Page 77 of Freeing Lark

“I’ve been shot before.”

She stared at him. “That isn’t reassuring.” He tried again. Lark pushed against his shoulder. “Stay down.”

He looked at her. She could practically see the stubbornness settling over his face. It’s just a flesh wound. The Monty Python line popped into her head. Lark nearly laughed. The fact that she could even think about laughing right now was probably a sign she was losing her mind.

“You military guys are ridiculous.”

Cormac’s mouth twitched. “Occupational hazard.”

Relief flooded through her so suddenly that she threw her arms around him. His grunt reminded her almost immediately that she’d just hugged a wounded man. “Shit.” She pulled back. “Sorry.”

“No worries.”

“I hurt you.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

She glared. “Stop saying things like that.”

He gave her a tired look. “Help me up.”

“No.”

“Lark.”

“No.” His expression became more determined. She sighed. “Fine.” She hooked an arm around him and tried to pull. Nothing. Cormac was considerably heavier than she was. “Come on.” She strained. He pushed with his good arm. Slowly, painfully, they got him upright.

He swayed. Lark grabbed him. “Whoa.” His arm went around her shoulders. “What now?” she asked.

Before he could answer, they heard it. A motor. Both froze. Cormac’s head snapped toward the river. “That’s them.”

Lark’s heart began pounding. “They found us?”

“They’ll search for where we came out of the water.”

“Then we need to move.”

“Yes.” He looked toward the trees. “We need to get inland.”

“How far?”

“Far enough.” Cormac tried to take a step. His face tightened.

Lark immediately moved beneath his good arm and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Lean on me.”

“I'm fine.”

“You need to stop saying that.”

“I can walk.”

“Great.” She glanced up at him. “Then walk.”

They started into the forest. Slowly. Painfully. Cormac’s weight pressed against her, but Lark refused to complain. They’d worry about how ridiculous this was later. Right now they needed distance.

The forest swallowed them quickly. Branches scratched her bare arms. Wet leaves slapped against her face. Roots twisted beneath her feet. More than once, Cormac stumbled.

Each time, Lark tightened her grip. “Got you.”