Page 142 of A Sweet Destruction

When I was at the top, Soren’s hands reached through the window and I had to consciously resist the urge to snap at him for trying to touch her.

This is to keep her safe, I told the Bond, who was still growling like an animal protecting its latest kill.

Even then, it was my own instincts that had my hands clenching around Esme’s body, resisting just the barest bit as Soren pulled her through the window and out into safety.

I launched after her a second later, damn near falling on top of her in the rough grass.

I could feel her heartbeat like my own, and I could tell it was slowing. She looked so pale, so…lacking of life.

Terror, sudden and violent, racked my body. What had been the last thing I’d said to her? Hopefully I’d managed something kind, even as I was blind with rage. Not at her, at the situation.

Okay, maybe a little at her. Dismissing all there was between us.

I’d asked her about it when she woke up. Give her the chance to explain. Make us talk instead of pushing everything down like we used to.

When she woke up.

"Freya, let’s go,” Bellamy yelled, sticking her head back into the window. She had to repeat herself twice, each time getting increasingly louder and more panicked until the rope when taut and Freya bounced through the window a second later.

“Sorry,” she muttered, grumbling, before crouching next to Esme and tucking her fingers under the gauze at her neck to feel her pulse. “We need to get her back. Now.”

That much I fucking knew.

A loud, pained cry broke through the woods and Sky came barreling out of nowhere, skidding to a stop a few yards away and breathing hard. For a second, it was like we spoke the same language. I could hear him crying out for Esme, wailing into the woods at the sight of her covered in blood.

I understood him more deeply than ever before.

Shadow was hovering behind him and it struck me what she’d had to go through when I’d been like this.

At that image, a near-supernatural strength surged in my chest, even with my own injuries and exhaustion. I lifted Esme in my arms, heading right for Sky.

I’d never ridden him before, but we both knew that he needed to be the one to carry her back. He didn’t put up a fight—even helped—when I climbed onto his back with Esme in tow.

“Keep her on the saddle,” Soren said, coming up next to us and throwing Sky’s reins around Esme’s lifeless form. “Take it from personal experience, you’ll only hurt yourself trying to keep her off it. Bellamy’s leg was injured so I had no choice, but with Esme’s neck, you’ll be better off getting back faster.”

It was a miracle I even understood him. My mind felt like it was breaking under the weight of my panic.

Distantly, behind the Bond’s wordless screams of anguish, I thought that this might be the beginning of the end. The start of the madness that would end up draining my life force and sending me to death right after Esme.

As if Sky could read my thoughts, he took off at a full sprint. Shadow followed, whining in concern but keeping up a rough pace.

I understood why Soren had nearly died himself bringing Bellamy back.

I knew, practically, that I was severely injured. I’d probably strained a few muscles and dislocated my shoulder. I’d clearly suffered a beating at the hands of Elijah’s goons while I’d been out. Who knew the lasting effects of the tranquilizer.

Still, I felt like I could scale a mountain. Only if Esme was at the top, begging me to come to her. I wouldn’t know when to stop, when my body was pushed past the brink in its relentless efforts to get to her.

An hour ride—maybe more—passed in a blink. The only reason I had any conception of time was that Soren kept catching up with me on Lucky’s back, shouting something at me over the wind. Probably asking if I was still present in this world.

Knowing him, he made himself wait ten minutes or so in between check-ins. He’d done it seven times, the last one in a particularly strained voice that made me think that my mental state had started to bleed through into my physical appearance.

The entire ride, all sixty-some-odd painful minutes of it, I kept one hand curled around Esme’s wrist. Her pulse, though weak and thready, was the only thing keeping me sane.

Important to note, seeing as the exact minute our camp came into view, her pulse slowed to a stop.

I’d never imagined that a psychotic break would present as a total black out, but the next thing I consciously understood was Soren punching me square across the jaw.

I was standing now, in the hospital wing. Esme was across the room, laying on a stretcher with someone rolling her away from me.