“Hey, Liam,” James says easily. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
I stiffen.
Liam’s eyes widen, his gaze darting to me. “I’m not supposed to—”
Two more soldiers turn the corner, and now I’m on my feet, but James shakes his head at me and I slowly, cautiously, lower my weapon. He nods at the newly arrived soldiers, both cloaked in shadow. They, too, come to an uncertain halt when they see him.
Everyone is looking warily between us.
James sighs.
“We’re done here,” he says to the group. “Go home.”
One of the fighters steps slowly into a shaft of moonlight, his dark skin gleaming. He shoots an uncertain glance my way. “Bro,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “What the hell is going on?”
“Is that her?” The other soldier steps into the light, drawing closer, and I catch a glimpse of his dark eyes, his slightly broken nose. “Why does she have cat ears?”
I don’t even have time to process this before there’s another hush of movement, a thunder of footfalls—and six more soldiers suddenly skid to a stop before us.
One of them, a towering brunette, throws out an arm to stop the others from rushing forward. “Whoa,” she says, hereyes on James, taking in the blood painted down his body. “Hey, are you okay?”
Then, again:
Another clutch of bodies surges toward us—at least ten more—and my heart rate accelerates as I take them all in, doing quick calculations in my head. My chances of fighting my way out of here are slowly decreasing to zero.
Alarm detonates inside me.
12
Rosabelle
One of the soldiers breaks off from the large group, charging forward with a palpable frustration.
“Okay, what the fuck?” he says by way of hello.
I take a quiet breath, then do a quick check of the magazine to see how many rounds I have left.
Five.
Tension tightens my shoulders.
James took my other gun. I can’t remember why I let him take my other gun.
Approximately nineteen soldiers surround me now. Twenty including James. I took out four earlier.
This must be everyone.
Then, a whisper: “Is that the girl?”
“Seriously, what’s going on?” asks the towering brunette.
James glances at me, his face unreadable.
“I don’t know,” says the guy from earlier. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”
“Malick?” The brunette’s eyes widen, as if surprised to see him. “Isn’t your wife in labor?”
This question pierces the haze of my mind.
