Series: The Sacrifice Series by Natasha Knight
Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Azrael!”
I’m bloody, my arms covered in it and the coppery taste of it is in my mouth. I let them drop and watch the dust of Caleb’s long-gone van settle.
“Azrael!”
I turn. It’s Bec. She’s slumped on a tree stump halfway between me and the cabin.
“Bec!” I rush to her, gather her in my arms, hug her hard, her too-thin arms so tight around my neck I feel her desperation. Her terror. “Did they hurt you? Did they fucking hurt you?” I draw back to look at her but don’t see any bruises and the blood streaking her face, it’s from my own hands. The blood of those men. In fact, her eyes look brighter than they have in a long while, but I don’t have time to dwell.
“Willow,” she says, pointing to the cabin they came out of.
I lift Bec up to carry her to it. I don’t think there are other brothers on the property, or they’d have heard the commotion and come, but I don’t want to take a chance, not with my baby sister.
A man hurtles out of the cabin they’d taken Bec and Raven to, and Emmanuel is behind him, on him, as he makes a pathetic attempt at escape. I don’t stop moving as Emmanuel pummels the man and Raven rushes out to him. She stops when she sees me, but I’m at the first cabin now, and I set Bec down. Bec hurries to open the door, and I rush inside. It’s dark in here. The only light is what’s coming in from between the slats of wood that board up the window and what’s seeping in around me from the open door.
“Willow?” Bec asks through tears as my eyes adjust to take in the decrepit room, the rotting smell, and the broken bed.
The broken body on top of it.
“Willow. Jesus. Willow.” I rush to her. I hear Raven and Emmanuel enter, Emmanuel holding Raven back as I touch Willow’s bloody, beaten face, her eyes swollen shut, her face so bruised and bloody it’s almost unrecognizable. I push the hair that’s stuck to the blood on her forehead away, my heart pounding against my chest, and my stomach sick as I take in the cross carved there. “No. No!”
How could I have let this happen? Her father was right. I was supposed to protect her, keep her safe. I promised her I would.
“Open your eyes, Willow,” I demand, and it takes all I have not to shake her in an attempt to force her to wake up. I keep pushing hair from her face. “Willow? Willow, wake up.” I smell vomit and blood, so much fucking blood, as I tear her already-ripped shirt all the way open.
She still doesn’t move when I lay my ear against her heart, taking her small hands in one of mine as I hear the faintest of heartbeats.
Another sound comes, something from inside my chest like the wailing of some beast. I gather her up, lifting her gently, carefully, cradling her head against my chest, and kissing the top of it as I run my hands over her body to feel for breaks and look for more damage.
“Willow?” Raven must finally pull free of my brother because she comes to Willow’s other side. “Honey, wake up.” She’s crying, sobbing, as she takes in her sister. “Please just wake up one more time. One more time.”
“He just kept hitting her and hitting her,” Bec says as Emmanuel hugs her to him. “We couldn’t… He locked us in the other room. We couldn’t help…”
“Shh. Ambulance is on its way,” Emmanuel says soberly as I run my hands through the sticky, bloody mess of Willow’s matted hair.
“Fiona is fine,” I tell Willow so she knows. “She’s home. She’s safe. Now open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, sweetheart, and I will take you home to see her.”
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Raven sobs, kissing Willow’s hand.
I put my fingers over the pulse at her neck. It’s so faint. Am I imagining it?
“I’m so sorry. I should never have left you unprotected,” I whisper to her. “Please just wake up. I will take better care of you. I promise.”
The sound of a chopper approaching almost has me looking away. A few moments later, there’s a rush of footsteps running toward the cabin, but I just keep holding my wife, hugging her too small, too fragile, too broken body to me.
Strange hands try to pry me away, but I just hug her tighter, careful not to hurt her any more than she’s been hurt. I’m afraid to let her go, to let them take her from me.
I hear myself muttering promises, making one-sided agreements if she will just wake up. If she’ll just open her eyes for me because I need to see them. I need to see her beautiful eyes even if they look at me with hate.