Page 3 of Wild River

How have I been so blind? So complacent?

A bird cackles as I rush past, bare feet slapping against the paved path. The edge of the gardens is near, marked by the treeline, and I veer that way then plunge off the stone path into the pines.

A soft layer of dried pine needles carpets the ground for my feet. It’s cooler, shadier, between the trees, and sounds are somehow more hushed and amplified at the same time. Distant bird cries echo through the branches from miles away, but my own ragged breaths are muffled as I hurry through the forest.

Need to slow down a bit in here. The ground is uneven, with sharp rocks and hidden tree roots. Need to watch my feet and pick a path across the forest floor. And it would be easier to pick a path if I had a destination in mind, if I knew where I was running to, but all I can think is:away, away, away.

I’ll figure something out. I’ll get help; I’ll start a new life. Hell, I’ll live in the woods like a cave woman if that’s what it takes to be free.

But first I need to escape. Get away from my family’s impossibly long reach.ThenI’ll figure out the details.

The breeze rustles the branches overhead. Are those shouts behind me? I grit my teeth and run faster again, hissing when a sharp rock cuts into my heel, because yeah, those are definitely shouts. They’re after me. They’re coming.

A desperate sob escapes my mouth, and the slope beneath me gets steeper. I keep running, arms wheeling, fighting for my balance but—it’s no use. My feet slip out from under me, silk dress tearing as I land on my ass and slide.

I don’t fight gravity as it pulls me down the mountainside. Not as those shouts echo through the trees behind me, my family’s self-righteous indignation pursuing me into this forest. If they catch me, I’m done for. Whatever they do to me… I’ll never be free.

So I slide and grunt as my shoulder smashes into a boulder; I let myself flip and tumble and crash over tree roots, and I’m grateful for each new cut and bruise, because they mean I’m getting further and further away from that airless dressing room.

Finally the slope gentles and I stop sliding, coming to a stop in a rumpled, pine needle-covered heap. Every part of me aches as I struggle to my feet, and when my shaky hand reaches up to pat my hair, there’s a bird’s nest worth of twigs. My wedding dress is shredded, torn on one side all the way up to my hip.

Behind me, at the top of the slope, someone yells my name. It echoes down the mountainside.

Heart hammering, I stumble on between the trees.

The forest ends almost without warning. One minute, everything is hushed and cool and shady, scented with pine; the next, springy green grass is beneath my feet, and the sky is wide open overhead once more. There’s a rushing noise, and the air smells like wet rock and green plants.

A river.

Gut sinking, I limp to the edge.

It’s wide, and even to my clueless eye, the current seems fast. Sunshine sparkles off the surface, and the water is so clear you can make out every small rock on the riverbed.

The other bank is too far to jump.

Goosebumps prickle over my skin, and my nipples harden beneath my dress. That water looks soclean.Glacial.It’s going to be freezing, I know it—and rough, and scary, and this might be the last decision I ever make.

So… am I really doing this? Am I really going in there?

“Becca!”

A man bursts from the forest behind me, his groomsman suit torn and dirtied. There are pine needles in his slicked back hair too, and a scuff of dirt on the left knee of his dark pants. He looks pissed.

Glancing back at him over my shoulder, I want to laugh and cry at the same time, because I don’t even recognize this guy. He’s a friend of my fiance’s, maybe, or a distant cousin. Someone loyal enough to the families that he’s willing to chase me down a mountainside and risk snapping his neck.

And now, from the way he’s glaring, he’s about to drag me all the way back to that dressing room by my bird’s nest hair.

“Don’t be stupid,” the guy calls, strolling across the grass toward me. He’s casual now, like we’re at a garden party and I’ve drunk too many cocktails. Like I’m making ascene, just like Aunt Prue said. “If you come back now, we can find another dress. We can make this all go away.”

Liar. There will be consequences for this stunt. Besides, even if he’s telling the truth, going back would makemego away. If I go back there, if I go through with this wedding, I’ll snuff out the last spark of life inside me.

A squirrel darts along a tree branch behind the groomsman—a flash of gray and then gone.

“Stay where you are,” I warn, raising a hand, because he’s still strolling forward. The guy stops, but he sighs like I’m being such a pain in his ass. Such an emotional woman.

Whatever. He’s in his twenties too, around the same age as me. He has no right to boss me around or act like I’m some unruly child.

“That river is full,” the groomsman calls. “Look at it. You won’t stand a chance if you try to cross.”

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