I look at Suarez. He looks at me. There are no words for this shit sandwich.
“Gideon, I’ll go!” I look up at Daryn, mounted on Shadow. “I’ll get it!”
“Daryn, wait!” But Shadow lunges away in hungry strides.
This plan has serious flaws. Daryn has no weapon and we need her as much as the orb to get out of here. And I just need her alive, period.
I look for Riot but he’s deep in the fight, biting and kicking anything that comes near. Too far for me to reach quickly. “Marcus!”
He looks at me, sees Daryn leaving, and then peels away from the clearing to follow her. As Ruin opens up her stride, a Harrow leaps into her path. She jumps and clears the Harrow easily. As she lands I see the flash of the scythe arcing, then the sickle hooking into the Harrow’s back. Marcus drags it a few feet before he releases it.
Low thunders up on one of the Arabians. He jumps off and grabs the reins with one hand, waving at Cordero and Maia with the other. “Come on come on come on,” he says. “Up up up.”
I run over and hold the horse so he can boost Maia into the saddle. Cordero doesn’t move.
“Cordero, let’s go!” I yell.
She’s swaying on her feet, and her eyes have gone distant. She’ll bleed out if we can’t get her help. “No,” she says. “Send Ben. I’ll go last.”
Shit. This is no time to act noble.
But Low immediately adjusts. “Ben, get over here!”
Ben doesn’t hesitate. He throws himself into the saddle and lands half on top of Maia, who scoots back.
“How far, Gideon? Which way?” he asks, taking the reins. “Is it close?”
“Easy, Ben. Head that way. Follow our tracks. You good?”
“I’m good,” he says.
Maia loops an arm around his waist and pulls a 9mm from her leg holster with the other hand. She digs her heels into the Arabian’s flanks, and the horse shoots away.
Low and I give each other cover as we sprint back to the three remaining Arabians. We need a horse for Cordero and Suarez.
“The red, Blake.” He points to a chestnut mare that looks slightly less crazed than the other two. “Cut her loose.”
The leads are braided together from the jostling the horses have done. There’s no untangling them, so I wrap my left arm around the mare’s head to hold her still and cut the leather. As soon as she’s free, she springs away from me, but Low grabs her bridle.
“Whoa,” he says. “Whoaaa. Settle down, little firecracker.”
The mare’s eyes go wide and she squeals in fear. A Harrow is barreling our way, teeth bared, claws tearing at the dirt. The horse wheels sideways and Low backpedals to get out of her way, but his feet catch and he goes down.
I lunge for the horse’s mane, for anything to stop her from trampling Low. I swipe air twice before I remember my left hand is metal and useless.
Low rolls, somehow evading four churning hooves, and comes up unharmed. Already drawing his sidearm from his hip holster. “Go, Blake! Take her!”
Finally getting control of the mare, I swing up into the saddle. Being on a horse that isn’t Riot feels like wearing someone else’s clothes, but I get her settled and moving. In seconds, I’m back with Suarez, Jode, and Cordero.
In just the short time I’ve been with Low, Suarez has been viciously attacked. His thigh has been ripped open. Cordero is down on her knees, the wound at her neck flowing worse than before. All around, the Harrows continue with the incessant howling, slashing with claws that are curved and dripping deep red.
Suarez limps over.
“Can you get to the cabin?” I ask, jumping down.
“Yes.” He hauls himself into the saddle to a fluid stream of Spanish curses.
I rush over to Cordero. “Okay, boss. Time to get outta here.” Her head lolls to the side as I lift her and carry her to Suarez. “You’ll have to hold her,” I tell him. Which means he won’t be able to shoot.
“Jode, go with them,” I yell. “They need cover.”
Jode looks from Suarez to me. “So do you!”
“Get them back to the cabin, Jode! Do it!”
“Bloody hell!” he yells, but he lowers his bow and comes our way.
“Blake, you’ve got Low?” Suarez says as he negotiates his terrified horse and a limp Cordero. He looks across the clearing. “Travis!”
I’ve never heard Suarez yell, and it’s so rare to hear Low’s first name that it takes me an instant to process what’s happening.
Low is in trouble.
He’s on the ground, and a Harrow is dragging him into the woods.
The creature paces, like it’s protecting a fresh kill. Low bucks and thrashes and digs his heels into the dirt, but the thing has claws hooked deep into his chest and enough strength to haul his huge body away with ease.
“Riot!” Across the clearing, my horse’s bold amber eyes swing to find me. “Riot, to me!” He digs in, hauling over to me as I sprint to him. We barely slow as we reach each other. But by the time I’m in the saddle, I can’t see Low anymore.
I bolt to where the Harrow was taking him. Riot senses the urgency, and each of his strides are like leaps.
It doesn’t take long to find Low—I reach him almost right away.
But I’m not there quick enough.
I’m a lifetime too late.
CHAPTER 15
DARYN
Shadow and I retrace our path, searching the woods for the white Arabian that darted past us only minutes ago.
Cordero’s horse.
The horse packing the saddlebag with the orb.
I scan left and right, the earth blurring beneath Shadow’s hooves. The horse has to be here somewhere.
Behind me I hear the howls of the Harrows and the deep yell of either Low or Suarez. Every hair on my body lifts at the sounds—life and death, violence and fear—all present, adding up to a noise I know I’ll hear in nightmares for the rest of my life, if there is a rest of my life.
I spot a Harrow huddled in the high branches of a tree up ahead. We’re going too fast to divert our path.
I brace. Anticipate claws in my back again. A new set of hash marks.
I picture it. Every inch of my skin ripped open.
But as we pass beneath the Harrow it only smiles with its sharp rotten teeth.
“Like my friends?” it calls down, and I recognize it as the one from before. “More than me, don’t you think?”
As I speed past it, I’m in instant crisis. That thing knew about Sebastian—I should go back! But if I don’t find the white horse with the orb, everyone in the group could die.
I race on, something blackening and withering inside me as I return to searching for the white horse. In these dim woods she should be easy to spot. She should be as bright as the begonias.
“Daryn!”
Marcus shouts my name from somewhere behind me.
“Here! Marcus, I’m here!” I look for him through the blurring trees, but I don’t see him.
I’m still turned when Shadow suddenly jerks to a halt.
I rock forward, almost catapulting out of the saddle. Then I see what stopped her.
The white Arabian stands just a few lengths away.