Page 187 of Ashborne: Defiance

“Did I hear you laughing?” I snapped.

He slid to a halt, eyes wide. “No. I mean, yes, but—”

“This isn’t a laughing matter! Kham needs his harness removed, and it’s late. This isn’t a game!”

“I know, sir, it’s only he won’t stop chasing Koa, and I thought—”

“Stop finding excuses and get to work!” I snapped, pointing back the way he’d come. The poor kid yelped and ran after the others.

I felt terrible for scaring him, but reached for Kham and told him to let the boys catch him now.

‘Bring Koa back to stand guard.’ The moment he acknowledged the plan, I ran into the stable and up the ladder.

“Grace, it’s okay. They won’t come up—” I froze at the top of the ladder.

She stood, frozen in horror, arms held out, staring at the blood crusting the front of her leathers.

“Grace.” I raised one hand, palm up as I stepped slowly closer. “Grace, breathe.”

She didn’t move, just kept staring, until I reached her. Then, she startled, but still she stared at her leathers. Her entire body shook.

I slid a knuckle under her chin, urging her to lift her head, to take her eyes off those awful stains. But she fought me.

“I’ll get you some clean clothes,” I murmured. “You have a washbasin here,” I whispered. But she didn’t respond. A shudder rocked through her. “Grace. Grace, look at me.”

I forced her chin up to find her eyes screwed tightly closed, but her hands slapped to my chest and she clung to my lapels like a lifeline. Her breath choked out of her.

Oh, God. Help us.

I cleared my throat. “I know how this feels. I do. That’s why the Creator made sure I was there when it happened,” I whispered hoarsely.

She grimaced and shook her head again, her eyes still tightly shut. My chest panged, but I didn’t give up.

“I understand. Do you hear me, Grace? You did the right thing. You saved me. God, you saved my life. And probably your own as well.”

She sucked in. “You don’t know that—”

“Yes, I do. He had a knife.”

The question was only which of us had been the target—and to what gain?

Grace pushed away from me, stumbling back a step. That dark gleam of the blood on her leathers taunted her. I needed to get her clean.

“Let me help you.” But she just took another step back, shaking her head, then another. I followed her, never breaking eye contact. “Grace, listen to me.”

“He’s dead—”

I hushed her and broke, closing the gap between us, cupping her face in my hands, not letting her look away, holding her there and locking eyes with her so she’d see that I was telling the truth. She gripped my wrists and her nails dug in, but I didn’t let go.

“Sometimes there’s no good answer,” I whispered through numb lips, and the words rose, unbidden. “Sometimes, there’s only bad choices. But you did the right thing. You did well. You helped.”

Somewhere, deep in my chest, a version of me that had lain, curled in the dark, and mostly dead for a decade, jerked back to life, panting.

Her tears welled again and she shook her head, but she didn’t back away further, and her clinging to my forearms was less protest, and more desperation.

“Listen to me, Grace. I’m telling you the truth.”

She went very still, her eyes flickering back and forth, searching mine for the lie. She wouldn’t find it.