Page 367 of The First Taste
“Hades!” she says, a wild look in her eyes.
I raise my finger to my lips. “Shhh.” I beckon for her to move closer. As she scrambles to the edge of the bed, I lean down and whisper close to her ear. “Someone is in the house. The air smells like they have started a fire.”
Persephone's lips part. Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my god.”
I hear a stair squeak. “Shit. They are coming. We have to move.”
I head to her window, pushing the curtain aside to peer out. The tree is a little farther from here but there is a thin ledge that runs along the rooftop. The far edge of the rooftop practically dead ends into the twisted, gnarled branches of the oak.
Heaving the window sash up, I jerk my head toward the warm night air. Persephone has pulled on a pair of ballet flats and looks around.
“Let me just find my iPad,” she says.
My eyes narrow into slits. “Fuck the iPad. We have to go.”
She licks her lips and nods almost absently. I move toward her with a growl, and she fixes me with a wide-eyed look.
“I’m coming,” she says, raising her hands. She sidesteps in order to avoid me, scuttling toward the door.
Trying to avoid being touched, I suppose. But I don’t care what she wants at all. As soon as she approaches the window, I grab her by the arms and hoist her outside.
She makes a soft sound of complaint, but I ignore it. Instead, I’m listening intently for footsteps outside in the corridor while I jam my big body through the window. I take a breath and lower the window sash before I turn to size up the situation.
We are standing on a very narrow ledge. Beyond the little strip of roof is the darkened yard. Other than the tree at the far end of the roof, I can’t make out a damned thing.
“Go,” I grate out, jerking my head toward the tree. “Be quick.”
She gives me a dazed glance and then starts cautiously making her way down the long edge. Listening intently, I realize that there is someone clunking around upstairs.
It won’t take them very long to realize that we’re not in bed. And if it were me searching for someone, my next logical guess would be to look out the window.
“Hurry,” I say, low and urgent.
Persephone nods and picks up the pace. Her eyes are glued on the darkness below, gauging the distance.
“Just get to the tree,” I hiss. “Quickly, lass.”
It’s only a few hundred feet but it feels interminable. Persephone clings to the house and stares at the tree like it’s her only lifeline.
Below, the smoke rises in the air. I can actually feel the air growing hotter but now is not the time to say anything. My brain is trying to think through all the possibilities of where we should go once we make it to the ground. Persephone gets to the end of the ledge and tries to turn. She gives me a heart attack when she stumbles and throws her arms out, trying to balance herself.
I reach out and grab her, keeping her from tumbling off the roof.
Her relieved glance is all the thanks I need. She takes another two steps and then jumps to the tree.
Then all hell breaks loose. Behind me, I hear a distinct shout. I brace as a shot whooshes past my ear.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Another shot is fired, this one sinking into the house very close to my head.
Time slows. I have to make a decision. Jump or maybe get shot.
I know which one has better odds.
I drag in a huge breath and launch myself off the roof, covering my head. I hear two more gunshots before I hit the ground hard, landing on my right leg. The ground beneath me is soft grass but I still land awkwardly, the breath knocked out of my lungs in a sharp jolt.
I see Persephone climbing down the tree trunk and I start to rise. Pain shoots through my right leg but I ignore it as best as I can.
