James pressed himself lower against the rain-slick roots of the nearest stump, his heartbeat hammering against his ribs. He hoped the storm would cover him, his movements, his trembling.

  But the fort stood vigilant, a beast carved from stone, eyes searching.

  The spotlights cut through the darkness in slow, deliberate sweeps. Lanterns mounted along the walls spilled light across the field of mud and stumps. Each pass illuminated the grotesque trophies impaled on the spikes, their armor gleaming wet with gore and rain. James forced himself to look past them.

  Just don't look You've seen death before.

  The gates were slowly closing. A dull grinding sound could be heard over the murmur of the men on the wall. The creature stood just beyond, its massive form outlined in flickering torchlight. Its hulking frame shifted with unnatural grace, and its axe carved lazy circles in the air. The guards moved around it with reverence, avoiding its gaze and its axe.

  James exhaled slowly. Measured.

  I can make it.

  He counted the gaps between their sweeps.

  One, Two, Three, Four, Five.

  Five seconds of darkness.

  Five seconds to move.

  Now.

  James lunged from cover, boots sinking into the mud as he sprinted toward the next stump. A calm came over him, a calm of a simple task with simple parts.

  Get to the next stump.

  Every movement, every step, felt like stepping across a razor's edge.

  James kept low, kept silent. The rain helped mask his movements, but days of rain had turned the ground into a treacherous sludge threatening to swallow him with every step. He crouched behind another stump, fingers curling into the wet bark.

  Another sweep of the light. Another count in his head. A smile twitching at the edges of his lips, he remembered another time he would count in his head.

  Five. Four. Three. Two—

  He moved faster this time, ducking low as the lantern beam swept just behind him, missing him by inches. He could feel the prickle rising across his spine, a phantom touch of how close he'd come.

  I'm getting closer.

  The gates loomed just ahead, a monstrous maw ready to seal him inside. He had a plan, run, dive, and come up swinging.

  "Did you see that?"

  James froze, about to break the cover. Every muscle in him screamed with the sudden urge to move. A guard stood on the wall, lantern in hand, peering into the rain. The light caught on the stream of water off his helmet. James' fingers inched toward his dagger, twisting to throw it to break the lens of the lantern.

  "Don't be dumb, boy," James swore he could feel a heavy hand settle on his arm.

  With a steadying breath, he sank lower, pressing himself against the mud, heartbeat a war drum in his chest.

  "Probably just the wind," another voice muttered. "Or the crows. Things have been feasting for days."

  James could barely see the first guard hesitate. He held his breath, trying not to shift his weight in the mud.

  "Yeah, probably right." The guard said, lantern turning, and James waited for the light to move off more.

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  James let out a slow, silent breath.

  Not yet.

  Another pass of the spotlight.

  Five. Four. Three. Two—

  He moved. His boots barely touched the ground as he darted forward, reaching the final stretch just outside the gate now. The doors slammed closed with a bang.

  "Fuck." The words escaped before he could stop them. He pushed himself tight against the wall, eyes scanning the top, ensuring no one had heard him.

  It seemed they had not.

  James' hands flexed at his sides. He scanned the gate, the wall, everywhere.

  Think, Think, Think.

  When he tried to pull the gate open, it didn't budge. It was locked solid, as immovable as the mountains themselves. He tried to find a finger hold to scale the walls, but the wall was too smooth to climb.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Fuck” he slammed his hand over his mouth, but this time it was too late.

  The lights spun and locked onto him.

  The ground behind him shuddered with an impact, and James turned to stare into flickering red eyes.

  Crack

  James hadn't seen the heavy fist but felt the impact on his chin.

  His jaw snapped shut, his head rocked back, and his vision blurred and darkened. Before, all he saw was black.

  Sound reached him first. Distant. Warped. Drowned beneath the slow, thick throb of pain pulsing through his skull. Voices bled into each other, muffled and indistinct, like he was hearing them from the bottom of a well.

