watch.

Though with the way my eyes are squeezed shut, I guess I can’t truly do that either. For what must be the millionth time in my life, I wish I had been raised differently. Unlike before though, I don’t wish for a normal life and parents who really love me.

We’re beyond that now.

In this moment, I find myself wishing that I had been raised like Tristan instead.

I find myself wishing for the skill and blood lust necessary to fly down the stairs and stand beside him, instead of cowering like some princess in a tower.

Tears sting my eyes, and I try to force them back, struggling to maintain some semblance of control.

“Tristan!” someone shouts below.

My head whips up, eyes searching desperately for him. I see him in the next moment, running from the relative safety of the car, heading for the dead Capulet several yards away.

My hands come up, pressing feebly against the glass.

What is he doing?

He reaches the body, grabbing quickly for the dead man’s gun. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a few clips free as well.

The window ceases to fog, my breath stalling in my chest.

“Run,” I say aloud, knowing he can’t hear me.

He turns, tossing clips back towards Benny. My heart beats wildly in my chest. From my vantage point, I see everything as if in slow motion.

He turns, clearly intending to go back the way he’s come, when suddenly a bullet meets with his side. His shirt stains instantly with blood, his legs giving way a moment later.

“Tristan!” the scream tears its way from my throat, full of pain and fear.

He stays a moment on his knees, swaying slightly at the waist, before he collapses entirely. I swear, my heart stops beating.

“Tristan...” this time a whisper.

He can’t be dead.

He can’t be.

I see men rushing through the now under-protected space. Some Benny shoots down, while others slip through, making their way towards the door.

They’re coming.

Merc rushes to Benny, a hail of bullets following in his wake. He reaches Tristan’s former place, seemingly unharmed. Together, they try to stem the tide.

Air races back into my lungs, and I turn, gasping.

Capulet guards are coming. There’s nowhere to hide.

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