Page 162 of Outcast’s Vow

It’s all darkness and shadows in the small room as we fight, but I can smell his hot sweat, and I can hear the sound of our bodies colliding. I can see the blackness of his eyes and feel the ferocious energy of his attack.

If I slip, if I miss a beat, then I’m dead.

The Masked Killer snarls and claws at me. His knife, again, cuts through the air. But, at the last moment, he stumbles. He lands on top of me with a groan. I swing again at his mask. He ducks. He pins me down by my shoulder with his spare hand. I swat him away.

We’re all arms and fists and bodies, and I am roaring with everything I have.

“Show me your face, you coward!”

I catch glimpses of something as he struggles against me. A ring. A watch. A tattoo on the wrist.

But then something sharp enters my arm.

Pain.

Unbearable pain.

It’s like a brand pressed into my skin. Air escapes my throat in a hiss. Vision goes white as I taste iron in the back of my mouth. My body weakens at the jolt of suffering, but I battle through it, using all my strength to kick the man back. He stumbles against the wall.

His mask starts to slip...

Fuck. I got him.

“Let me see who you are,” I snarl.

He cries out and grips his sliding mask, more resolute on hiding his face.

There’s a clang, like a door slamming. I struggle to raise myself up, my forearm burning, ready to defend myself one last time.

But he’s already gone.

I slide off the table and land on my knees. I let out a groan, preparing for another attack from the masked figure that never comes.

I must’ve injured him. I must’ve made his mask break. And he couldn’t have that, so he escaped, leaving me in the dark with agony shooting through my body.

I grip the knife wound in my arm. There’s wetness there. Blood.

Hell, I’m losing a lot of it.

And I am in a lot of pain.

Shadows loom over me. All I can taste or smell is the hot metal of the blade and the salty bitterness of my hopelessness as the darkness envelops me.

65

SYLVIE

I step into a large banquet hall that’s flooded with candlelight, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

There are dozens of Castaways members in expensive suits milling around with a gentle buzz of confident, relaxed chatter. I recognize it, the noise of powerful men making plans. In the middle of the hall, a long table is set for a toast to the Order.

Finally. I’m out of the labyrinth. I’m free of the Castaways shenanigans.

I just need to find my man.

But as soon as I enter the hall, a loud noise echoes from the maze behind me, cutting through the candlelight.

“Baptiste!”