Page 115 of Shadowfox

A dark stain bloomed across his shirt, just below his collarbone. It was black in the moonlight—and spreading.

“Damn it!” I hissed, dropping beside him.

He blinked. “I’m good.”

He wasn’t.

I grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He staggered, his face tightening, but still he moved. He was bleeding, possibly dying—but moving.

“We’re blown,” he muttered.

“Let’s go.”

I raced back into the bedroom and grabbed Eszter, pulling her into the hallway.

More boots slammed on the stairs.

Voices shouted outside.

“The rifle,” Thomas whispered.

I snatched it off the fallen man’s shoulder and hefted it, ready to shoot anyone in our path.

We didn’t have long to wait. A guard’s head appeared as he climbed the stairs, rifle at the ready.

I fired.

The guard lurched back, then tumbled down the stairs.

Two down, two left.

“Move,” Thomas ordered, pain threading his voice. “I have Eszter. You lead.”

Down we went. One stair, then the next. Rifle swiveling until . . .

The back door flew open.

I took the last three steps in one bound, wheeled, and fired without aiming. The guard was massive, with the chest of a wrestler, his head nearly scraping the ceiling.

Somehow, my bullet struck true, and the man stumbled backward.

But he didn’t drop.

His rifle lifted.

I fired again.

This time, he fell and didn’t rise.

A man outside shouted in Russian.

Thomas’s hand found my shoulder.

“You need to take out the last guard before we leave the house. If we go into the yard, we’ll be too exposed.”

“Take her back upstairs,” I said before advancing down the hallway toward the kitchen. The sound of creaks on the stairwell was all I needed to know Thomas and Eszter were safe—for now.

The kitchen wasn’t as dark as the bedrooms. Moonlight cast long shadows, making the small table appear massive on the floor. The back door stood open, letting in a chilly breeze that buffeted the curtains.

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