Horrific.
Because her head hits a stone with a sickeningcrack.
Something tears inside me.
A shadow moves across the sky. Then another. Then forty. Ravens pour out of the trees in a black storm, swirling low. Talons rake exposed skin. Men shout and shield their faces.
The leader looks up.
I look down.
My gun lies in the snow where it was knocked free earlier.
Peighton sees it too.
She is barely conscious, but she kicks it just enough to make it to me. The movement costs her. Her eyes roll back and she collapses.
I snatch the gun as it slides past my fingers, flip onto my back, and fire into Nikolai’s chest.
The bullet rips straight through.
He freezes, hatchet raised, then folds to the ground in silence.
Petyr’s gun fires behind me, too. Without their boss and with the ravens screaming, the wolfmen break completely. They scatter into the trees, vanishing as quickly as they came.
I do not watch them go.
I crawl to Peighton.
Blood mats her hair at the back of her head. Snow sticks to her lashes. Her lips are parted slightly, breath shallow and uneven.
“Peighton,” I say. My voice cracks. “Listen to me. Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
I cup her face between my hands. They are shaking now. I press my forehead to hers, willing her to move. To speak. To curse at me. To call me too crazy for her. Anything.
She doesn’t flinch. Her breaths grow shallow.
The ravens spiral once more overhead, then peel away, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and the distant moan of wind.
“I promised you were safe,” I whisper into her hair. “I told you nobody would hurt you. You’re not hurt. Wake up. Wake up.”
I look at the blood on my fingers, at the bruise already forming along her delicate hairline, and the truth settles like a weight in my chest.
Father murmurs:
She’s dead.
I gather her against my chest, hold her as close as I can, rocking, staring into the darkening forest.
“Wake up,” I whisper to my little doll. “Wake up.”
“Gustav,” says Petyr who is holding his side, his hand bloody. “We need to go. Now.”
Chapter 45
Peighton
