She points it right at us and fires.
CHAPTER TEN
Tessa
The snap of the crossbow barely registers before Rocco shoves me again, pushing me behind a larger tree. This time, the weight of the packdoespull me to the ground.
He’s returned fire, and now he’s on one knee. He’s calmly slipping two more bolts into place on the crossbow. “Slip the buckle at your waist,” he says. “Lose the pack. Be ready to run.”
My fingers fumble at the buckle. “Who is she? Why is she shooting at us?”
“No idea. Want to ask?”
A bolt from her crossbow hits the tree right above his head, and he swears under his breath.
He fires back, and the woman ducks back behind the tree. “You get off this island, Lina!” she shouts. “I thought we were done with the lot of you!”
Rocco lifts the crossbow to return fire again.
I grab hold of his arm. “Stop!” I hiss. “She thinks we’re with the pirates.”
“She’s still trying to kill us.” Another arrow hits the tree, skidding off the bark this time, and Rocco’s eyes quickly flick my way. “See?”
“Wait!” I call out to the woman. “We’re not here to hurt you!”
“I don’t care why you’re here!” she shouts. “You take Mouse and go back where you came from!”
Oh, how I wouldloveto go back where I came from.
“We’re from Kandala!” I call just as I slip one arm free of the straps. The woman’s crossbow snaps again, and Rocco grabs my arm to jerk me sideways. This bolt goes right into our pack.
I stare at it breathlessly. That might have been my shoulder. Or my chest.
“Please!” I shout. “Please, we’re not with Oren Crane’s people! We came from Kandala tohelp—”
Another shot hits the dirt by my boots, and I yip.
“Maybe you should fire back,” I whisper.
“I will. I don’t have a lot of bolts. I’m letting her use up hers.”
“I can hear you plotting,” the woman calls. She fires again, and as soon as we hear the snap, Rocco is in motion, stepping out to shoot back.
The woman shrieks, her body jerking sideways. The crossbow clatters to the ground.
“Stay behind the tree,” Rocco says sharply, and then he’s striding across the distance, pointing his own.
The hell I will. I draw my dagger and follow him, but I keep a good distance behind. The woman is older than I am, probably in her midtwenties, with light brown skin and dark curly hair that’spulled back under a kerchief. She’s on the ground, blood in a wide streak down her right arm, though it looks like a glancing blow. Her crossbow is six feet away, but she’s glaring up at Rocco as he bears down on her, his weapon pointed the whole time.
“You’re not Mouse,” she says, seething.
“No,” he says, kicking her crossbow out of reach.
The woman is panting, and she slaps a hand over the wound on her arm. “And you’re not Lina,” she gasps at me.
From somewhere behind her in the trees, a small voice starts shouting, “Mama? Mama!” Branches rustle, and out of nowhere, a young boy comes sprinting through the trees. He’s six or seven years old, and the woman snaps her head around.
Something hard hits me in the arm, then the cheek, and I cry out in surprise, just as a rock hits Rocco in the temple and he swears.
