The Offering (20 page)

She fired again and again and again and again, until I didn't think she could fire any more, until I was certain she was out of ammunition.

My side ached, and yet, still I ran.

I could hear the sounds of a struggle behind me. And then I heard footsteps, heavy and crashing and rushing right toward me. I prayed they were Eden's, but I never slowed. I didn't dare look behind me.

I was almost to the VAN now, and a part of me wondered what I planned to do once I reached it.

I might be able to drive it
, I told myself. I'd spent hours studying Eden while she'd piloted the beast of a machine, and surely I could manage to start the thing myself. Surely I could steer it long enough to get it moving in the right direction.

After that, I didn't know.

I'd figure it out.

But I couldn't leave Eden and Brooklynn behind.

Then I remembered . . . the weapons. There were weapons inside the VAN.

If I could reach them, we still had a chance.

That was when I felt my head jerk backward. I lost my footing entirely, which had nothing to do with me at all. It came from somewhere behind me, as my hair had been yanked—so hard that my scalp felt as if it were on fire.

A strangled half gasp, half scream choked me, rising like vitriol in my throat. I fell, landing on my back, and before I could even blink, I was staring up into the face of a bird.

The mask was melded from black iron, making my attacker look something akin to a steel raven. Metal rivets ran the length of his beaklike protrusion, and round goggles gave his eyes a hawkish appearance that made me feel as if he were peering into my soul.

I imagined him bringing that razor-sharp bill down into my face. Pecking at me. Eating me alive. Goring me, and shredding my skin . . . swallowing it up like worms.

“
Your Majesty
, is it?” Like his beak, his grating voice hovered above my face like an ill-concealed taunt. I could see his mouth beneath the metal mask he wore.

I couldn't afford to wait to find out what he had planned for me, or what he'd done to Eden. Searching for an inner calm I wasn't sure I possessed, I tried to recall Zafir's lessons on defense. I searched for the one that would best help me escape my predicament.

When the man revealed his teeth in a gruesome grin, I breathed deeply and formulated my plan of attack. I reached behind my head to where his gloved fingers were still tangled in my hair, and I grabbed hold of his little finger, making certain my grip was secure. When I was certain I had him, and that he had no idea what I was about to do, I flipped onto my stomach. I moved swiftly, the way Zafir had told me, and when I did, his finger rolled with me.

I felt it—the crunching sensation the moment it separated from his hand.

His surprised screech followed suit, a bellow that filled the skies. Involuntarily he released my hair, and before he could stop me, I was already jumping to my feet, ready for his next attack. And I knew he'd attack again. He wasn't finished with me.

It took only a moment for his shock to subside and for him to collect his wits. I could see the determined set of his shoulders and the way he clenched his jaw. He was coming for me.

I was ready, though. I'd been preparing for this moment for months.

Zafir had made certain I could handle myself.

When he came at me once more, he was still clumsy and lurching with pain. He'd given no thought as to
how
he would assault me, only that he wanted revenge.

I saw his fist, hefty and leathered and enormous, coming at me. But I knew what to do.

I didn't retreat but instead covered my head with both hands and dropped below the trajectory of his ham-fisted swipe. And then I launched myself right at him. I put all of my weight, everything I had, into my body, so that when I hit him, my head colliding with his gut, I heard him wheeze. His fist missed me completely, flying all the way over the back of my head, and yet I kept coming at him.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and planted one leg firmly while rotating on it. The result was that I spun around him, so that I was at his back, my arms still encircling him.

When I extended my other leg and dropped low, it threw the man, who was at least three heads taller than I was, off balance. He careened backward, his arms flailing as he flew over the top of me and landed on his back. He fell on rocks and gravel, and I heard him exhale loudly. The metal of his mask struck the solid ground like lead.

This time, before he could recover, I straddled him and reached for the weapon at his belt, a knife with two separate but equally deadly blades curving from its hilt. I'd never seen such a weapon, but I didn't hesitate. He never roused as I unsheathed it.

