Chapter 44 #3
“Sorry it took so long,” he finally speaks, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. He nods to something behind me, and when I look back, I nearly hurl at the sight of the southern corridor.
There’s got to be at least a dozen bodies, thoroughly mutilated and lying lifeless in the hall. Blood covers every surface, every square inch. It’s splattered against the paneled walls, pooling on the shiny floor, dripping from the sconces…
An absolute massacre.
I turn back to the Hound, completely mystified, and suddenly I understand.
I’m not sure why I couldn’t grasp it before.
Maybe it was because of how adamant he was in helping me.
Or the frequent sly grins and harmless sarcasm.
But I couldn’t find it in me to be afraid—not in the way I knew I should fear the Hound—and I get it now. The clarity is undeniable.
It isn’t just the bloodbath behind me that finally triggers my fear receptors. It’s the knowledge that he did it with a fraction of his power.
A fraction.
I don’t realize how intently I’m staring until his nostrils flare, blood-soaked onyx hair shifting as his head tilts to the side. “You’re scared.”
“A bit,” I admit freely. There’s no point in denying it. And even still, the fear isn’t nearly as potent as it should be standing before Pyra’s Hound.
But maybe it’s the adrenaline blocking my sensibility. It’s been a minute since I’ve been that close to death.
“Of me?” he clarifies.
“I think so.”
He snorts at my response, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his pants. “That’s good.”
“Good?” I question, unable to get the image of the massacre behind me out of my head. I don’t know that I ever will. The gore of tonight is burned into my retinas, and I’m sure it will be etched into my nightmares from here on out.
Salem nods, prodding a few open wounds through the tears in his shirt.
“Fear gets your blood pumping.” That’s when I notice the gash on his arm is slowly stitching back together, and the rest of his scratches are shallow enough that they’ve stopped bleeding.
I blink back at him in disbelief. “Fear reminds us that we’re alive. ”
The Hound reaches for the neckline of his shirt, pulling the tattered fabric over his head in one graceful motion.
I’ve seen a man shirtless…plenty of times…yet I feel the need to avert my eyes. Am I curious? Absolutely. But it still feels…private.
Keeping my gaze focused on his face instead, I watch wide-eyed as he dabs more blood off his temple.
“And you,” he points at me, shirt wrapped tight in his fist, “were knocking on death’s door a few minutes ago. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Most of my fear melts away, replaced by a sudden surge of gratitude. “Thank you,” I reply sincerely, and begin checking my own body for wounds.
I glance at the spot on the floor I’d been pinned to not long ago—the spot I thought for sure I’d die in.
Swallowing against the sudden dryness in my throat, I look up at the closed servant door. “They made it out,” I tell Salem.
“Good.” He discards his shirt on the ground, then moves to step over the lifeless Rogue.
I watch wide-eyed as Salem grabs him by his collar and hauls his body upwards one-handed.
He manages to slide his armor off and pull his undershirt over his mangled face.
The shirt is black, and I’m certain it’s covered in blood too, but the Hound doesn’t seem to care as he drops the Rogue’s body and tugs the dark fabric over his head.
Once he’s fully dressed, I exhale the breath trapped in my lungs, wincing at the sudden release of pressure around my bruised ribs.
The pain from the attack is still very much there, but it’s growing more bearable by the second. I’m going to hold onto the adrenaline for as long as I can.
Crossing the hall to where I stand, Salem flicks his chin to the servant door. “Let’s get out of here,” he urges, “before anyone else—”
His voice cuts abruptly, blue eyes flicking to the ceiling.
“What?” I ask, panic leaking into my voice. “What is it?”
Salem slowly shifts his stare from the ceiling to me. “When did the explosions stop?”
Blood rushes from my face, falling heavily in my limbs.
My coven…their distraction…the last time I’d heard anything explode was when we were helping the Sol down the hall. It was right before I got the woman to the end of the line.
As soon as I piece the timeline together, I hear it—the sound of voices getting closer. Heavy footfalls down distant hallways. The sounds echo all around us.
I glance to the servant passage, and then back to Salem, remembering how slow the Sol had been walking and how far they’d need to go to get to the Banyan.
My eyes snap back to his, a lethal concoction of dread, panic, and fear numbing me to the bone. “They need more time,” I tell him.
They won’t make it. None of them will make it.
The sound of encroaching voices only gets louder as more and more Rogues funnel back into the Estate.
“Salem—”
He grabs my hand, picks a hall, and starts running.
The decision is clear without him needing to voice it: They need more time, so we would buy it for them.