spinning between her fingers. Instead of growing larger like it normally did, it grew tighter and more compact. Wyatt clutched his hat and dove behind the cart. When a few white sparks flickered from the core, Gem raised her arm and hurled the ball at the ground.
The explosive impact knocked everyone off their feet.
Christian stuck his fingers in his ringing ears as he sat up. A charred stench filled the air. Claude waved away the haze of dirt, the lights on the cart illuminating every particle of debris.
Wyatt hurried over and peered into the crater. “Holy Toledo! She blew a hole to China.”
Christian jumped into the pit without looking. Gem had aimed off-center, so the hole wasn’t invading Raven’s mother’s plot. Christian found it easy to sweep the loose dirt aside until he knocked against the coffin.
“Shut your eyes,” he said loudly, hoping Raven could hear him.
Christian punched through the wood before shoving his hand inside and breaking off the top half. He flung it out of the hole, and Wyatt cursed before the lid thumped against the ground.
Nothing could have prepared him for that moment. Though twice buried, Christian had never imagined that Raven would endure the same horror. He sat on the bottom half of the casket and waited. Her eyes were still beneath the closed lids, and when someone shined a flashlight into the coffin, Gem gasped.
“Tell me she’s not dead,” Gem whimpered, shocked by Raven’s purple complexion.
Christian looked at the blood on her tank top by a tear no wider than a dagger. There were also small spatters in another area. She must have put up a hell of a fight before healing herself. He reached out and touched her feverish cheek. Her heartbeat was faint, like a distant drip from a bathroom faucet.
He shook her. “Breathe, Raven. Wake up! You’re not dead.”
Her mouth suddenly opened and made a horrific sound as she pulled in oxygen. Christian watched her chest heave and body arch grotesquely, as if she were some undead creature coming to life. The second gasp was smoother than the first, but her reflexes kicked in and she clawed at thin air.
“Tell her she’s okay,” Gem said between sniffles. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
Claude slid into the grave behind Christian. “Pull her out of there.”
“Give her a minute,” Christian said, his voice as sharp as a razor’s edge.
“A minute for what?”
Christian looked over his shoulder at the Chitah. “To wake herself up from death. You can’t just jerk a man out of his own coffin.”
“He’s right,” Wyatt said from above. “Boy, does this bring back memories. Doesn’t it, Christian?”
Raven’s skin coloring slowly returned, but the capillaries had burst, giving her a sunburned appearance. She opened her eyes and gaped up as if she couldn’t see the two men crouched on her coffin. Her eyes had hemorrhaged and were bloodshot.
“We’re here, Raven,” he said calmly. “You’re not dead, and you’re not permanently blind. It goes away.”
Christian made a fist when she touched her face. Her knuckles were bloodied and bruised. She must have spent hours trying to punch a hole through the coffin.
“Get me out of here,” Raven croaked. She sat up and reached out blindly until she found Christian’s knees. “How long?”
“No more than a day.”
“A day?” she asked in disbelief.
He knew that feeling. Once the air ran out, time moved differently.
“Who did this,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Christian helped her to stand and then encased her in his arms as if she might fly away from this world at any moment.
Claude dipped his head into the casket and then stood. “It’s been too long, Christian. I can’t pick up another scent. All that’s left is rage, fear, and sweat.”
Christian felt as if a piece of him had returned. “I found you,” he whispered, nuzzling against her hair. “I won’t let you go.”
Chapter 37
Christian stared into the fireplace. The wood was now ashen and brittle, and deep cracks exposed the intense heat within. Though it wasn’t winter anymore, the mansion held a chill at night that affected the others. He looked over his shoulder at Raven, still asleep in his bed.
More like passed out.
On the drive home, it had taken her ten or fifteen minutes before she could breathe without hyperventilating. Christian remembered the process of getting acclimated to oxygen after resurfacing from the ground the first time he was buried. The second time was in Martha Cleavy’s tomb, but thankfully that one wasn’t airtight. There hadn’t