Unleashed
Page 15
Maybe he intends to amuse himself with me. I’m a marked carrier. I wear the imprint on my neck. I can expect no protection. No consideration. My life is forfeit.
The luminescence shifts, and I guess that he must hold some kind of electric lantern. I hear a soft clang as he sets it down. The light ceases to move and flicker over the cave walls.
My mind trips over my options and strategies to defend myself. With my sluggish thinking, it’s a struggle. But then I remember the knife. My right hand twitches in front of me, working open the zipper of my jacket pocket. It’s probably still there, right alongside my flashlight. I slip my hand under me, slightly lifting my hip as I ease inside the pocket, sliding two fingers inside, processing the small sounds behind me.
“How long are you going to pretend to be asleep?”
The deep voice fills the small cave. I freeze. My skin washes cold for one brief instant. Adrenaline fires through me as I hear movement, and I picture the faceless man bearing down on me, full of evil intent.
Deciding against waiting for him to make the next move, I pull the knife free and palm it, hiding it from sight as I roll onto my back, gasping at the shattering pain in my shoulder.
He’s digging through a pack, not even looking at me. I frown, studying him. His dark hair, cut close at the sides, is only slightly longer on top. His forehead knits as he investigates the contents of his bag like he didn’t just speak to me. Like I’m not even here. He’s wearing the boots—the same ones that filled my vision before I passed out.
“W—” I stop at the croak of my voice and try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper, raw and scratchy.
He flicks me a glance, and I’m pinned by his eyes. They’re brown, but not as dark as his hair. No, they’re more like the amber light dancing over the walls of the cave. I guess he’s around my age, but his expression is so intense it’s hard to know for sure.
And then I see it. The imprint around his neck. Everything in me seizes and locks up. He’s a carrier. Like me. My already raspy breath catches.
That he’s like me is no comfort. If anything, his carrier status pumps the adrenaline through me faster. The only carriers I ever trusted were Sean, Gil, and Sabine. The three of us had a connection forged in our past experiences.
Me and this guy? We have nothing. I can’t even trust that he won’t turn me in. What if he works for the Agency? What if they sent him out after carriers? A killer who hunts killers. Wasn’t that the whole intention behind Mount Haven? Training carriers to follow orders?
One thing is certain. I can take no chances. In what I hope is a smooth move, I flip open the blade.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Whatever I need to do.”
“Huh.” He angles his head like he’s waiting for me to do it then. Whatever it is.
I don’t consider my fate outside escaping this cave and him. Not where I’ll go or what I’ll do following that. And I guess that is the fever. Or the blood loss. Or fatigue. It could be all those things really.
I force myself up, using my leg muscles for support. My fingers clench tightly around my knife.
He watches me with detached curiosity. Like I’m some little rabbit caught in his snare. I scan the cave, looking for a way out. My gaze lands on a canteen, and my thirst slams into me almost as savagely as the pain.
With eyes fastened to his face, I inch a step closer and snatch the water. Never looking away from his face, I drink. Water dribbles down my chin and neck, and it feels wonderful.
“Better?” he asks, like he isn’t some killer. As if I’m not. I can hear the smirk in his voice over my labored breath and suddenly realize what a fool I am to think I can best him. I grimly calculate my chances of getting the jump on him. In my condition? Not good. My only chance is to outsmart him. Assuring myself that I’m smarter, that he has underestimated me, I bow my head and moan a little. As though the pain is too much. And then I drop. Fake losing consciousness.
I feel the uncomfortable bulge of a rock beneath my hip and loosen my grip on the knife. Because why kill if I don’t have to? I can knock him out. Maybe it’s the conversation with Sabine nipping at the back of my memory, insisting that we’re equipped to kill. That we have a knack for it. I want to resist that logic and prove that I don’t need to kill to save myself.
I slip my fingers under me and grasp the rock, its jagged peaks scraping my tender flesh. I hold on to it, taking comfort in its weight. If I learned anything during the weeks at Mount Haven, it’s to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself.
I wait, listening, straining for the slightest sound. And it’s there. Just a breath. He’s beside me. Sucking in a deep breath, I lurch upright and swing, trying to assess his shape—primarily the location of his head—so that I can do the most damage.
I make contact. A stinging curse rings out. His hand comes up to cover his ear, and I see that I’ve just grazed him.
Grinding my teeth, I pull back, still clutching the rock, ready to try again. He guesses my intent. I see a flash of glittering eyes just as I’m tackled to the ground.
I cry out. Pain bursts through me as I’m pinned. Hands grab my wrists and trap them against the cave floor. I whimper and choke at the stretch of screaming muscle in my shoulder. The sound turns into a twisting sob that doesn’t even sound like me but some wild animal.
I surge against him, trying to fling him off. Even if I wasn’t so weak, it would be useless. His body is hard and strong over mine. Too late, I know I should have used the knife. I should have ignored that scrap of my old self that shied from killing.
