I look over James’s shoulder, lock eyes with an incoming fighter, and choose to forfeit my shot in order to tackle James to the floor.
She opens fire and I roll over, moving faster than I can think, then shoot her in the arm twice, listening for the cry and clatter as the gun slips out of her hand. It’s hard work to deny my own instincts, muscle memory processing faster than my mind, and I remind myself to slow down—to act consciously—as I clamber upright, shooting her in the other arm before forcing my finger off the trigger. She makes a guttural sound of rage as blood snakes down her arms, and I take advantage of the moment to climb onto the generator and jump-kick her directly in the chest.
We fall together, tangling as we hit the ground.
I land poorly and nearly bite through my tongue, my head pounding, pain exploding in shock waves along my ribs. Thesoldier groans as she tries to rise, but I drag myself behind her and lock her in a blood choke, the effort nearly draining my reserves. When I finally feel her pass out, I release her limp body to the floor.
“Jesus.”
I look up, breathing hard, to find James staring at me.
“I thought you said you weren’t murdering anyone.” A notch forms between his brows. “Is she dead?”
“No, she’s just asleep.”
“I think you shot her three times.”
“She nearly killed you!”
He frowns. “Did we just write a haiku?”
I glance behind us, then duck behind the generator again, needing a minute to catch my breath. “James, please. For the last time, get out of here. This isn’t your fight and I don’t—”
He suddenly kneels in front of me and I falter, words failing me as he reaches for the spare gun slung around my neck.
“I don’t want you to die,” I finish breathlessly.
He lifts the strap over my head and I’m rooted in place, afraid to move. He studies me, his eyes inscrutable. “You say that so much I’m starting to think you really mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
“Wow, Rosabelle,” he says softly, almost smiling. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“Please,” I say. “Leave.”
“No.”
“James—”
He laughs. “No fucking chance.”
“Listen to me,” I say, finally losing control. I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him closer, my voice nearly shaking with fury. “If these soldiers matter to you, leave. If you want to spare their lives,leave. I’m trying—I’m really trying to be a better person, but if even one of them hurts you I swear I’ll slaughter them all.”
James goes still.
My heart is hammering violently in my chest.
He loses his smile as he stares at me, then at my hand gripping his shirt. All traces of humor have vanished from his face. There’s a look in his eyes now that I’ve never seen; a dark heat I don’t know how to name. Somehow this reaches me without words, without a sound, and the longer he stares at me the more unsteady I feel. I finally remember to release his shirt, studying my own hand as if it betrayed me, and put it back where it belongs: around the rifle. My finger glides against the cold metal trigger, trembling. James looks away from me and takes a tight breath, and my eyes drift to the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.
I feel raw. Exposed.
A little terrified.
“James,” I try again, quiet but desperate. “Please.”
A soldier rushes up behind us and James rises to his feet in a fluid motion, pivoting so effortlessly I don’t even think to stand. He seems to change bodies then, hardening into something both brutal and unbothered as he aims his gun casually at the fighter, who comes to a sudden,paralyzed stop at the sight of him.
The soldier looks between me and James like he doesn’t know what to do.
