And, softly, easily, so unlike me, I drifted off to sleep.
Until the crack of the door kicking open woke us both up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Noa
It was impossible to say which of us sprang into action first.
It was almost as if we moved as a unit, both rolling off of the bed toward the back of the house.
I landed beside Caymen as he reached up, grabbing the phones and the keys to put in his pockets, then thrusting the gun at me.
There was no time for it, but some part of me thrilled at his easy acknowledgment of my skills, of me being the best person to wield the only gun within reach.
I heard the creak of the floorboard, turned toward it, popped up enough to aim, and shot into the darkness.
Once.
Twice.
Caymen grabbed me, yanking me up to my feet and running us backward toward the door.
I aimed toward the shadow I couldn’t quite make out just as Caymen moved outside.
But I wasn’t the only one taking aim.
I knew at the sound of the small explosion that it was going to land, even as I tried to move out of the doorway.
The pain exploded through my arm.
“Fuck!” I yelled.
“Fuck,” Caymen hissed, reaching out, grabbing my good arm, and dragging me with him when shock and pain had me hesitating.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’d been stabbed once. By my father, actually. Accidentally, of course. We’d been training. We both moved just the right amount of wrong. And pain.
But I’d never even been grazed before, let alone shot.
The pain was searing, blinding, overwhelming.
Even as my adrenaline kicked in, jerking like electric pulses through my veins, the pain was still right there, refusing to be denied.
We were both barefoot, both running over the uneven ground, rocks, twigs, and brambles biting into our soles. Branches slapped Caymen in the face before he threw an arm out to protect us from them as we tore through the darkened overgrowth.
There was none of the fun thrill from the last time we’d been running. No way to release the stress on our bodies afterward.
Just the pounding of our hearts, the slap of our steps, the short bursts of our breaths, and the sound of someone behind us.
Caymen’s hand tightened in mine, reassuring and coaxing at the same time as he pushed himself faster.
It took every bit of effort I possessed to try to keep pace, and even so, I was a solid three feet behind him at all times, feeling the pull of his hold as an ache in my shoulder.
But the pace was paying off as I heard the crunching behind us fall further and further behind.
Frustrated, pained tears flooded my eyes, poured down my cheeks, but I ignored the screaming of my thighs and pushed harder, faster.
