“Bridget, trust me. I’ll reach you.”
She slips out of the forest and onto the rocks, then out of my sight for what could be the last time. A surge of love and rage breaks through my surface. Do we have room for one last miracle? I’ll never ask again.
The men will break the tree line in seconds. I sidestep—if I can reach the beach, maybe I can flank them too. Something has changed in the air. The wind. It’s blowing into my right ear instead of the left.
A pinprick hits my cheek. Then a second. It can’t be. Can it?
It’s a downpour.
Rain collapses through the canopy, so heavy and sudden I nearly fall over from the water’s force. As though the ocean were reclaiming the island.
Shouts ring out ahead and to my left. The ocean’s rain—surprisingly warm for November—has melted the snow and our prints with it.
The rain pelts my back hard as I move forward. The noise of my footsteps is masked by it. Carefully, I edge around each trunk. I know this forest better than any other soul.
“It’s not warm enough for rain, Hugh!” someone shouts too close. I grip the trunk. I know that barking voice. Almost married it.
“The winds!” another calls back. “They change, sir! A strong southern wind can rip up the Atlantic.”
“And carry such… Wait. Taste it.”
Silence stretches across the forest. I grip the boots in my hands so tightly my knuckles whiten. They’re slick from rain.Don’t drop them.
“That’s salt. The rain is salty.”
Rain is normally brought over the ocean, not from it. But what conclusion could they reach from this?
“That Pratterman is an odd fellow,” Thomas finally decides, and once again they march forward. “Soaking us so. I should’ve known a few tricks were part of the deal.”
Pratterman? Douglas mentioned him. The man Elle killed downstairs. The man she broke free from. Does Thomas know him? I hold my breath. A poor choice, given my condition, but I can’t let the puffs of air escape and reveal me.
The footsteps are so close, dulled with the rainfall. I could look right in his eyes if I peek around the tree trunk.
“He’s odd but worth it,” Hugh corrects him. He must be only a few meters away. Relief and terror run equal courses through me. I’m so close to escape, even though I’m closer to my hunter than I’ve been in over a year.
“If you’re wrong…” Thomas warns. I could reach out and touch him. One more tree over and he would’ve trampled me.
“You’ve seen what he can do. The work he did with her father,” Hugh reassures him. “And with Eleanor under his influence, we have all we need.”
“Well, one way or another, I won’t wind up like Forsyth,” Thomas says with a laugh.
Father? A chill shoots through me, and I gulp down a breath. So many secrets beneath the surface of our family. Was Elle targeted by these men? By Pratterman?
My boots weigh heavy in my hand. That same impulse that resides in Elle nearly overtakes me. To strike. They’ve come to capture her, do only God knows what else. Who am I to turn my back on her now?
But I think of Bridget waiting for me. Of Elle, holding me close yet letting me go.
“What was that?” another man calls.
Ice shards prickle my spine. They lock me in place like a rabbit who’s heard the padding of a fox. The rain stops as quickly as it started. Silencerings through the forest. Beneath my feet, rainwater trails across the sand. Soon the forest will be dry once again, though salt-encrusted.
“Did you see something, there? In the trees?”
I scan my options. The sea? My last time in its depths stops me diving in. The ocean won’t save me thrice.
I grip the boots tighter. Why didn’t I bring a weapon with me? Because I have no idea how to use one. And no resolve for one either. I peer around the edge of the trunk. Are they about to strike? Cloaked figures stand still. All of them carry revolvers and swords. Armed to the teeth. All for us.
Their backs are to me. They didn’t spot me. Now. It must be now.
