Page 33 of Cursed Shadows 4

I blink my eyes open.

The river rushes against me—but I am not carried with the current. The backpack creaks between me and the tree, the straps looped to us both…

Gaia listened.

She answered.

Nature came to my rescue.

I don’t waste the blessing.

I throw my other arm through the air and clutch onto the strap with both hands.

A guttural sound rises through me.

I climb along the bag. My arms tremble with the ache of pulling my own bodyweight against the ferocity of the river.

Water rushes over my face, forces its way into my mouth, my ears, my nose.

I choke on it, sputters wracking me.

But I pull and I pull and I pull—

Until my hand smacks down on a thick, damp branch, rugged and porous against my gloves.

Breaths heaving, I still.

My grip is tight on the tree, desperate, as I swerve my bloodshot eyes to the fae tumbling down the river. He’s trapped in the frenzy of foamy waters, as I was.

But his searing eyes are on me.

He reaches for the blade bitten in his mouth.

I flinch as he reels it back, then pifts it through the air.

It zips right at me.

My hand slips from the branch.

I fall underwater, just before the knife plants itself in the tree. The whirl of silver is all that disturbs the misty white.

I grapple with the bag and haul myself up to the surface.

Water spills out from between my shuddering lips.

The river plummets. It falls into a waterfall.

And takes the litalf with it.

I watch the drop for a moment. My ragged breaths are drowned out by the thunderous crushing ballad of the river.

The warrior is gone.

He must have been resigned to his fate in the currents. He used the last of his energy, of his fight, on me.

But he failed—and plummeted knowing that.

The sigh I heave is a guttural one, my throat suddenly made of sandpaper.

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