Page 65 of Faith Among Monsters

Other roof. Standing. Alive.

Blood.

The whole world tilts.

She’s covered in it.

I can’t think. My pulse slams through me like a war drum. Is it hers? Is she hurt?

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m running.

Trip is still on my ass.

“Faith!” My voice is raw, half-relief, half-rage.

The catwalk sways under me as I take it in long, ground-eating strides.

She’s running toward me now. “Dax!”

The second I make it to the roof, I grab her, pulling her against me like I need to feel her breathing to believe she’s still standing. She’s so fucking small, but she’s solid. Warm. Whole.

Then I see it up close.

Blood. Too much fucking blood.

I grip her tighter, my hands moving over her arms, her waist, searching. If she’s hit, if she’s hiding it from me, I’ll fucking lose it. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m not.” Her voice is steady, like she’s reassuring a wounded animal. “It’s not my blood.”

I stare at her, at the red streaked across her skin, her clothes. I feel it, tacky and warm, smearing under my fingertips.

Not hers.

Fuck.

I tip my forehead against hers, dragging in air like I can pull her into me. “Every time I leave you.” I can’t even finish. I turn to Zachs and Wilkes. My pulse is still hammering. They let her get bloody. “You let her get bloody.”

Faith exhales, exasperated. “It’s not my blood.”

Zachs grins, easy and sharp, like this is all some big fucking joke. “She’s savage.” But as the guards behind us finally start closing in, something shifts. He smooths a hand over his jaw and laughs. “I call seconds, when you’ve had your fill of her.”

I go rigid.

I know what he’s doing. Playing his part, keeping the guards from getting suspicious. Doesn’t mean I like hearing that shit. I pull Faith closer, tight enough to remind everyone watching who the fuck she belongs to. “Fuck around and find out.” My voice is low, dangerous.

Zachs smirks but doesn’t push it. Wilkes doesn’t say a damn thing, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes.

I don’t like this. We’re outnumbered.

Trip and I stand alone with only Jinx, a tweaked-out wildcard, as backup.

Not great odds.

I turn to Quince. “We’re going to pull some fuckwits off the back dock,” I tell him, voice flat. “Take everyone to solitary. It’s already locked down. Stay to the roofs, clear as much as you can along the way. You won’t have to fight your way in when you hit the ground.”

He doesn’t argue.

The others? They hesitate. Tension tightens the air like a tripwire. No one speaks up, but I catch it, the flick of eyes, the way shoulders stiffen, the way fingers tighten around weapons. They don’t trust this arrangement. Don’t trust me.

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