Page 18 of Fearless

The bleak thought startles me into a sitting position.

Because I am the only bleak thing occupying this fort.

Adena is whole and bright and unbelievably unblemished. I turn to face her, my eyes heavy with the haze of sleep. Raising a sluggish hand, I brush aside the uneven bangs curling atop her brow. When my fingers meet her skin, I pull back sharply at the frigid feel of it.

She feels like death itself.

No, that can’t be right.

Adena is the most alive person I know. She could never feel like anything less.

Hesitantly, I reach for her again. My finger traces the curve of her cold cheekbone, right beneath the crescent of dark lashes fanning over her skin. The moon casts a sickly sheen over her once glowing skin. No, not the moon—it’s Death’s shadow she wears.

Eyes widening, I lean over her fully.

My mind grows foggy, focused wholly on the familiar figure who, at the moment, looks nothing like the girl I know. My palm finds her cheek, patting lightly at her icy skin.

Nothing.

I shake her unmoving shoulders.

A pleading whisper trips off my tongue.

“Adena, wake up. I need you.”

Then I shout at her death-drenched form to live. I might have even screamed.

“A, please!”

A dull thud meets my ears, sounding equally near and far.

My head swivels in search of the ominous repetition. I scan the darkened alley, squinting into the shifting shadows.

Another thud, this one louder than the last. The sound is crisp, clear enough to have me frantically whipping my head in every direction as I search for the source. And when I finally glimpse the gruesome picture that accompanies it—

A strangled gasp claws up my throat, tearing through the shuddering silence.

There’s a bloody branch skewering Adena’s chest.

I bite back a scream, my lungs too tight. Blood blooms beneath the lavender shirt, staining her favorite color with dwindling life.

I watch in horror as the branch lifts, as though being guided by someinvisible hand, and begins a sickening plunge back into her chest. It sinks deep enough to pound against the hard carpet beneath, resulting in that horrific thud.

I scream again. Scream each time that branch lifts and lowers, over and over again.

I claw at it, fighting against every sickening beat. Rough bark bites into my palm, springing sticky blood from the torn skin. I tug at the branch and still it relentlessly sinks into her chest.

My hands shake, tears stream.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It pierces through her, stopping only when it meets the rug. But still, it does not halt for my screams or pleading whimpers.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s—

My eyes fly open, only to be greeted by shadow.

A figure looms over me, and I don’t hesitate before slipping my hand beneath a pillow to find the knife I’d snatched from my dinner tray. Not my first weapon of choice, but it’s probably sharp enough to provide a painful end to whoever it is that—

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