KEEPER by Ingrid Seymour

Author:Ingrid Seymour
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub

Chapter 22 - Greg

Greg lay flat on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, poison coursing through his veins. A man in a grimy army coat had attacked him and poured poison down his throat. Greg began coughing up blood, his stomach twisting like a wrung out dishrag.

A steady alarm tingled through his body. Sam was in danger. Vivid images hit him like flashes of light. Her blue sneakers kicking helplessly. Her hair floating in murky water. Her panic, her tremendous panic, coursing through her veins the same way poison was coursing through his.

Greg clamped his teeth over his lower lip, ignoring the pain and concentrating on the small vibration starting in his chest. Sam was in mortal danger. His magic was awakening in response. His body trembled as his latent energy came to life. Greg felt it spread down into his stomach, up his throat, through his veins, following the path of the poison and neutralizing it.

The slashing pain in his gut lessened and quickly became nothing but a phantom ache. Greg’s eyes sprang open. He stared into a puddle of his own blood. Staggering to his feet, he left the storage room where he’d been attacked. The soles of his sneakers were slick with blood. He slipped a few times, but caught himself—each step stronger than the last, until he was running across the dining hall toward Sam.

The kitchen door swung open and Army Coat rushed out. When he saw Greg, his jaw dropped open and his gray eyes doubled in size.

“Sorcerer,” the man spat the word like an accusation. He cowered close to the wall as he ran toward the exit.

Greg had an impulse to follow him and snap his neck, but Sam was his priority. He couldn’t sense her! He had to make sure she was alright, as much as he’d like to see that bastard dead. He slammed into the swinging door, shoulder first.

Sam lay limp on the floor, her hair matted to her face, a reddish stain spreading across her t-shirt. Panic galvanized him for a moment until he looked closer. Not blood. It’s not blood. The large pot sat on a stool, dripping reddish liquid down the sides and onto the floor. She’s covered in soup?!

Greg crashed to his knees at her side. Sweeping hair off her face, he checked for breath. Nothing.

Oh, God!

He checked her pulse next. It was faint but there. Frantically, Greg turned her on her stomach and pounded her back. When nothing happened, he slid his arms under her midsection, placed his fist at the top of her stomach and squeezed violently, pulling her up into him.

Please, please, please.

He was about to squeeze a second time when Sam went stiff, then convulsed forward, coughing, spewing muck from her mouth, pawing at her neck as if to push the nasty, intruding liquid out of her body. Greg helped her to her knees. She retched, trembling, one hand to her throat, the other one to her stomach.

When the sickness passed, she sat back, crying, shoulders shaking.

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