Using Eamon’s appearance as a distraction, I attempt to pull the gun from his hand, hearing the crunch of bone and a pained hiss as I do. When the strange contraption holding it to his hand breaks, the firearm falling uselessly to the ground, I breathe a small sigh of relief that it’s far from my girl. I sprint toward Bel while Eamon shoves the man hard enough to knock him to the ground, unconscious. A small pool of blood grows beneath his head, but not nearly enough for it to be fatal.
I discard both weapons in my hands to run and cradle my sweet, terrified Dove’s face in my palms, whispering, “It’s alright, we’ve got you. Let’s kill this fucker and get the hell out of here.”
“Yes to the running, no to the killing,” Eamon tells me as I break the binds tying my girl’s legs to the thing beneath her, “We don’t have time. I’d say we have 37 seconds before reinforcements come in from every direction.”
37 seconds?
I only need four.
“Who is that? Where’s Fritz?” Bel asks, frantically reaching for me and digging her vicious little claws into my shoulder blades to hold me to her.
I lift her into my arms, thinking how much this is like that night not so long ago when I carried her to her bed. She’s absolutely frigid from being in this concrete room with hardly more than scraps covering her blood-drenched body. But she looks far less hurt than I had expected.
“Intro’s and reconlater. Move out, people,” Eamon reminds us, “29 seconds left.”
“Wait, no. We can’t go. Look at all these people. We have to get them out!” she starts fighting against my hold.
“No time,” he says again as I’m scrambling to hold her despite her relentless kicking.
“But we’ll come back for them, right?” she pleads at me, unseeing eyes darting in every direction, “Right?”
Eamon and I share a glance, knowing there’s no way we could ever come back here and expect to leave again.
Bel’s fury at our lack of answer unleashes. She kicks against me, nearly escaping my hold. If I hold her any tighter, I’ll harm her, and I can’t do that. “Help me,” I ask Eamon, “grab her legs.” Dragging her out like this will make her furious, but that’s a consequence for later. The only thing that matters is getting her out of here.
With a sigh, Eamon apologizes, “Sorry. We gotta go,” before grabbing both of her calves and tucking them under his arm, not unlike how the mortals carry footballs.
Her screams and fighting continue as we drag her from the cage, her telling me that I’m an asshole andfuck youandput me down, you dicks.Halfway through the large, circular chamber, she starts shouting in one direction, “What was her name? Someone tell me her name!”
The last thing I hear as we leave behind the others to suffer is a dejected voice muttering one word, “Mavis.”
Bel fights us, kicking and screaming, still stuck in the adrenaline high of the fight all the way home. We barely make it through the door before she nearly escapes us. We were fortunate enough not to come across any law enforcement on the long run home. Eamon insisted on switching to our mortal forms before he led us through alleys and back roads to avoid other people altogether, and the journey was far longer and more daunting than expected.
But Bel is home. Safe. She might hate me now for how I made it happen, but for one brief, beautiful moment, she loved me. And I’ll spend eternity working to earn that love back if I must.
I’ll Be Needing Stitches
Caspian
Fritz and Isla’s panic is palpable the moment the three of us fall through the front door.
“What the hell?” Isla asks, trying to grab her friend from the strange position we’ve held her in for the entire run, “Why are you holding her like she’s still a fucking hostage?”
Bel kicks and screams, crying out thatwe have to go back,we have to do it for Mavis, andwe need to save themagain and again. I’m at a loss, no idea how to help her until her adrenaline crashes, though that might be even worse than the horror of her current thrashing. Eamon and I set her none-too-gently on the couch. Before she can try to jump up again, Fritz crashes to his knees in front of her.
“Bel, baby, what’s happening?” he asks lowly, smoothing her hair, attempting to calm the traumatized warrior he’s facing.
“We have to go back,” she tells him emphatically, “They need us. Why should I get to live and be free if they don’t?”
The wild look in her eyes as she darts her gaze around us tells me she’s only partially here. Fritz glances at me questioningly, and I nod. With a sigh, he continues his gentle ministrations, soothing our girl in a way only he can.
Under any other circumstance, I would forbid him from using his powers on her this way, but she’s going to harm herself if she continues fighting against us. Her eyes start to droop, though the tears streaming down her face don’t slow. Reaching out for him, she repeats, though less frantically, “We have to save them, Fritz. Please.”
“Whatever you need, Bel. We’ll do it, okay? Promise. But for now, I need you to rest,” he cradles her head in his palms as she clutches him with shaking hands. Looking down, he sees the blood she’s smearing all over his shirt. Releasing a distressed noise from his throat, he murmurs, “You’re injured, love.”
“She took a shard of glass all the way through her hand, and she can’t even fucking feel it right now,” Eamon comments before nudging Isla with his elbow, adding, “Jammed it into some dude’s neck, too.” Isla looks up at him with disdain across her face, though I’m unsure if it’s directed at the man himself, or the act of violence he just described.
“How do you know that?” I ask him, eyes still locked on Fritz as he gently brings Bel down from her high. She’s slowly starting to sway, leaning into him more and more, and again, I find myself thankful that she has him.
