Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
The door of the cottage is open, and I move toward it, readying my weapon, my heart pounding out of my chest.
The sight that greets me makes me stop dead.
“No. Fucking no!” I rush to Val, who is slumped against the wall, the knife that killed him in his hands. He stopped bleeding a while ago. A man lies dead on the sofa. I don’t know where the third soldier is. “Madelena!” I yell as I fly up the stairs. But the house is too quiet. She’s not here. I know it before I get into the bedroom. Before I see the dying fire, the unmade bed.
I don’t waste time here. I run down the stairs and out the front door. There’s no car. Did he take her somewhere? But then I hear something, a faint sound on the wind. It’s coming from the beach.
Pistol at my side, I move quickly around the side of the house and toward the path that will lead to the beach. The wind is always fiercest in the mornings here. It dies down once the sun has fully risen. It whips my hair and face, blowing sand into my eyes as I round the cottage. There I see the third soldier lying face down, half hidden by the tall grass. Like the cops, I don’t need to check to see if he’s still alive. I see the bullet hole in the back of his head.
Madelena.
I can’t be too late. Please don’t let me be too late. Not for me, but for her. For her and for the baby.
A vision of Alexia’s dead body dances before my eyes as I hurry toward the beach, climbing the sand dune. At the top, I stop to take in the beach as sunlight turns the cloudy sky orange and the sea a deep blue. And there I see him.
Caius.
He’s in the water, waist deep. He looks almost disoriented. And he’s alone.
My chest tightens, a fist twisting my heart, wringing it out.
“Caius!” I scream, running toward him, the soft sand making it so much harder, making me so much slower. “Caius!” I yell again because no, he’s not alone. I see that when he sees me. When he looks over and watches me run toward him. He’s not alone. She’s there, too. She’s floating face down beside him.
No.
No.
“Get away from her!”
He looks dazed as I drop my pistol on the sand and rush into the water.
“Brother,” he starts, a wave propelling him forward. “It’s too late.”
I lose my footing, right myself, and that same wave carries Madelena’s body closer. I catch hold of her ankle, pull her to me. But Caius tugs me away.
“It’s too late. Let her go!”
I try to shove him away, but he has a grip on my shirt, so I punch him hard and send him toppling into the water. I turn Madelena over and gather her up. Her clothes weigh her down. Her head hangs off my arm, and her eyes remain closed, face pale.
“Madelena?” I talk to her as I carry her out of the water, but her arms hang limp at her sides, her body heavy with the sea-soaked clothes. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Open your eyes for me.”
“I tried to stop her,” Caius says as I drag myself out of the water. “I was too late.”
I don’t look at him. I don’t waste any time. I lay her on the sand, and someone calls my name. I look up to find Father Michael rushing toward us.
“Move away!” he calls out, stripping off his big coat and laying it over her legs. He drops to his knees beside her and listens for breath, listens for her heart then starts compressions.
I watch, too stunned to act. All I can do is watch her pale face, her unresponsive body.
“Maddy,” I say, knowing she hates anyone but Odin calling her that, as if I could enrage her to open her eyes. To tell me off.
“Breathe for her,” Father Michael tells me after a count. “Pinch her nose, tilt her head back and breathe for her.”
I do as he says. I know how this works. I touch my lips to her cold ones and close her nose and breathe into her mouth until he tells me to stop and takes over with compressions again, leaning his full weight into her. She’s so small. So fragile.
“She’s pregnant,” I tell him.
He doesn’t miss a beat as he nods, continues his count.
“Breathe,” he says. I do. I don’t know how long but all I know is I can’t stop.
“I can’t lose you. I can’t,” I tell her when he starts compressions again, her lips too cold, too blue. “Don’t let her die,” I tell Father Michael who is oblivious to all but her. But his count. His work. “Please, God, don’t let her die.”