A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(10)

With false coolness I took the flask from his hands, his knuckles caked in dirt, and looked over to the injured soldier.

I had gone my whole life keeping my power hidden. Never letting anyone see exactly what I was able to do. My mother had told me years ago that there would always be people who would try to take advantage of my gift, and that was before the war. Now everyone was suffering all the time, and my ability was even more valuable.

There was no way to heal this man without using my abilities. He would be dead in the next hour, if not sooner. But I couldn’t use my power without Bert seeing. Even if I faked an incantation, my power didn’t look like witch magic. There was no earthy wind, no static. It just seeped out of my fingers.

Even if he wasn’t leering behind me, if this broad soldier stood and walked out of the house after an injury like this, I wouldn’t be able to credit my excellent surgical skills.

A furious shiver ran up my spine at the choice in front of me.

But it wasn’t really a choice at all—I couldn’t let this man die, nor could I let them kill me too.

I steeled myself.

“This will hurt,” I said to Broad Man.

He nodded stoically, and I poured the spirit on his bloody wound and my hands. He groaned in agony but held still.

Then I held my hands over his chest and breathed deeply.

Humming while my senses pulsed through the soldier, I felt his organs fuse back together, blood pumping slower, heart rate lowering. The fabric of his skin weaved into fresh, new flesh which bloomed under my palms.

My own heart rate slowed, too. Adrenaline cooling in my veins, and tension unfurling in my stomach. My eyes fluttered open and connected with Broad Man’s. They were stunned, watching as his body put itself back together like a broken toy. The man’s breathing returned to a less frightening pace, and the gash became an ugly, ragged pink scar across his abdomen.

I sighed as I closed my eyes, just long enough to gather some courage. All he needed now was a bandage, and I was not going to let the piggish lieutenant humiliate me. In one swift movement, I pulled my tunic over my head, leaving me in a thin, sleeveless camisole. I tried to ignore Bert’s searing gaze on my breasts.

I wrapped the blouse around the Broad Man’s injury and tied it tightly.

Bert stood up behind me and paced contemplatively through my kitchen. He was deciding my fate.

I could hardly breathe. I had never felt fear like this. Fear that shook my jaw, my hands, my very bones.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Broad Man rasped, but Bert was still lost in thought. Broad Man turned one weak eye toward me.

“And thank you, girl.”

I nodded my head imperceptibly.

“How did you do that? Are you a witch?”

I shook my head. “How are you feeling?” My words came out so soft I wasn’t sure if I had really spoken.

“A lot less close to death.”

“All right,” Bert snapped. “Let’s go find the kid. We’ll take the girl with us.”

No, no, no, no—

But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe—too much terror was coursing through me; it was making my heart race so fast I was close to vomiting on the broad soldier beneath me.

I couldn’t let them find my family. Bert couldn’t be within a foot of Leigh. I shot a begging, pleading stare to Broad Man, who had the decency to look even more pained than he had when he was dying.

But two soldiers were already coming back in to help carry him out.

I scanned the kitchen. Bert had walked out.

If I was going to run, this was likely my only shot.

Pulse thrumming in my ears, I sprang up and sprinted for the bedrooms. I had a better shot of making it out of a window than the front door, with all the armored men waiting outside. The two soldiers shouted at me to stop, their voices deep bellows that rang through my bones, my teeth—but I kept moving, dodging one outstretched hand after another. Around the hearth, past the kitchen table, until I threw my mother’s bedroom door open.

There was the window.

Right above her bed, sheets and blankets still rumpled. It smelled like her—sage and sweat and ginger.

I was so close.

So close—

But I was also so tired. Between healing Mr. Doyle, Ryder’s shoulder, and the Broad Man’s entire abdomen, I was dizzy and fatigued, my limbs weak, my breath uneven. I pushed my legs as hard as I could, vision blurring, and my fingers finally, finally, just barely grazed the checkered cloth curtains that framed the window—

Until a calloused hand wrapped around my shoulder and yanked me back with immeasurable force, slamming me into his chest.

No. No.

“She’s a right quick one, isn’t she?” he said to the panting soldier whom I had narrowly dodged around the hearth.

“Stones, yeah,” he heaved, hands on his knees.

A scream flew from my throat—furious and wild and dripping with fear.

“Enough of that,” the soldier snapped, throwing a dirt-caked hand over my mouth and nose.

I couldn’t breathe.

My arms thrashed wildly, and he released his hand from my face to hold my arms with both hands.

“Don’t make me knock you out, girl. I don’t want to, but I will to shut you up.”

I bit down on my tongue, hard enough to hurt.

I had to get a hold of myself. Had to—