Page 8 of Lethal King

My shriveled heart catches in my throat as I desperately scan the room for the black cat.

It feels like an eternity before I spot her fuzzy face and yellow eyes. There’s no time to bathe in any sense of relief. Almost immediately, something heavy crashes against the bedroom door.

The force sends me flying forward, and my cheek crashes against the wall.

I don’t stop to fight the pain. Instead, I grab the only chair in the room and drag it over to the door. Setting it up under the handle, I try to buy myself some time. But the second I have it in place, the knob starts to rattle.

Someone is trying to get in.

Turning around, I spot Willow on the window sill. If she’s scared, she doesn’t show it.

I decide to do the same. It’s a split-second decision, but it saves me from getting lost in the fear of what’s to come as I race towards the window.

Squirming my scrawny arms through the bars, I desperately feel for a latch on the frame. I already know it can open. It’s how I first let Willow in, back when she initially showed up.

But I’m drenched in sweat. My eyes are blurry with tears. Each one of my fingers feel like it weighs a thousand pounds. And then there’s that pounding at the door behind me. Each knock sends a dreadful shockwave blasting through my throbbing skull.

“Got it!”

Even with everything going wrong, it only takes a single positive to spike my pulse.

The window unlatches. And when I pull the frame up, a cold gust of sharp rain comes rushing directly into my face.

It might as well be heaven.

But then I remember what I have to do, and my empty stomach drops.

I’m not going to be able to escape through this window. The slits in the bars are too thin even for me. But Willow can easily make it.

She can escape. She can be free.

She just has to do it without me.

“Go!” I order, pointing out into the stormy night.

The pounding on the door has momentarily stopped, but it’s quickly replaced by the deafening crackle of something I recognize all too well by now.

Gunshots.

“Willow!” I beg, more afraid for her than for myself.

But the stubborn cat only knows one trick, and it’s to come when her name is called.

Her soft fur blocks the harsh wind as she nudges up against my cheek. I can’t help but push back into her comforting warmth.

Then, the gunfire stops, and I know there’s no time for a tear-filled goodbye.

“You have to go,” I quietly choke.

Digging my palms into Willow’s fur, I try to push her away. She pushes back.

I push harder, and those sharp yellow eyes tilt in confusion.

“It’s for your own good,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Willow…”

The sound of her name only draws her closer.

Behind me, I hear the chipped wood of my bedroom door crack. A rush of hot air spills in.