  James bounced and dragged across the rough stone, his boots scraping uselessly behind him. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too much. His eyelids felt like iron weights, and his brain sloshed against his skull.

  It started in his jaw, cool, refreshing, but glowing, then spread down his spine, through his ribs, building deep in his gut. Something inside him twisted, snapped, and realigned. A sickening crunch echoed in his own head as his jaw set itself back into place. James barely bit back a strangled groan. His body bucked instinctively against the pain, but he forced himself to slacken, letting his limbs hang limp again.

  Not yet. Not yet.

  His breath shuddered. Deep and gnawing hunger clawed through his stomach, turning his insides to an aching void. The healing burned through remnants of last night's meal, consuming it faster than he thought. The hunger demanded more.

  James swallowed back the nausea curling at the back of his throat. Instead, he focused on the voices and tried to force meaning into the sounds beyond the thick haze.

  "—locked away—"

  "—ritual begins at midnight—"

  "—he's not to be touched—Master's orders."

  Master.

  James' fingers twitched, trying to reach for a blade that wasn't there, for the power inside him, but his vision swam, and pain lanced his temples. The rough hands hauled him forward. Each uneven patch sent pain up his backside as he bucked against the floor.

  James slowed his breathing and forced himself to stay loose to keep the tension from his limbs.

  They aren't going to kill me till the ritual. I still have time.

  He could feel the shift in the air before they threw him—a sudden rush: weightlessness, then impact. James hit the cold stone hard, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. His body curled in on itself instinctively as the heavy clang of a metal gate slamming shut rang through his skull.

  James lay there, curled on his side, breath ragged. The sound of boots fading away followed. He could feel the cold of the stone pressing against his back, but it was dry.

  For the first time in days, the floor wasn't wet. James tried to lift his head. Pain lanced through his skull. His vision blurred at the edges, the dark swallowing the corners of his sight.

  I needed food. Soon.

  James counted each breath, slow and measured.

  Focus up. We're running out of time.

  James forced himself into a kneeling position, his hands still bound behind his back. The cell was barely larger than his old room. He bet he could touch each wall if he could only stretch his arms out. Backing slowly, he curled his fingers around the bars, sealing him in. Cold iron. Sturdy. He pulled, gritting his teeth, and felt them shift, but not enough.

  "Come on." Turning, he kicked the bars. Pain exploded in his toe. There was a small, smothered chuckle. James' head snapped toward the sound. She stood there with blond hair and a wicked smile. Blood rushed to James' cheeks.

  "You."

  "The one and only." She gave a slight spin, effortless and teasing. James watched every movement, unsure if she was about to hit him or something else. "I told you not to die."

  "I'm not dead." He squirmed under her gaze as she leaned against the bars, her blond hair falling casually across her face.

  "Sure, Silver-eyes, being locked away, waiting to be sacrificed? That's definitely not dead. Yet." Something in her tone made James' stomach tighten. "Got a plan?"

  "Working on it." He yanked on the bars again. They wobbled but didn't give. "If only my hands weren't bound—"

  "Oh, is that all?" A flick of steel and pain lanced his wrist. The rope fell in a limp coil at his boots.

  "Ow." James turned, rubbing at his skin. The small cut had already begun healing, silver threading through the wound.

  "Baby." She smiled. A mocking, wicked thing.

  James scowled through his eyebrows but said nothing. He grabbed the bars again, planting a foot against them for leverage.

  "Come on." He pulled. The iron buckled, and his foot slipped. He crashed head-first into the bars with a bang before falling backward onto his back. Pain shot up his spine. She smirked down at him.

  "You could help," he said, exasperation in his tone.

  "I could," she said, shifting the weight of her sword across her back. "But if you die, I get paid. And I kinda like money."

  "But you are kinda cute." She tapped her chin, pretending to think.

  "I don't have money." James pushed himself upright, dusting off his pants.

  "Tsk. That is a problem." She leaned against the bars, studying him like an investment gone bad.

