Page 18 of One Shattered Crown
I just found a way directly into TimeGem’s systems. I’ve been working on a way for years, and here it might be. My breath catches. I lean forward, fingers hovering over the keys until I expertly create a firewall strong enough to hide this path from Wesley. Who is this hacker? I need to decrypt the signature and confirm the path. Maybe extend it.
The air around me changes.
I pause, fingers stilling.
The feeling around me is subtle. There’s a drop in pressure or a shift in the air current. We all have instincts forged by our ancestors in order to survive, and even now, they kick in for us—if we pay attention.
I lift my head to listen. The house is a single level with one bedroom, a small kitchen, and an open living room with creaky floorboards and a vintage couch I picked up for eighty bucks. The bathroom is my favorite part. It has a massive clawfoot tub, deep enough to drown in. I spend a lot of nights in that tub when the world feels too heavy.
But something’s off now. I stand slowly and reach for the knife block next to me on the counter. My fingers wrap around the steel handle, second from the right. The weapon is balanced, sharp, and easy to throw.
Standing as quietly as possible, I take careful steps toward the bedroom.
The rain gets louder.
A window is open. I know I shut it. I always shut it.
“Shit,” I whisper, pivoting to run.
A man lunges from behind the door with brutal speed and weight, his movement sudden and overwhelming. He’s tall and broad, wrapped head to toe in tactical gear. A black balaclava covers his face. His eyes shine violet through what I assume are tinted contacts, and he smells faintly of mint.
No warning. No words. I want to scream but don’t waste the air.
His arms wrap around me, and I react on instinct. My knife slices up, aiming for his shoulder. He jerks away just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the blade sinks into muscle. Warmth splashes across my hand. He grunts, low and surprised.
I twist, elbow him in the throat, but his arm comes around fast, his closed fist hitting my shoulder. I fly into the wall. Pain flashes through my ribs. My shoulder knocks a ceramic dragon off its hook, and it crashes to the floor. I barely register the damage.
He charges again.
Panic rips through me and I kick. My foot connects with his shin, and he stumbles, giving me just enough time to rip the knife free of his arm and stab again. This time I duck and go lower, catching his thigh and tearing out the knife. He hisses and backhands me across the face.
My vision explodes into stars. Pain blooms in my temple. I smash into an end table, knocking off the contents, and then hit the floor, breath whooshing out of me. My jaw throbs. He’s fast. Strong. Professional. There isn’t time to talk and see if there’s a way out of this mess.
I roll as he lunges again, and my hand connects with the base of the now-broken lamp. It’s heavy. I grab it andswing upward with everything I’ve got. The base cracks against his head with a dull, wet thud. He stumbles and staggers back.
My entire body hurts, but I move fast. Panicking. I push off the floor, my legs barely cooperating. I’m dizzy, bleeding. My cheek’s swelling, but I don’t care. I limp through the house, knife still in one hand, the other clutching my side. I can’t afford to slow down.
The rain pummels me as I burst outside, grunting and sobbing. It’s cold and relentless, soaking me to the skin in seconds. I half run, half stumble down the driveway, past the hedges I trimmed myself last week. I have to get to one of the hidden cars. My feet hit the edge of the concrete, and my knees give out.
I drop. Holy ouch, damn it.
The pavement is hard beneath me. Rain splashes against my back and soaks my hair. My palms scrape the asphalt, and my breath comes in ragged bursts. I try to get up. I can’t. Fear tastes sharp and metallic on the back of my tongue. Everything tilts.
My body pitches forward, and I fall hard, cheek planting against the wet ground.
Pulling in breath, I push to my hands and knees to crawl around the side of the hedges.
Crashes come from inside the house. I might’ve slowed the attacker down, but he isn’t out. Tears slide down my face, blurring my vision even more. I have to get out of here.
The front door hits the wall.
Gasping, I lunge away from the small shrubs and scramble toward the street, where I smash into a hard body out of the darkness.
Crying out, I fall onto my back, my head clunking against the torn driveway. I’m going to die.
The body moves, and a shadow crosses over me. A heavy hand touches my shoulder. “Sorry about that. Are you all right?” a voice asks, dark and calm.
I blink. There’s water in my eyes. Rain and tears. My vision swims. I look up just enough to catch a face—dark hair, blue eyes. The voice has an edge to it. Not American. “He’s coming,” I croak.