And then I stuck it through the sinewy flesh at the side of his neck.

His entire body stiffened, and he shuddered beneath me. I froze, my eyes going wide, as for the first time I stopped to consider what I'd just done. I felt the blood drain from my own face as I waited. When I sensed the last breath escape his throat on an exaggerated pant, I released the breath I'd been holding.

I looked down at my hand, still clenched tightly around the hilt and now smeared in blood that seemed to cover everything. My mouth went dry. I thought I might be sick right there . . . on his corpse.

You've killed before
, Sabara whispered, her taunt as vicious as the acts of the man I stood above.
You'll kill again
.
It's who you are. It's who
we
are.

But she was wrong. I'd killed, yes. But never with my bare hands.

I'd never felt someone take their last breath.

I'd never had blood on my hands.

“No,” I said, closing my eyes and releasing the handle of the blood-covered knife. “I'm not you. I'm not you.”

When I glanced up, I saw Eden.

I barely registered that she wasn't alone, that she was flanked on either side by soldiers wearing the same raven-faced masks as the man I'd just killed. I hardly saw the other soldiers, those whose bodies littered the hillside behind Eden and our enemies.

I was tempted, so incredibly tempted, to draw from Sabara's powers to save her, but I couldn't take the risk that Sabara would overtake me once more.

I might have blinked, or I might not have, when one of Eden's captors saw me there, my hands covered in the blood of his fallen comrade, and he released his grip on her. I was in his sights.

Me. He was after me now.

Run
, I heard Eden's words repeat in my head.
Run, run, run!

I let go of the knife, which was still stuck in the dead man's neck, and with no other thought than reaching the VAN, I ran as fast as I could. There wasn't much distance between me and the soldier behind me, but there also wasn't much distance between me and the VAN.

Ten steps . . .

Five . . .

Two . . .

I launched myself up the steps and shoved my shoulder against the closed door. It opened inward—the way it did—and I exhaled as I tumbled inside, landing in a heap on the floor.

Without looking over my shoulder, I reached up and punched the button with my fist, the one that would close the door again. I needed to keep him out for only a second. Just long enough to reach the weapons cache in back.

Long enough to arm myself.

I leapt to my feet, hopeful that I'd made it. I was safe at last.

And then a voice stopped me cold. “That was impressive. I had no idea you had that in you.” I recognized who was speaking immediately, but even if I hadn't, Sabara had.

My entire body started to tingle, starting in the pit of my belly and spreading outward. It was a reaction that made tears burn my eyes.

They weren't my tears, however. They were hers.

I loathed her. For this and a million other reasons, I loathed her.

But it wasn't his fault. He wasn't the one holding me captive inside my own body.

“Niko,” I gasped, confused to find him here, inside the VAN. “What are you doing here?” I tried to think past Sabara's response to him. I shoved past him. It didn't matter
why
he was here. He was here and he could help. “Elena's soldiers are out there, and they have Eden. We have to get to the guns.”

I reached the place where the crates of munitions had been carefully packed and stowed.

They were open now, the packing materials strewn everywhere and the weapons missing, as if they'd been pillaged in our absence. I dug through the shredded paper, searching in vain for a gun or a dagger or a bow. Anything.

My heart was racing, this time not at all because of Sabara or Niko.

Outside, I realized the soldier wasn't even trying to gain entrance. He hadn't even tried the door.

I glanced back over my shoulder to where Niko was contemplating me.

“Get up, Charlaina.” His voice was quiet, tender even.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

He withdrew a gun from behind his back and sighed. He was still watching me with his familiar golden eyes—eyes I'd dreamed of more than once. And for a moment—just for a moment—I could almost believe he meant it when he said, “I'm sorry I have to do this.”

brooklynn

It was the last thing Brook had ever expected.

The attack by the bird-faced warriors.

