I was halfway down when I spotted movement in the trees. My hands slammed against the caged wall, staring hard at that one spot. A person was running. It wasn’t Luna. This was a man. I recognized his gait from the other day in the orchard. My gaze skipped ahead of him, searching for a glimpse of Luna, but trees blocked my view, and then I was too low, almost to the ground again.
I yanked the door open with a rattle. Others crowded me, ready to hop on.
“Hey, where you going?” the boy from the boat called as I shoved past him and took off.
I ran. Legs pumping, blood roaring in a rush in my ears. I flew, weaving through trees, jumping over fallen logs and debris as if I hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours swimming and fighting in that lake.
My breath crashed with the rhythm of my pounding feet.
I heard a sound and pulled to a hard stop, swallowing my breath so I could listen. I jerked to the right and followed the noise. I spotted Anselm’s tall, thin frame through the trees and just beyond him . . . Luna. He was strides from her, a hatchet in his hand. He swung down. Missed.
I roared, arms pumping as savagely as my legs ran. I closed in. Anselm whirled around, shock crossing his gaunt features as I jumped through the air and collided with him. I pinned him down, sending his hatchet flying. I choked him at the throat with one hand, bringing my sword down and pushing it straight through his chest.
He choked, and shuddered under me. Glassy eyes stared straight through me. An expression of shock fixed itself to his harsh features.
I gasped, laboring for breath as I fell back. The sword remained buried in his chest. My back hit the ground as I stared up, my gaze lost in the canopy of thick, swaying branches.
“Fowler!” Luna scrambled to my side. She took my hand, her warm fingers closing around my blood-slicked fingers.
“Luna.” My stare slid over her face, drinking in her every feature. The cuts and bloody scrapes and scratches made me wince. I stroked her pale cheek with my other hand, cringing at the smear of blood I left on her. “Are you hurt? Did he harm you?”
“No, I’m fine.” She bowed her head, resting her forehead against mine, her sweet breath fanning my cheek. “You made it back.”
I smiled. “I told you I would.” Sucking in another breath, I rose, pulling her up after me. “Come. We need to hurry and get back.” The dull glow of midlight was fading on the air.
I pulled my sword free of Anselm’s body, wiped it clean in the dirt and leaves, and then started back toward the lift. She walked close beside me, and I couldn’t stop myself.
I reached for her hand, folding her warm fingers into mine as I pulled her closer.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Luna
THE SCENTS OF Mirelya’s cottage surrounded me, at once familiar and comforting. I inhaled the aroma of dried herbs and bread as I stretched my aching muscles. I was going to be sore for a good while. Sore, but alive.
Tears burned in my eyes, and I feverishly blinked them back. The coals crumbled and popped in the small stove in my room, warming the air, but I still couldn’t chase away the cold. Cleaned up, with a sticky salve that smelled of mint and nisan root applied to my wounds, I inhaled raggedly. I was safe and out of immediate danger, but that didn’t stop me from shivering. I couldn’t relax. Tension knotted my shoulders, refusing to loosen.
Perhaps that’s what being on the Outside was. It was listening hard to every sound and never breathing easy. Never relaxing. Never feeling warm. Never allowing yourself to believe that for one single moment you could be safe.
Always running.
My teeth clacked and I clenched my jaw until my face muscles ached.
I shivered from the cold. It had to be because I was cold. It couldn’t be my near brush with death. I shook my head slightly. I’d had close calls before. My life had become a series of close calls.
Fowler was there. I sensed him like my own heartbeat inside my chest. Somehow he had become a part of me. As intrinsic as the blood in my veins. It tempted me to stay, fixed to his side even though I knew what I had to do. That hadn’t changed.
“Here.” Fowler’s fingers brushed my shoulders as he draped a thick fur around me and I shivered for an entirely different reason. We hadn’t come into physical contact since he held my hand on the way back to the lift, and I felt the absence of his touch keenly. A physical ache that I had no right to feel, but it was there nonetheless. “Are you well? Do you need Mirelya to see to your wounds?”
I shook my head. “No, she’s done enough.”
He turned to move, leaving me alone in my room, but I reached out, grabbing his wrist before I could consider the wisdom of touching him.
“You came for me,” I whispered, my chest twisting with emotion as I considered what would have happened if he had been even a few moments later.
The bed sank with his weight beside me.