Page 1 of Break Out the Girl

1: AURORA

I had a recurring nightmare back at Drakeward Manor.

In the dream, a secret exit existed just beyond the heavy brocade drapes of my bedroom. But when I sought the way out, the fabric turned into an endless maze of sodden, freezing velvet. I’d be trapped in the heavy shrouds, unable to move.

Am I dreaming? Can I breathe?

Yes.

A beautiful wind rushes over my skin, while freezing rain drives icy needles into my flesh. I force my heavy eyelids open, to find I’m bundled in the arms of a bouncing, wiry body.

“You alright, Kitten?” The voice comes out in a gasping, ragged pant. “Nearly there!”

London stumbles, tightening his grip on me. “Ouch, this forest is not a happy bunny! Not today, prickles, not today!” He takes a flying leap, and my body becomes momentarily weightless.

Oof, we land with a thud and keep racing.

“It’s like the mud is all moody, so it's poking me back with prickly needles and bony boulders.” He laughs. “Fair play I guess.”

Wait.

Behind us, the facility alarms are still screaming, though the sirens are fading slightly now.

We’re escaping!

Full awareness comes rushing back. Imran dying—then bursting into a mass of feathered wings. François unresponsive on the forest floor.

Shit. Creatures leaping out of the dark.

Deep in my chest, a frantic thrumming erupts. With every wonky beat, that strange feeling of threads pulling from my heart increases.

Increases.

Stretching painfully into the blackness behind us.

Somehow I can feel the faint, unmistakable rhythm of Tally and François’s life force.

But it’s so weak.

“Wait! London, slow down.” I start to buck in his arms, but he’s holding me too tight. “Stop! We have to go back!”

“No can do, Kitten. Burly Burt told me to run, so that’s what I'm doing. I recognize the captain of a ship when I see one. Don’t want to be keelhauled.” The wild Englishman doesn’t slow his pace.

“S-s-seriously, stop.” It’s hard to get the words out with all the jostling. “They need our help, London!”

“No.”

“NO?” I’m pissed now. “Put me down.” I struggle and his grip on me tightens.

“Wiggly little thing, aren’t you?” He skips to avoid a patch of brambles. “Socks,” he mutters. “I need socks. The world record for the most socks worn on one foot is one hundred and eighty-four. Two of those would be proper handy right now.”

Fuck. He is a lunatic. And he’s taking me further and further from Taliesin.

And not giving me a choice about it. I hate that.

Twisting, I jab at his face, his throat. It doesn’t make him falter one bit. So I do the only thing I can think of—I let go of his neck and drop like a stone out of his arms.

I hit the ground with a painful crash, then keep rolling through the mud and leaves down a slope, finally coming to a halt on the bank of a muddy stream. Blinking the rain out of my eyes, I see trees towering over me, and a second later, a pair of blazing green eyes.