Page 40 of The Shadow Sanctum

Luna was right. He wouldn’t have survived this.

I turn my head to eye the trees, searching for something, anything. A hollowed stump. A thick canopy. Something.

I don’t find it, and I’m glad. It’s too risky to stop moving until we find real shelter. We need to get out of the snow as well as the rain. We need a fire. We need to dry our clothes.

Otherwise, we’ll freeze before the storm passes.

“There are caves out here! We’ll find one!” My hands fly at my sides as my foot slips. I freeze, regaining my balance as my heart thumps.

We just have to keep moving.

Angel doesn’t notice that I’ve stopped and continues on ahead, moving too fast. Too anxious. I try to catch up but am too cowardly to chance it. We’re walking at an incline. It’s too slippery.

“You gotta slow down,” I yell as the distance between us lengthens.

Angel looks over his shoulder to see I’ve fallen behind. He stops altogether and cups his hands above his forehead, eyes searching for shelter while he waits for me to catch up.

He lets out a pitiful laugh, creeping to the edge of the slope so he can get a better vantage point from which to see what’s below. “I haven’t felt my toes since we made it over the hill. Another hour of this, and we won’t be able to walk.”

His boots find a narrow section of ground that still has some grass clinging to it, offering the illusion of stability.

Then it happens.

His foot slips, the mud giving way instantly. His arms pinwheel, fingers grasping at nothing but air. For a split second, I see the moment of realization flicker across his face—the understanding that he’s fucked.

Then he’s gone.

“Angel!”

I lunge forward just in time to see him slide, my shoes slipping and nearly propelling me down with him.

His body twists as he tries to stop himself. He doesn’t. The hill swallows him, pulling him down faster, his shout cutting short as he crashes through the underbrush. The sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves follows his descent, and then—nothing.

My stomach clenches.

I move.

Half-running, half-sliding, I follow his path down. My shoes barely keep up with the treacherous pull of gravity, every step unstable and frictionless.

The world blurs past, rain stinging my eyes. My feet skid out from under me, and I go down hard. My shoulder slams into the mud as I slide the last few feet to the bottom.

I land in a crouch, hands sinking into the wet earth, my heart pounding.

Water from a stream rushes around Angel’s sprawled limbs as he lies motionless, dark hair plastered to his forehead.

“Shit.”

I scramble to him, grip his jacket at his shoulders and drag him onto the bank. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, but I still find myself pressing my fingers against his neck just to reassure myself. His pulse is obviously there, steady but slow.

“Angel.” I shake his shoulder.

Nothing.

The rain seems to pound even harder. My eyes dart around, searching. Fucking praying.

I don’t know how long he’s going to make it if I have to drag him.

My eyes make something out through the trees, and I fall forward with a stuttered, relieved groan.