Her heart thudded in her ears as she pulled herself the last few inches and tipped forward into a mildewed pile of old sacks. And then she was up and running.
Daylight blasted her eyes as she scrambled out of the mill and into the dusty courtyard.
It was empty.
Gods. She was too late.
No. Not too late. The house was blazing, flames leaping from the roof in a hellish play of heat and smoke. But it wasn’t down yet.
The door and windows were barred with heavy slabs of oak roughly hammered into the frames. As she watched, the door bulged as if hit by a ram, but the bars held.
She couldn’t get in that way.
She ran around to a side window. The shutters were nailed closed, but it been done too quickly, most of the effort going into the sealing the door. She ripped at the wood with her hands, cursing at the splinters tearing through her already broken skin.
It didn’t open.
She called out to the men but couldn’t hear anything over the vicious crackle of the flames.
Then she remembered. She ran to the side of the house and found the ax, right next to the stone, left there the night before. She hefted it in a frenzy, sprinted back to the window and brought it down in a wide swing, smashing it against the shutters. The wood flew apart in a storm of splinters, and she swung again, crashing the ax into the thick leaded glass and shattering it into a thousand shining pieces.
Smoke billowed from the opening, but she didn’t hesitate. She climbed over the broken shards into the house, screaming for the Hawks. The first face she saw was Tor’s. Thank the gods. He turned, still holding the end of the table they were using as a battering ram on the front door, and noticed her.
He shouted something that she couldn’t hear, and then they were all moving, a flood of Hawks. The men she was coming to see as brothers. Tor passed her and dived through the small opening, and she leaned over, resting her hands on her knees as she coughed in the smoke and heat, thankful he was out.
She waved Mathos forward, but he simply picked her up and threw her out the window to be caught safely by the huge Apollyon and gently placed on her feet as the others poured out around her.
Without thinking, she reached up, wound her arms around Tor, and hugged him. He was safe. They were all safe. She felt his arms circle her tentatively and then, slowly, hold her tighter.
They stood like that for a moment, lightheaded with relief and still coughing from the smoke, and then stumbled into the courtyard with the rest of the men.
They watched, transfixed, as the roof beams collapsed and the whole house shuddered before slowly falling in on itself.
“Well. Fuck,” said a familiar voice at her ear. She turned to see Mathos give her a wink. “Thanks, darlin’.”
She started to laugh, a hysterical half sob that turned into a choking wheeze until Rafe threw Mathos a dirty look and rubbed her back gently as he pulled her toward the mill stream.
Keely emerged just as they got there, and the two women folded each other in a brief hug, grateful to be alive.
Garet and Jeremiel followed, carrying Val on his stretcher, and Nim kissed her brother gently on the forehead before collapsing to her knees next to the stream, joining the men in taking great gulping sips of the cold, clear water.
All except Reece, who was standing a few paces away. Blue scales covered his folded arms, up his neck and on to his cheeks—and his face was grim and bleak. Her heart ached for him, but there was no time to go to him. Tristan was her priority.
She lifted a last handful of water to her face and tried to wash away some of the soot and grime, wincing at the sting in her shredded palms, then hauled herself up to standing. She had to get to Tristan before Grendel got him back to the palace.
Before she could take a step, Mathos was there, blocking her way. “No. Whatever crazy plan you’re hatching, the answer is no.”
She laid a hand on his arm, grimacing as her torn flesh protested. “I’m not leaving him.”
“He wouldn’t want you to go back there. You stay here with Keely and Val, and we’ll get him.”
Nim took a breath and did her best to stay calm. “Absolutely not. I’m not staying here to be coddled while Tristan needs me.”
Mathos folded his arms, scales rippling up the defined muscles. “Tristan would want me to keep you safe.”
Nim lifted her hand to cup Mathos’s rough cheek, feeling the rigid tension in his jaw. “That’s true, but it doesn’t mean he’d be right. Tristan has spent his whole life constantly expecting to be abandoned—I’m going to show him that I will always come back to him. This is something I need to do. For him, and for me.”
The Hawks frowned down at her, listening intently.