The luminescence shifts, and I guess that he must hold some kind of electric lantern. I hear a soft clang as he sets it down. The light ceases to move and flicker over the cave walls.
My mind trips over my options and strategies to defend myself. With my sluggish thinking, it’s a struggle. But then I remember the knife. My right hand twitches in front of me, working open the zipper of my jacket pocket. It’s probably still there, right alongside my flashlight. I slip my hand under me, slightly lifting my hip as I ease inside the pocket, sliding two fingers inside, processing the small sounds behind me.
“How long are you going to pretend to be asleep?”
The deep voice fills the small cave. I freeze. My skin washes cold for one brief instant. Adrenaline fires through me as I hear movement, and I picture the faceless man bearing down on me, full of evil intent.
Deciding against waiting for him to make the next move, I pull the knife free and palm it, hiding it from sight as I roll onto my back, gasping at the shattering pain in my shoulder.
He’s digging through a pack, not even looking at me. I frown, studying him. His dark hair, cut close at the sides, is only slightly longer on top. His forehead knits as he investigates the contents of his bag like he didn’t just speak to me. Like I’m not even here. He’s wearing the boots—the same ones that filled my vision before I passed out.
“W—” I stop at the croak of my voice and try to swallow, but my throat feels like sandpaper, raw and scratchy.
He flicks me a glance, and I’m pinned by his eyes. They’re brown, but not as dark as his hair. No, they’re more like the amber light dancing over the walls of the cave. I guess he’s around my age, but his expression is so intense it’s hard to know for sure.
And then I see it. The imprint around his neck. Everything in me seizes and locks up. He’s a carrier. Like me. My already raspy breath catches.
That he’s like me is no comfort. If anything, his carrier status pumps the adrenaline through me faster. The only carriers I ever trusted were Sean, Gil, and Sabine. The three of us had a connection forged in our past experiences.
Me and this guy? We have nothing. I can’t even trust that he won’t turn me in. What if he works for the Agency? What if they sent him out after carriers? A killer who hunts killers. Wasn’t that the whole intention behind Mount Haven? Training carriers to follow orders?
One thing is certain. I can take no chances. In what I hope is a smooth move, I flip open the blade.
A corner of his mouth lifts. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Whatever I need to do.”
“Huh.” He angles his head like he’s waiting for me to do it then. Whatever it is.
I don’t consider my fate outside escaping this cave and him. Not where I’ll go or what I’ll do following that. And I guess that is the fever. Or the blood loss. Or fatigue. It could be all those things really.
I force myself up, using my leg muscles for support. My fingers clench tightly around my knife.
He watches me with detached curiosity. Like I’m some little rabbit caught in his snare. I scan the cave, looking for a way out. My gaze lands on a canteen, and my thirst slams into me almost as savagely as the pain.
With eyes fastened to his face, I inch a step closer and snatch the water. Never looking away from his face, I drink. Water dribbles down my chin and neck, and it feels wonderful.
“Better?” he asks, like he isn’t some killer. As if I’m not. I can hear the smirk in his voice over my labored breath and suddenly realize what a fool I am to think I can best him. I grimly calculate my chances of getting the jump on him. In my condition? Not good. My only chance is to outsmart him. Assuring myself that I’m smarter, that he has underestimated me, I bow my head and moan a little. As though the pain is too much. And then I drop. Fake losing consciousness.
I feel the uncomfortable bulge of a rock beneath my hip and loosen my grip on the knife. Because why kill if I don’t have to? I can knock him out. Maybe it’s the conversation with Sabine nipping at the back of my memory, insisting that we’re equipped to kill. That we have a knack for it. I want to resist that logic and prove that I don’t need to kill to save myself.
I slip my fingers under me and grasp the rock, its jagged peaks scraping my tender flesh. I hold on to it, taking comfort in its weight. If I learned anything during the weeks at Mount Haven, it’s to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself.
I wait, listening, straining for the slightest sound. And it’s there. Just a breath. He’s beside me. Sucking in a deep breath, I lurch upright and swing, trying to assess his shape—primarily the location of his head—so that I can do the most damage.
I make contact. A stinging curse rings out. His hand comes up to cover his ear, and I see that I’ve just grazed him.
Grinding my teeth, I pull back, still clutching the rock, ready to try again. He guesses my intent. I see a flash of glittering eyes just as I’m tackled to the ground.
I cry out. Pain bursts through me as I’m pinned. Hands grab my wrists and trap them against the cave floor. I whimper and choke at the stretch of screaming muscle in my shoulder. The sound turns into a twisting sob that doesn’t even sound like me but some wild animal.
I surge against him, trying to fling him off. Even if I wasn’t so weak, it would be useless. His body is hard and strong over mine. Too late, I know I should have used the knife. I should have ignored that scrap of my old self that shied from killing.
