CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fear jumped in my belly as I reached out blindly to break my fall. I dug my fingers into the mud for purchase, my legs flailing, my knees scraping a hard dirt wall.
Wide-eyed, both Atticus and Bevan dived at me and gripped my wrists tight.
My pulse galloping, I peered down. I found myself staring at the bottom of a long-ass pit. Fright seized me tight and cramped my stomach.
I must have staggered backwards onto some sort of ledge that hung over the pit. A ledge that had then given way. Shit.
I snapped my gaze back to the two males above. “Pull me up!”
“We’re trying,” Bevan gritted out as he and Atticus began heaving me upward, their skin flushing with the effort.
The mud shifted beneath my elbows, and my heart leapt. Their combined weight was making the earth begin to sink. They scrabbled backwards slightly but didn’t release me.
“Get Talon or Ajax, Seneca!” Bevan called out. “Now!”
She disappeared from my sight, but I wasn’t sure why she’d bother—neither Talon nor the Marshalls ever helped during such situations. Candidates had to help themselves.
Still clinging to my wrists, the two male Phoenixians again tried dragging me toward them—something that would have been easier if our skin wasn’t muddy and slippery with sweat. But the ground began to shift once more, sucking my elbows down with it.
Dread clutched at my throat, threatening to steal my breath. Little stones tumbled down the hole, and light splatters of mud dotted my face. Oh gods, I might—
My body abruptly dipped, but Bevan and Atticus tightened their grip before I could drop.
Both males again tried yanking me upward. I had no way to help them; had no crevices in the wall to stick my feet into—all I could do was dangle there, while terror raced through my system as fast as the heart pounding in my chest.
The world seemed to stop as my slippery hand all but flowed out of Bevan’s grip. Atticus, however, held tight—his entire body straining with the effort to keep me from falling. But then a devious light lit his eyes. A light that made me tense.
And he eased his hold just enough for my wrist to slide from his grip.
I dropped like a rock at a speed so fast I had no chance to scream. My back hit the soggy ground hard, the impact slamming the air from my lungs. Excruciating pain racked its way down my spine as I sucked in a sharp breath. My head went light, and little black spots danced before my eyes.
Voices yelled down at me, but they seemed so tinny and faraway that I couldn’t make out any words. I blinked hard, trying to bring the world back into focus; trying to fight my way out of my daze.
Gradually, my hearing went back to normal and the dots cleared from my vision. I didn’t move, though. Feeling battered, I stayed still, my breaths mere rasps.
Several faces cautiously hovered over the pit—Talon, Quillen, Bevan, and Ajax. I was grateful they were careful not to walk to the edge, where they’d be sure to dislodge more of the muddy earth. I’d much prefer not to have mounds of it dropping down on me.
“Talk to us, Anara,” Quillen called out.
“I’m fine,” I gritted out.
The Lykaon exhaled a long breath.
Talon eyed the width of the pit … as if looking for a good spot to land. If he jumped down here I would be livid. It would be the same as saying that he had no faith in my ability to help myself.
And it would mean that I’d failed Xalbia.
While candidates were allowed to help each other to some degree, no one from the Order could interfere unless a person was calling it quits. I hadn’t gone this far to fuck it up now.
“Just feeling a little winded, that’s all,” I added. “I’ll be up and out of here soon.”
A new face appeared. Atticus. I smashed my lips together, my nostrils flaring as I glared at the bastard.
“It’s a relief that you’re okay,” Atticus commented, the image of concerned.
I flexed my fingers, my temper stirring; heating; frothing.
He’d likely thought that the fall would kill me. It could have done.
Anger latched onto me with razor-sharp nails; nails that raked and dug deep. I’d always had a wicked temper, but the ichor had somehow fed it—made it hotter, more intense, easier to trigger.
Spitting a dozen curses beneath my breath, I put a chokehold on my temper. I couldn’t afford to feel right now. I needed to think.
I needed to get out of this damn pit.
I tried to rise, but such awful pain lanced down my back that my stomach heaved and my head swam. I closed my eyes for long moments, pulling in steadying breaths. I would not black out. No way.
Opening my eyes, I gritted my teeth as I forced myself to slowly sit up.
My eyes watered with the strain, and a long hiss slid through my clenched teeth.
I gave myself a few seconds, waiting for the pain to dim.
Then, powering past the burning throb in the base of my spine, I somehow managed to drag myself upright.