  "It really isn't. All you need is a little help from our friends." He braced his foot against the bars again, gripping the iron tight. This time, she moved opposite him.

  "Fine. I guess you and your friends will owe me." She pushed. Her arms trembled, and her boots scraped against the floor. James pulled, teeth clenched, muscles screaming.

  The bars wiggled, then gave.

  With a thunderous crash, the iron wrenched free from the stone, sending dust and debris flying. James threw up an arm to shield his face.

  "Well, I guess that's one way to do it." A soft chuckle. As she dusted off her hands, like breaking out of a cell was no big deal. "You should probably run."

  "Don't you mean we?" James met her gaze, breathless, grinning.

  "Maybe." Her smirk deepened. She turned on her heel and disappeared around the corner. James laughed and ran after her.

  "What's your name?" James reached for her, but she was fast, slipping through the winding hallways like smoke in a storm. He barely caught the flicker of blond hair before she twisted down another passage. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting like fresh snow, and winked. James swore under his breath and pushed harder, boots pounding against the damp stone.

  "You planning on actually helping me or just showing off?" he hissed as they veered around a corner.

  "Who says I can't do both?" she shot back. James barely bit back a curse.

  She's enjoying this.

  Another turn, this time too fast. James skidded on the slick floor, barely catching himself before slamming into a wall. She didn't even slow down.

  "You move like a damn ghost," he muttered, forcing himself back into pace.

  "And you move like a boulder rolling down a mountain," she teased.

  "Strong and unrelenting?" James scowled.

  "Blundering," James growled, pushing forward, but she stopped short, arm snapping out to stop him in his tracks. He just avoided colliding with her. Her hand pressed against his chest, fingers firm, but her head tilted, listening. James held his breath.

  Then he heard it, the sound of boots. Distant but approaching quickly. They weren't going to be alone for long. She turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

  "So, Silver-eyes," she whispered. "I assume you have a brilliant plan?"

  James exhaled sharply, scanning the darkened corridors. A heavy wooden door was to their left, locked. It was a narrow passage leading deeper into the fort, maybe, and a crumbling alcove, just wide enough to fit two.

  "This way." He grabbed her wrist, pulled her toward the alcove, and pressed them into the tight space as the torchlight spilled into the corridor. The guards rounded the corner, their armor clinking, their voices low. James held his breath, his back pressed against the stone, his shoulders brushing against hers. She didn't move. Didn't flinch. If anything, she leaned in closer.

  "My, my," she murmured, voice a breath against his ear. "If you wanted me pressed against a wall, you could have just asked."

  "Can you be serious for two seconds?" James snapped. The heat in his cheeks grew hotter.

  "Oh, I can be very serious," She spun and pressed her body tight against his, Her warmth sinking into his. Her hand shot up against his mouth, the tip of a dagger drawing a trickle of blood from his neck. The guards paused just beyond the alcove, torches causing the shadows to shift and dance. James could feel her breathing against his chest, slow and not concerned. Meanwhile, his pulse drummed like a war beat. Her pressure against him stirred feelings in his gut. The moment stretched on for what felt like forever. Finally, the guards moved on. James met her too-close gaze.

  "Are you done playing around?" he asked. The sound muffled against her palm.

  "Not even close." She grinned and stepped out first, checking both ends of the corridor. "Clear."

  "So, blind girl, that didn't work, did it? What's next?" He followed, double-checking the corridors.

  "We get outside." She said.

  "I can't. Yet. I have to save Max." He said, not meeting her gaze.

  "Brilliant strategy. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" She said, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a shake.

  "Working on it."

  "And here I thought you had everything figured out." She laughed softly.

  "I never claimed that," James muttered.

  "True, you just charge ahead, like always."

  "Are you always this annoying? And what do you mean like always." James shook his head.

  "Never mind that, and only when I'm enjoying myself." James sighed. Why did he feel like he was going to regret asking for her help?

  The beat of the drums got louder and more frantic.

  "I guess we're out of time," James said as they took off, running deeper into the maze of passageways.