I didn’t do well with threats, and I knew this fight could get me put in Rest, but I never backed down from anything in my life. And this was Rayne’s choice, not theirs.
I jerked my head to the side and sent the entire wall of books flying off the shelves and into Hack. With the distraction, I crouched and rolled toward Jedrik who was on his feet now and coming at me. I kicked out and sent him on his ass. He leapt to his feet and dove for me again, and I swung, hitting him in the jaw and sending him back into Hack.
“Cool it, asshole,” Jedrik muttered. “Shit.”
I dove to the right when Waleron’s hands rose. A bolt of energy careened toward me, but I shifted at the last second and it hit an antique chair, sending it flying into the mantel.
I leapt to my feet and ran for the basement stairs, but skidded to a stop when Keir stepped in front of the door and blocked my path.
“Don’t do it, Kilter.”
“Have to,” I said, then swung at him.
Keir ducked. I missed and he barreled at me. His fist slammed into my jaw and I staggered back. Before I gained my balance, he kicked me in the abdomen, but I was ready for it and flipped over and scissor kicked him off his feet.
Doorway clear. I ran for it, but I didn’t reach it before I staggered and fell into the wall. Fuck. What the hell? My vision blurred and I grabbed my head with both hands as I fell to my knees.
Shit. Shit.
Waleron stood a few feet away, the eyes on his Ink bright red as it slithered on his neck. “I told you, I warn once. Six months.”
Six months? The bastard was putting me in Rest?
I reached for the doorknob, twisted, and then collapsed onto my back. I fought like hell to keep my eyes open, straining against the heavy weight that refused to give way to my impenetrable will. I tried to urge my Ink to rise, but it was too late. I was too late.
“I promised her. Don’t lock her away again,” I said to Waleron. “Christ, what he made her do… You know what it’s like to be abused, Waleron. Give her the choice… find another way…”
I slipped into the hell of Rest.
I FROZE, HAND CURLED around the handle of the hairbrush, when I heard Kilter’s roar from upstairs.
“Kilter,” I breathed. Goose bumps rose and my stomach dropped.
I listened. There was no movement. No scuffling. But I heard his words, ‘You will destroy what’s left of her.’ Oh God, they were talking about me. Kilter warned me they wanted to take me somewhere.
There was a loud thump and crash and then more shouting.
I had no choice.
I tossed the hairbrush on the floor and ran to the end of the bed, shoved my feet into the running shoes Anstice had given me, and ran to the window. I undid the latch and pushed it open before punching my fist through the screen.
It took three tries to pull myself up onto the window ledge and climb out. The window was ground level and I wiggled out on my stomach.
When I crawled all the way through, I looked back with some crazy hope I’d see Kilter, to know he was okay and, yeah, even wanting him to stop me.
My eyes caught the blade lying on the dresser, one of Kilter’s knives he normally kept in his boot. It was smaller than the one he secured to his thigh. A sharp pain shot through my chest and I silently ached inside, afraid to leave him, but knowing from the sounds upstairs that this was my only choice.
Kilter, I’m sorry. Please understand, I can’t risk it.
The image of him looking down at me as I sat on the bathroom floor in the compound filtered into me. The surprise, the relief, and then the hope. He’d given that to me.
Yet staying was a risk I couldn’t take.
I climbed to my feet and snuck across the yard, hiding behind shrubs and trees, making my way to the iron gate. There was no one around, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come after me.
Would Kilter? Would he run with me? God, of course not. He was a Scar like them.
The cool spring breeze sifted through my hair and my heart calmed as my body rejuvenated as nature lent me its strength. I didn’t know why I always felt stronger in the sun, moon, rain, and wind, but it was as if it fed me life.
I leaned up against a tree, catching my breath, legs shaking and feeling as if they were ready to snap in half. They were so weak.
It was too late for nature to feed me life. I was dying. I barely functioned normally any longer with the few nutrients I consumed. It had crept up on me day by day then week by week, losing more and more weight. At first, I’d stopped eating to suppress my abilities. Then it had become my control and reward. It became my escape—my hiding place where no one could reach me in this empty shell.
I looked toward the house, but didn’t see anyone coming after me. I pushed away and took off down the driveway toward the gate. My body slammed into it, hands gripping the bars, heart pounding, limbs trembling.
I glanced over my shoulder to the house. Afraid to leave. Afraid to stay.
God, Kilter, what am I doing? Who can I trust?