Page 126 of The Blade in the Ashes
As I skidded around the corner of a bakery, I reached out for a discarded barrel, throwing it behind me to block his path. The sound of it crashing against the brick wall echoed only moments later as he threw it out of his way.
“You’re dead!” George bellowed after me, the sounds of his heavy footfalls growing louder and louder.
Without breaking my pace, I broke my own rules. I turned, looking behind me
Too close. He was too close.
He was bigger. Stronger. Faster.
“Dead! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you for this!”
Nessira’s face flashed in my mind, and I choked out a mumbled apology. I had wanted to make her death meaningful. I had wanted to escape and save the realm like she'd asked.
But I wasn't going to escape. And she had only died forthis.
For nothing.
My stomach clenched in an unforgiving cramp, and I fisted the fabric of my dress as I slammed my hand into my side.
He was going to catch me, and when he caught me, the potential reward Hyrax offered wouldn’t be enough to help George see past the rage that currently blinded him.
His threats carried real meaning. I was dead if he caught me.
I had to push harder. I had to keep running. I had to—
My head reverberated backward as I slammed face-first into a firm chest.
“No!” I screamed without thinking, flailing and falling back.
Thrashing, I slapped out blindly, refusing to be held down again. I would not allow another man to wrap his arms and hold me still like I’d been restrained while Nessira died.
I fought with every bit of my waning strength, but the arms that wrapped themselves around my waist did so gently. They didn’t squeeze the breath from my lungs or leave bruises under their touch. They held me almost reverently, stopping me from falling as I dazedly regained my balance. I frowned at the familiar scent in the air.
As I looked up, another scream lodged in my throat before turning into a small, disbelieving whimper.
Cinnamon.
Burnt oak and cinnamon.
Golden hair. Golden eyes. Golden scales.
“Thea?” he rasped, wide eyes staring down at me as if he too couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
His voice was like a dream, far too perfect to be real. He was a vision of peace sent to comfort me once the pain had gotten too intense.
“You’re here?” I whispered, my voice breaking.
He couldn’t be.
When my knees finally gave out, he fell with me. Tears fell unabashedly from his eyes, his hands smoothing down my hair.
It couldn’t be true. He was in Eagirton.
My mind was playing tricks on me.
“You’re real?”
Clay pulled me against him, careful of the many wounds that covered my body. His lips pressed against my brow and the top of my head. Over and over. His touch was soft, such a stark contrast to every touch from the past several months that I didn’t know how to handle it. I trembled at the feel of his hand running up and down my spine.
