Page 45 of Tainted Blood
Wrenching the arrow free from my calf, I throw myself to the ground, muffling my screams in the scorched earth. At the same time, I feel a soft breeze grace my shoulder blades as Spader’s arrow passes right over me, landing a couple of feet from my head.
“Run, Thalia! Don’t let him catch you!”
I find myself back on my feet again and limping out a fast getaway. Behind me, I can hear Spader cursing my name and issuing angry instructions to Franco.
“Take the dogs back to the castle. I’ll track this bitch myself all night if I have to.”
I don’t wait to hear more as I plunge deeper and deeper into the maze, ignoring the red-hot heat engulfing my leg—cannoning off yaupon holly hedge after yaupon holly hedge as I try to put some distance between me and my hunter.
I run and run, like Ella instructs me too, still clutching the bloody arrow I pulled from my own body—taking wrong turn after wrong turn, and weeping tears of sheer exhaustion because of it. You can’t have these tears though, Spader. This pain is all mine.
Finding myself at another dead end, I stop for a moment to catch my breath—sucking in great lungfuls of air that make me dizzy and light-headed.
I can’t stay here.
I have to keep moving.
But when I turn to retrace my steps, my access is blocked in the worst possible way.
“Trapped,” Spader says, cocking his head indulgently at me, like I’m the last child to be found in a really messed-up game of hide and seek.
I stagger backward, pressing myself into the hedgerow—feeling the needle-like branches scratch and bite at my skin again.
Trapped.
He’s swapped the crossbow for an old dagger, but the way the blade glints in the fading light is little comfort to me.
Trapped.
Before I can stop myself, I’m slithering to the ground like a wounded animal. Making myself as small as I can. Finding my last modicum of safety in the dark corners of this maze.
Above me, the North Star is low on the horizon. The moon is a weak promise. My calf is dripping red. My heart, even more so.
Help me, Ella. I can’t see the line in the sand anymore.
“You’ve done well, little lamb,” he praises, moving closer. “Most girls are being dragged unconscious back to the castle by now, but you…” He points the tip of his dagger in my direction. “You just gave me a whole evening’s entertainment before the main event.”
“Why me?” I croak, tightening my fingers around the bloody arrow.
“Ten years ago, your father and his associates destroyed a very profitable trafficking ring of mine in Honduras,” he says, crouching down to my level, tapping the blade against his chin. “I’ve been waiting patiently for my vengeance ever since.”
Without his glasses on, he looks even more rat-like and devious…
He looks vulnerable.
“What are you going to do to my body?” I whisper, holding his gaze as I slip the arrow behind my back.
“More English-devised torture, I expect,” he admits with a shrug. “Let’s just say I have a penchant for bestowing pain from all eras.”
Somewhere, there’s another countdown starting in my head.
Three.
He lunges forward and hauls me to my feet.
Two.
He hurls me up against the hedgerow and holds me prisoner by my throat. “Spread your legs for me, little lamb. I want to hear you bleat for me.” When I refuse to do it, he squeezes and squeezes, until another shadow starts stealing my vision.