The Stars We Hold by Melissa Armstrong

The Stars We Hold by Melissa Armstrong

Author:Melissa Armstrong [Armstrong, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Green Gables Press LLC
Published: 2024-06-28T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 22

Henrik never should have allowed himself to get so close. He was a fool to play with fire like that. But when Nada started trembling, panicking, his worry for her shoved aside all common sense. He hated that it felt good to hold her. To have her lean on him, trusting he could soothe her. He became the protector, the comforter he used to be with her, and had slipped into the role with ease. He was stupid. So, so stupid.

The worst part was it had worked. She had calmed down. Felt safe because of him. And it made his damned heart flood with warmth. He desperately needed that to stop. To keep it from happening again.

Still a full day’s walk from Zagreb, Henrik trailed close behind the others as they made their way downhill beneath a dense canopy, weaving through rocky ground and gnarled tree roots. They’d finally eaten a decent meal, thanks to the food they had stolen, fueling them with enough energy to continue their journey.

Vinko groaned and scrubbed his messy hair. “I’m bored. All this walking is making me fucking crazy.”

“We could always race.” Nada gave him a sly grin.

Of course. Nada would leave Vinko in the dust, and she knew it.

Vinko feigned a gasp, dropping his jaw in mock horror. “Ladies don’t run.”

“That’s true. We don’t.” Her eyes brightened with wicked mischief. “Why run when we can shoot our opponent in the legs?”

“Much more ladylike.”

“No, ladylike is taking an axe to their ankles.”

Vinko slung his arm around her shoulders. “You can be real frightening, you know that, Miš?”

Nada let out a quiet laugh and slipped her own arm around Vinko’s waist as they continued downhill. Henrik looked away.

Ester stopped dead, grabbing Vinko’s free arm. In reaction, they all halted and listened. Shouting drifted up toward them from the valley ahead.

Henrik crouched and crept to a rocky outcrop nearby, and the others followed suit. They peered over the boulders.

Below them, Ustaše paced back and forth in the sunlight, casting long shadows beneath their boots. With machine guns in hand, they corralled a group of unarmed youths. Some were dressed in civilian clothes; others wore caps bearing a red star. Partizani. Henrik counted sixteen as the Ustaše lined them up at the bottom of the mountain.

Nada drew her Schmeisser from her shoulder and lifted it to aim down the hill.

Henrik shoved her barrel low, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Let go, Henrik. We have a chance to ambush them.”

“Are you crazy? There’s at least twenty Ustaše down there and four of us. If you fire, all hell will rain down on us.”

“We can’t sit by and let the Partizani die.”

Henrik didn’t want to sit idly by either, but they needed to be pragmatic. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“There’s always something we can do,” Nada argued. “What kind of person watches and does nothing to try and stop it?”

Henrik stilled. Her words pointed right at him—an arrow aimed true—whether she realized it or not.

Her eyes welled and, though she tried to hide it by clenching her weapon, her hands trembled.



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