Page 220 of Sins of the Hidden

"Go!" I hissed, shoving her toward the window. "Now!"

Callista scrambled toward the window, her thin frame moving with desperate urgency. But the old wood was swollen with moisture, the frame warped and stuck. She pulled at it with trembling hands, panic making her clumsy.

"It will not open," she whispered, terror pitching her voice high.

The footsteps were getting closer. Voices shouting orders, coordinating a search. They'd be here any moment.

I lunged toward the window, using my good hand and the stump of my injured one to help her pull. Pain shot through my mutilated hand as I gripped the frame, but I ignored it. The window groaned, budging just an inch.

Callista's fingernails tore as she clawed at the window frame. Tears streamed down her face as the ancient wood fought against us. The gap widened slowly—two inches, three—but not enough for her to squeeze through.

Footsteps stopped right outside the front door. The handle turned.

"Hide," I breathed, but there was nowhere to go. The cabin was too small, too bare.

The door swung open and John stepped inside with another man. Their eyes swept the room, landing on the unmoving form sprawled across the floor.

"What the—" one started, then stopped cold as he took in the carnage.

"He's dead," the other whispered, staring at the pulverized remains. "She killed him."

Father Sal’s gaze snapped to us, taking in the piece of wood clutched in my shaking hand. "You did this," he snarled, his face twisting with rage.

"Stop!" John roared, lunging forward.

I threw myself between him and Callista, swinging the board with everything I had left. It caught him across the jaw, sending him stumbling backward into his companion. Both men went down in a tangle of limbs.

"The window!" I screamed.

Callista pulled. The frame groaned, protested, then suddenly gave way with a sharp crack. The window flew open, letting in a rush of cool air and the promise of freedom.

"Go go go!" I pushed her toward the opening as the men behind us scrambled to their feet.

She started to climb through, her pale dress catching on the splintered frame. For a horrifying moment she was stuck, half in and half out, completely vulnerable.

One of the men grabbed my ankle, yanking me backward. "You're gonna pay for killing him!"

I kicked out with my free leg, my heel connecting with his nose. He released me with a howl of pain.

"Callista!" I reached for her, trying to push her the rest of the way through.

She was almost out when fingers tangled in her platinum hair, jerking her back. "Get back here," the man snarled.

"No!" I grabbed the man's wrist with my good hand, digging my nails in until I felt skin tear. He cursed, but didn't let go of Callista's hair. She was trapped, sobbing, bleeding from where her scalp was being torn.

Without thinking, I bit down on his forearm with every ounce of strength I had, tasting copper and sweat and dirt. He screamed, releasing Callista to grab at me.

Callista didn't hesitate. She threw herself through the window with desperate grace, her ethereal form disappearing into the wilderness with a crash of breaking branches.

The man whose arm I'd bitten backhanded me across the face, sending me sprawling. Stars burst behind my eyes, but through the haze I could hear her running—footsteps on leaves, branches snapping, growing fainter by the second.

"After her!" John roared, but he was bleeding heavily from his broken nose, moving slowly.

The second man started toward the window, but I grabbed his leg, using my body weight to drag him down. He kicked at me, his boot connecting with my ribs in an explosion of pain, but I held on.

"She's getting away!" he snarled, trying to shake me off. "And this bitch just murdered him!"

By the time they'd untangled themselves from me and reached the window, Callista was long gone. I could hear them cursing, could see them scanning the treeline, but there was no sign of her pale dress among the green shadows.

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