Eden unleashing her rounds into the knolls as Charlie sprinted across the plain, trying to escape to the VAN.

And then Charlie . . . her defensive skills. Battling a combatant at least twice her size.

Where the hell had she learned moves like those? When had she become someone who could kill in cold blood?

She'd watched it all from her perch near the top of the hill. She hadn't even made it to the cave.

Had she thought she had a chance, she'd have joined the fray. Helped Charlie and Eden defend against their attackers.

But they were outnumbered, plain and simple. The strategist in her warned her to wait it out. To stay where she was and observe. To let this battle play out so she could plan her countermeasure.

Battles weren't won by responding rashly. They were won
by outmaneuvering your opponent. By staying one step ahead. Keeping a clear head.

That was what Brook needed now, a clear head.

If only she hadn't witnessed that other part, that last thing, where she'd seen Niko walking Charlie out of the VAN, a gun aimed directly at the back of her head.

Niko . . . that swine!
She rolled his traitorous name around and around in her head, wondering how they'd ever trusted him. How they'd ever allowed him to accompany Xander to Elena's queendom in the first place. They should've known better, especially since Charlie had revealed what he truly was.

Brook didn't know what he was up to—or why he appeared to be working in tandem with Elena's soldiers—but if he was involved in this, it was no good.

And now he had Charlie.

She'd half-expected the other soldiers to come in search of her, and when they didn't, she had to assume that they didn't know about her. That they hadn't realized she'd been traveling with Charlie and Eden.

She'd managed to stay quiet by biting her fist, the only way she'd been able to keep from being discovered while she'd watched as Eden had run out of ammunition and been overpowered and taken prisoner. But she'd nearly choked on her own glee as she'd watched Charlie take down her attacker and ram a blade into his throat.

She remained concealed long after Niko and the others had taken Eden and Charlie and the VAN and had gone. She was a fugitive now, inside the borders of her own country.

Brook knew she had to be careful—stealthy, so as not to be discovered.

Slipping away from her hiding spot, she glanced skyward at the sun. At least an hour had passed since the Astonians had departed, so she was certain it was safe to come out.

She followed the same path she'd negotiated before, only this time she stopped along the way.

At the first body, Brook knelt to examine the metal casing surrounding the soldier's face. The pounded iron was thick, like armor. She ran her finger along the side of the beakish mask and noted it had a knifelike edge. It would slice her flesh were she not cautious.

She reached around it and found where it fastened. She removed it, as well as the goggles, revealing the soft skin of a woman beneath. Her black hair was wild and unkempt, but she was young—barely of legal age by Ludanian standards.

Brook's gaze moved downward, to where Eden's bullet had pierced the girl's heart. She couldn't see the blood; it was lost in the sea of black she wore. Brook relieved the girl of her gun and a small-bladed knife she found concealed in the top of the girl's boot.

At the next body, she didn't inspect the mask or the bullet wound. She simply stripped the soldier of his weapon and the spare ammunition he kept in his inside jacket pocket. She did the same at the third and fourth bodies. Weapons and ammo only, until she'd scrambled all the way down the hillside to where Charlie had single-handedly killed the soldier who'd blitz attacked her.

She didn't want to smile—this was no time for smiling—but
she couldn't stop herself. Charlie, it seemed, was something of a badass.

Charlie, the girl she'd known forever. The one who'd worked hard and barely spoken out of turn her entire life.

Charlie, the girl Brooklynn was willing to die for.

Apparently their queen still had a few secrets of her own.

Brooklynn braced her boot against the dead soldier's unmoving chest and gripped the handle of the knife that protruded from his neck. She counted to three silently in her head, and then pulled.

The knife came free, and Brook marveled at the double-bladed design before wiping both sides of it on her pants. She held her breath then, every muscle in her body going stock-still. Every beat of her heart was a distraction as she tried to concentrate. The skin at the base of her neck tightened. The muscles at her shoulders coiled, readying.