Page 31 of A Sweet Destruction

I heard a muffled curse behind me, but forced myself not to pay Ford any mind. I would take any little ounce of separation I could take while I still could, even though it was already starting to feel like barbed wire wrapping around my skin.

Ford was hot on my heels, I could tell that much, and I knew the second we stopped, he’d try to say something to me.

Luckily for me, Wilks was certainly not in the mood. His unforgiving features settled even further into stone at my approach, which was saying something considering I was historically able to crack his rough facade with a couple sly jokes.

“I have no idea what is going on, and I don’t care,” he said harshly. “If you think your horses will cooperate, rig them up and have them help with moving away the rocks. If not, you’re both on sledgehammer duty.”

“Just say you don’t want to hang out with us,” I snuck in, needing to see how he’d react to a jab—not unlike a little sibling poking at their older.

It was eight years of friendship with him that allowed me to see the little twitch at the corner of his mouth, before he crossed his arms and said, “Check on your horses first.”

Though that meant having to walk to the stables with Ford, once we were set up, I’d get some good distance. Turning on a set of restless legs, I broke into a casual jog right as I heard Ford grumble, “I don’t like that guy.”

Chapter 9

Ford

I was quickly learning my least favorite thing in the world was Esme running away from me.

She had always been the type to launch into an easy jog with a little skip before settling into a slower pace. Admittedly, I used to think it was charming.

Now, my stomach sank like a stone every time she did it, especially now that I knew it wasn’t just an ingrained trait—she was actively trying to flee my presence.

Though I wasn’t above straight up chasing her, I kept my pace at a brisk walk, thankful my height gave me a naturally long stride.

Esme’s little start never settled back into a walk, and she kept up a light jaunt, expanding the distance between us.

Something heavy and dreadful settled into the core of my being. It was like a boulder being tossed into the middle of a lake, sending shock waves across normally still waters. It was a far more dramatic reaction than I cared to admit, but the sight was rattling me—enough that it felt like my very being was shifting.

I was about to prod around in my mind, going to greet the intrusive thoughts, but Esme’s form disappearing into the stables stole my attention before I could do so.

That sinking feeling took a hard turn into all-out panic, and this time I let myself break into a run to keep pace with her.

As I was rounding the corner, my eyes were already trained to the left side of the stables, where Sky and Shadow rested when they decided to play nice and stay inside.

The doors were open on both sides, letting in the bright morning sun still climbing to its peak. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but my body seemed to be miraculously ahead of me, attuned to some other sense that I couldn’t quite name, because my pace sped up, blinding running faster towards something I couldn’t yet see.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I realized just how necessary that pace was.

“Esme!” I barked, fear thick in my voice as I ran towards her, blind with some instinctual driving force that felt potent enough to drive me into insanity with little effort.

She didn’t turn around, but the muscles in her back tightened, signaling that she’d heard me. I knew she wouldn’t want to back down in the face of a threat and could very well handle said threat herself, but there was only one word on repeat in my mind.

Protect.

I passively decided it was worth it if she knocked me on my ass, and got in between her and the Muli soldier standing in front of her.

“Back the fuck up,” I barked, intentionally broadening my shoulders. Pride and self-preservation had him stalling, until his eyes settled on my arm, clocking the Mark there.

He took several steps back, raising his hands as his face blanched of color. People had always been respectful of the Mark and what it meant, but this kid looked like he was going to wet himself.

He had a Mark on the back of his hand, a stark black rose that looked like a freshly inked tattoo. Maybe he’d just had his first rub with the Bond and knew what was coming for him.

My thoughts skidded to a halt, realizing I was entertaining a line of thinking that was natural for someone who had actually felt the Bond before.

Esme distracted things, stepping up next to me. My hand shot out on instinct, banding over her stomach to stop her approach.

She shot me the deadliest look she could manage—which, admittedly, would have scared the wits out of any rational person.