Chapter 47
Chapter
Forty-Seven
The water is freezing—far icier than it ought to be. The cold penetrates my entire body, sending pain shooting through every limb. I gasp, flailing, but it’s no use. Another wave swamps me, and I have a split second to suck in a breath before my head goes under. The current tugs at me as I kick for the surface, unable to tell the difference between up and down. My lungs burn as I fight not to inhale.
Maybe Donovan doesn’t die at the altar because of me, but right now, here, in this freaking lake. Maybe the red tide was some kind of metaphor.
Oh, God, Donovan. Where is he?
I force my eyes open, but all I can see is churning water. The cold gnaws at my bones with eager teeth. Surrender, it whispers. You’ll be safe here, with me.
The hell with that. I kick for all I’m worth and, by a miracle, my head breaks the surface. The water is a sea of whitecaps, stirred into a frenzy by the wind. I suck in a blessed gulp of air, searching for Donovan as I struggle to stay afloat.
He’s nowhere. I call his name, but a gust swallows it, whipping lake water into my open mouth. It tastes bitter, like defeat and grief and rage.
No. No. I am not going to die this way. And I’ll be damned if I’ll lose him.
But I can’t find him, either.
A wave washes over my head, and I kick frantically, desperate not to go back under. When it recedes, I can see a faraway hint of green: the trees. I strike out for shore, forcing my heavy limbs to move. Swim, I tell myself. Keep going, Rune. Don’t give up.
By the time I finally feel the scrape of the sand beneath my feet, I wonder if I’m hallucinating. But no—it’s real. I drag myself the last few feet, out of the roiling water, and collapse, choking and sputtering. It feels like I inhaled half the lake.
When I can breathe again, I lift my head, praying Donovan is sprawled on the beach a few feet away. I’m terrified that I’ll see Cooper or Ethan instead, blood dripping onto the sand and that damn tattoo gleaming on their arms. But there’s no one here except me.
“Donovan!” I scream, my throat raw. “Donovan!”
There’s no answer, and my heart plummets. What if I dragged him out here to save him, and killed him instead? What if I led him to the very death I was trying to prevent? What if?—
“Rune.”
The sound is hoarse, barely audible. But I hear it nonetheless. Propping myself up on my elbows, I turn in the direction it came from and see Donovan crawling out of the water, his dark hair sticking up every which way and his soaked clothes plastered to his body. There’s an abrasion on his cheek, his jeans are ripped, and waterweeds are stuck to the shirt that began this morning worthy of a sexy photoshoot. But none of that matters, because he’s alive.
And so am I.
Relief cascades through me, followed by joy so overwhelming, it’s an adrenaline rush. I forget that Donovan and I aren’t supposed to be together. That the last time he held me in his arms, the earth cracked open. Or maybe I just don’t care.
I push myself to my feet, ignoring the water pouring off me and the exhaustion that trembles through my limbs, and run for him. He’s just made it onto the sand and is lying flat on his back, chest heaving, when I fling myself on top of him, kissing him so fiercely that the stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin. I don’t care about that, either. The pain means we survived .
Donovan’s arms come up to hold me, banding so tightly around my back, it feels like he never wants to let me go. “Are you all right?” he murmurs into my mouth.
I nod, clutching him. “Are y-you?”
He pulls away a little, enough to look up at me. His jaw is a hard line, but his touch is gentle as he tucks my sopping hair behind my ears. “Nothing some dry clothes and the red pill won’t cure.”
It takes me a second, given my sodden brain. “Did…did you just make a Matrix joke?”
His chest vibrates beneath me as he laughs. Maybe the adrenaline rush of survival has gotten to him, too. “What other explanation for what just happened can there be? And I swear, if you say anything about ley lines, magic, or curses, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Now that I know he’s okay, shock is setting in. Or maybe I’m just that damn cold. Either way, my teeth start chattering, so hard it feels like I might bite my tongue right in half. “We’re not in the M-matrix, Donovan,” I manage.
“Hmmm.” He strokes my wet hair over and over. “That’s what you’d say if we were, though, right? Maybe I’m hallucinating all of this. In what other universe would you be lying on top of me, soaking wet and wearing a scrap of fabric for a shirt?”
His words penetrate the fog that’s settled over me, and I scramble off him, trying—and failing—to tug my clothes to rights. Donovan sits up, scrubbing a hand across his face. He shades his eyes from the sun, peering up at me. “I’m not hallucinating, am I? Too bad. Maybe I should nearly drown every day.”
“That isn’t f-funny.” I grab his arm with clammy fingers, trying to pull him upright. “We have to go.”
“And leave all this?” He gestures at the lake, which, impossibly, is settling back to its original state. As we watch, the waves slow. The wind dies down, only the slightest breeze stirring the water’s surface. Our boat drifts in the middle of the lake, forlorn and abandoned.
I have no idea what just happened. But I don’t want to be here when it happens again—or worse. Nor do I want to wait on the shore of a possessed lake for the Blood Witches to find us. A cloud passes across the sun, and I shiver even harder. “I don’t care if you believe me about what’s really going on or not—you can’t deny that this situation is batshit crazy. How many times today have we almost died? I’m telling you, Ethan has something to do with this.”
He stands, towering over me. Water drips from his hair, the hem of his shirt, his torn jeans. Goosebumps line his bare forearms. “So maybe we should talk to him. Or someone else. Don’t you think our fellow employees would like to know that there’s some kind of weird seismic activity going on here? Maybe they’d like to, I don’t know, leave ?”
“Unless they’re in on it.” In an effort not to freeze to death, I rub my upper arms. It doesn’t do much good. Maybe the plan is for both of us to die of pneumonia.
“Okay. Now you’re just talking crazy.” He shoves both hands through his hair, splattering water everywhere. “Listen to yourself, Rune. You think Jill from accounting is some kind of criminal mastermind? Look at her, for God’s sake! The only thing she’s masterminding is what bar she’s going to sing karaoke at next weekend.”
“I have n-no idea what she is or isn’t. That’s the point,” I say, heading back toward the trailhead on trembling legs. “You brought your laptop with you, right?”
Donovan doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t say no, either. But he quits arguing, and when I step between the trees, he’s right behind me.
I half-expect to find Ethan or Cooper waiting for us, to demand to know where we went and drag us off to their lair. But when we emerge from the woods, the retreat center is strangely deserted. Maybe everyone is resting up before dinner. It’s the least nefarious explanation I can think of. Either way, it buys us some time.
The cabins are off to the right, in the opposite direction of the main lodge. They’re down a long gravel road lined with trees, a steep drop-off on one side. A road I could swear is getting longer with every step we take. I’ve been moving as fast as I can, in the hopes that no one will see us, and now I’m both shivering and sweating—a lethal combination.
“Which one is yours?” I pant as the cabins finally come into view—rustic log exterior, adorable front porches, isolated location perfect for a murder, and all.
“Number four.” He points. “Honestly, Rune, if you could just slow down so we could talk about this?—”
Oh, sure. Why don’t I stroll to my doom, giving everyone who has it out for us as much time as possible to do us in? But I don’t have the breath for a sarcastic retort, so I just come to a skidding halt in front of Donovan’s cabin and double over, hands on my knees, while I wait for him to open the door.
He fumbles in the front pocket of his battered jeans for his key, digging around so long that, for an awful heartbeat, I’m afraid it’s gone, lost at the bottom of the lake or in the escape room’s snowbank. But no—even in the face of mortal injury and death-defying odds, Sex Spreadsheet Guy has hung on to his powers of organization. He slides the key into the lock, turns the knob, and then we step inside.