The bulky body is bigger than humanly possible. He’s broad and thick and pure muscle, even with the straw poking out of his clothes. His boots brace his massive frame and a near dizzying height.
Even from where I am, perched on a pole, he’s much taller.
The creature is a scarecrow of sorts. He’s got the clothes and a wide-brimmed hat. But those eyes. . . they continue to burn with ferocity.
He spares me one glance, and that’s when the eyes flicker between grayish blue and red. As if he’s sending me a message. Like there’s a secret he can’t voice aloud but one I should know.
I don’t notice the weapon in his hand until now. It’s not a scythe. That would have been my first guess.
It’s a sword. Like the image tattooed on Hayride’s chest.
I’m so confused.
Rashell and her accomplice, Clay, stare, slack-mouthed and jaws wide, in fear or shock. Maybe both.
Somehow, I’m not afraid. This creature, this scarecrow, doesn’t wish to harm me. It’s insane to think about it, but I do. He’s directing his focus at the murderous fools in front of me.
And then he sprints forward.
There’s no logical reason why a body with that height and size can move so fast, but he does. He’s as quick as a flash oflightning. I watch in fascination as his right arm swings back and then sweeps in a wide arc with enough momentum to shake the ground beneath us. The blade meets the soft tissue of Rashell’s neck, slicing through bone without a hitch.
Her head lops right off her shoulders in a spray of blood as I close my eyes, not willing to see anymore carnage.
The sounds that follow make my stomach queasy. The blade is slicing through Rashell and Clay, hacking at their bodies. I know they’re dying just feet away from me. I whimper as I feel the hate radiating off the scarecrow.
And then it’s quiet.
There’s no sound for a few heart-stopping seconds until I hear the ropes behind me being sawed in half. The creature is using his sword to cut me free.
I open my eyes just as I begin to fall. My scream is so loud that it hurts my ears. But I don’t fall.
Instead, I drop into the cushioned, leathery arms of the scarecrow. He’s staring at me intently, his grayish blue gaze tormented by something I don’t understand.
Then I notice my blood-soaked clothes. “I don’t feel so good.” My head is too heavy to lift. I can’t help closing my eyes as I’m placed on the ground.
I hear a swish of clothing and manage to blink, catching the figure of the scarecrow. He’s on the pole. The same pole he just cut me from.
It’s a dizzying and sobering thought when I realize it’s somehow Hayride. My biker can turn into a scarecrow.
Wild.
I close my eyes again and notice two things. One, there’s a lot of blood on the ground, but I’m not close to it. He put me down far enough away that it wouldn’t touch me. And two, someone is yelling my name.
It’s a man’s voice. Hoarse. Worried.
My biker is here.
Chapter 14 Natalya
Iwake in the hospital. There’s a hand holding mine on each side of the bed, and I feel the warmth wrapping around my chilled fingers. A soft groan pulls from my lips as my eyes flutter.
“Nat, baby, you waking up?”
I struggle to find my way out of the darkness. I’m so tired. I don’t want to open my eyes. Sleep is calling. . .
“Nat. Come back to me. I need you.” Hayride’s voice sounds closer, more urgent.
I fight through the sluggish feeling in my head until my eyes finally open.
