Defiance Series Complete Collection by C. J. Redwine

Author:C. J. Redwine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Forty

RACHEL

“Oh, Sylph.” I breathe her name out and the pain rushes in. A knot in my chest sends bright shards of hurt into my veins with every heartbeat. My hands shake as I grab another rag and try to capture the blood as it spills out of her nostrils, curves around her lips, and streams toward her jaw.

“Please,” Smithson whispers, and Sylph tries to smile.

The rag can’t contain the blood. It gushes from Sylph and coats my hands.

Blood pouring from the sky. Puddling at my feet. Biting into my skin.

A shudder works its way up my spine, and I barely keep myself from screaming.

I can’t stay here, confined in this wagon while another person I love bleeds to death in front of me. I can’t stay here, confronted with my impotence and helplessness. I can’t, but somehow I have to. Sylph deserves to be surrounded by those who love her.

The shudder seizes my arms, my legs, and my teeth, shaking me with merciless fingers until I drop the rag and wrap my arms around myself to keep from flying into a million little pieces.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Smithson chants the words softly, rocking back and forth while Sylph grows pale and begins to tremble.

I slowly slide onto the wagon bed and curve my body next to hers the way we used to when we’d spend the night gossiping about our dreams. Hers were simple and sweet. She wanted a home of her own with blue curtains and white walls. Children and family dinners. A husband who wanted nothing more than what she could bring to him.

My dreams were bold and bright and impossible to articulate beneath the shadow of Baalboden’s Wall. I wanted freedom. A place to live where I could wear what I wanted, say what I wanted, and challenge everyone as my equal. A crusade to lead if that was what my freedom cost.

My dreams are simple now. I don’t want to change the world. I don’t want to save it either.

I just want to save Sylph.

Wiping my hand clean on the blanket beneath me, I lace my fingers through hers and squeeze gently.

She doesn’t squeeze back.

“Sylph. Please.” Smithson chokes on a sob and leans down to press his cheek against hers. “I love you.”

Her hand is cold in mine, and her body shakes as I stretch until I can rest my mouth next to her ear. “Thank you,” I say, and swallow against the suffocating grief that stuffs my throat with cotton, “for everything. You loved me when no one else my age would. You accepted me. You stood up for me. You’re brave and kind, and I will spend the rest of my life missing you.”

Her lips move, but no sound comes out. I don’t need to hear the words, though. I know Sylph would spend her dying breath telling us she loves us.

“I love you, too,” I say, and stay pressed against her. With every faint beat of her heart, my pulse pounds harder. Faster.

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