Page 172 of Scarlet Wars
The same stillness I’d seen when ten militants had come to my parents’ house. The same moment before the rifles rose. Before the shots. Before they died.
The memory slammed into me, and my body justfroze, all power uselessly caged behind my ribs.
“Emma!”
Caden’s shout tore through the clearing, in vain.
The gun fired.
The sound hit me a second too late, chasing the image of Caden already moving, his body a blur of motion and instinct, faster than thought. He hit me hard, the force of him driving me backward as the shot tore through the air.
“Caden—no!” My voice tore itself from my throat.
The impact came mid-turn, a brutal, sickening thud followed by the spray of red that bloomed across his side. The sound of it, the smell of gunpowder and blood, hit all at once, sharp and metallic and too real.
Caden staggered but didn’t fall.
I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe.
Imoved, and barreled into his side, instinct and panic driving me as I shoved us both through my open portal, arms locked around him as his weight sagged against me and the world tore itself apart around us.
For a split second, I caught the human lowering his rifle, smoke still curling from the barrel, the spent casing dropping free as everything collapsed into nothing.
FORTY
EMMA
We tumbled hard into his room, crashing onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and blood. The metallic stench hit me first; thick, choking, everywhere. My hands were already on him, slipping against the slick mess soaking his skin.
“You idiot!” I yelled, sounding almost hysteric. “You ever heard of bullets killing people? Or did you think that was just some fake news you could pretend didn’t apply to you?!”
I was so angry I could barely see straight.
Caden hissed through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut as I pressed against his side, searching. “You mean as opposed to translating beneath a bubble?”
“Oh, don’t you dare start with me,” I spat, my fingers probing through the blood. “I don’t remember asking for a human shield.”
“Fucking hypocrite,” he muttered, voice taut with pain. “You fucking sacrificed?—"
“Shut up!” I snapped, as my fingers prodded his side. “Fuck! Where is it?” My breath came in ragged bursts, my hands slick and trembling as I searched for the source. Blood coated everything, my fingers, his chest, the floor. It was everywhere, and I couldn’t tell where it began or ended. “I can’t see whereit starts!” The edge in my voice cracked, frustration and panic bleeding through anger, bile clawing at my throat.
“Emma.” Hearing my name cut through the fear clouding my head. “Look at me.”
I dragged my gaze up and met the calm in his. His jaw was locked, face carved tight with pain, but his tone stayed maddeningly level. “I’m not dying. But I am in immense fucking pain. So if you could set aside the panic for one second and tell me what you need to fix this, that would be great.”
I inhaled hard, forcing air into my lungs until the blur around me sharpened into focus again. “There’s too much blood,” I said, barely calmer. “I can’t see the wound. I need to wash it clean, then get the bullet out and heal the damage.”
After a quick exhale, I commanded, “You’re getting under the shower. Now.”
He gave a short nod as I hauled him upright. My pulse thundered while I dragged him toward the bathroom, half supporting, half shoving.
The moment we crossed the threshold, I ripped off his shirt. His usually tanned skin was pale beneath the gore, muscles trembling with the effort of staying upright. I didn’t bother stripping the rest. I shoved him beneath the spray and twisted the faucet with a flick of my wrist.
The sound of the water filled the room as the blood poured off him in thick rivers down the drain. It felt endless, like he was bleeding out in front of me, piece by piece.
Calm down, Emma. You’ve got this.
Finally, the torrent thinned, revealing pale flesh beneath. The wound surfaced, a dark puncture below his ribs, small but vicious.