My legs nearly crumpled beneath me, and I had to plant my feet to steady myself.
“You good?” asked Quillen.
I knew what he was really asking was if I needed rescuing. “No broken bones,” I assured him. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”
Flitting my gaze around, I rubbed at the small of my back with a wince. The pit was blessedly empty of any creatures, thank the gods. But stable? That I didn’t know.
Icy cold fingers dragged their way down my spine as a thought struck me. Would the mud walls collapse? Could I find myself buried beneath them?
Refusing to let that horrid idea spread in my mind like a rot, I shoved it aside, using the anger still roaring in my gut to distract me from the fear.
“We’d lower a branch,” began Bevan, “but there aren’t any here that are long enough to reach that far down. If you can climb at least halfway …”
“I can manage that.” My knees shook as I took a tentative step. The sharp twinge in my back tore a whimper from my throat.
You’re fine, you can do this.
I pretty much hobbled to the wall as I rubbed my sweaty, dirty palms on my tunic. I could get out of here. I could. It wasn’t the first time I’d fallen into a ditch at Deimos. I’d gotten out of the last one. Though … it hadn’t been this deep. Or dirty. And I hadn’t hurt my back during the fall.
I ground my teeth so hard a shooting pain lanced my jaw. I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly loathed Atticus until this very moment.
Refusing to think about him, I switched my attention back to the wall in front of me. There were plenty of branches, fissures, and boulders to grab onto. I could manage to scrabble my way up, but it was going to hurt something fierce.
I blew out a preparatory breath. Here we go. I propped my foot on a rock—and god, the simple move made my back protest. Clamping my jaw shut against the pain, I gripped two boulders just above my head.
“Maybe someone should go down and get her,” Atticus suggested.
The anger that been clinging to my mood once more sank its nails into me. That dick knew what the consequences of my being saved would be. He wasn’t satisfied with trying to kill me, no, now he was settling for trying to sabotage me.
“I said I’m fine,” I clipped.
Praying none of the rocks would crumble under my weight, I pushed down on the lower boulder as I used the higher ones to pull me upwards.
I held my breath as I cautiously stayed in place. The rocks didn’t move or disintegrate. Relief a warm breeze in my bloodstream, I repeated the pattern. Repeated it again and again and again, ruthlessly ignoring the nauseating twinges in my back.
I was a little over halfway up the ditch when a branch was lowered, thick and sturdy. I looked up, my brow pinching as I saw Reeve and Bevan keeping it steady.
Right now, I was in no mood to put my safety in the hands of any candidate. But at least neither was Atticus.
I grabbed onto the branch and allowed them to pull me upwards. Lear and a few others helped. Atticus’ abrupt participation almost caused me to release the branch, and I would bet that was part of why he’d joined in.
Reaching the surface, I pushed to my feet and immediately took a few unsteady steps away from the ditch, my hand instantly flying to the aching base of my spine.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Quillen, his brow knit in concern.
“Fine,” I responded, the word something close to a grunt.
“You don’t look it,” Atticus told me, all compassion. Fake compassion.
I pinned him with a hard glare. His mouth tipped up into the tiniest of smirks for the briefest moment.
Heat crept up my neck and face as indignation scraped at the thin hold I had on my temper.
I would have lunged at the sack of shit if my knees weren’t wobbly and there weren’t several people in my path.
Talon instantly began to check me over, his hands gentle but efficient; no doubt searching for injuries. Any other time, I would have stepped away from him. Right then, my focus was on Atticus. So much so that I didn’t take in the words of the others around me—no one else held my interest.
“It’s good that you’re all right,” Atticus told me, sounding ever so genuine. “We tried to pull you up but …” Again, he flashed me that flicker of a smirk.
I balled up my hands so tight my nails bit into my palms. The sting did nothing to distract me from the anger he’d once more rekindled. My skin fairly crawled with it.
“You let me go,” I accused, a shake in my voice—a voice thick and gritty with a barely suppressed need for violence.
His face wrinkled, as if in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
I flicked my chin up. “You let go of my hand. On. Purpose.”
Silence fell as my accusation landed like a bomb.
He recoiled in feigned horror. “What? No. We tried to help you.”
“Bevan did. Not you.”
Atticus’ eyebrows slowly drew together as if he were struggling to process my words. He glanced from Bevan to Seneca. “Back me up here. I did my best to help pull her up.”