Hidden Huntress - Danielle L. Jensen Page 0,175

every one she dragged Sabine back.

“I do,” she replied, blue eyes glittering. “But in case I’m wrong, I’ve another plan. Just in case.”

The hammer on a pistol clicked, and I went very still. Turning my head slightly, I saw the young man who had played the devil – Julian – was standing in the shadowy entrance to a room, his weapon leveled at my head.

She sighed softly. “Five hundred years have passed, and you trolls still have not learned.”

“Learned what?”

Anushka smiled. “That you are not invincible. These weapons did not exist when I lived amongst your kind, but knowing what I know, I’m confident that even one of your power will not easily survive a bullet to the head.”

I did not doubt she was correct. “Then what are you waiting for,” I said. “Do it.”

“Not just yet,” she said. “I need Cécile first. In.” She jerked her chin at the room behind me.

I didn’t move.

Anushka pressed her revolver hard against Sabine’s head. “If her life means nothing to you, then I see no point in keeping her alive.”

Sabine’s eyes met mine, and while there was no mistaking the fear in them, they were dry. Determined. She gave a slight shake of her head.

There was a good chance I could move fast enough to disarm Julian and save myself. But there was no chance of saving both of us. I’d told Cécile that rightly or wrongly, some lives were worth more than others. By all the rules of logic, what was Sabine’s life worth compared to mine? What consequences would result from her death in comparison to mine?

But all that logic seemed meaningless.

“Too late you realize the cost of allying yourself with a troll,” Anushka said softly into Sabine’s ear. “They will protect you only when there is no cost to themselves. They have no souls.”

“Says the black-hearted bitch who murders her own children.” Sabine lifted her chin. “Don’t listen to her, Tristan. Kill her.”

Anushka tsked softly. “Cécile will never forgive you for killing her mother. Or for letting her dear friend die.”

I inhaled, then exhaled slowly. Cécile had discovered Genevieve and Anushka were one and the same. Had discovered it and hadn’t told me, which was no small act of will given the compulsion she was under to destroy the witch. It was something only possible if a greater emotion ruled her actions.

Love.

Though Genevieve had done nothing to deserve it, I knew my wife desperately loved her mother and that she’d kept the information from me to protect her. Cécile was coming our direction, her mind desperate and wild with fear. But was it fear for what Anushka might do to me or of what I might do to her mother? “If I do what you ask, will you let Sabine go?” I’d keep her friend safe – that much I could do.

“No,” Anushka replied, a smile creeping onto her lips. “But I won’t put a bullet in her skull.”

I didn’t trust her for a second, but what choice did I have? “Fine.” Turning slowly so as not to alarm the devil standing behind me, I walked into the room, ignoring the pistol that remained leveled at my head.

Anushka pushed Sabine in after us, kicking the wooden door shut behind her. The room was a set of living quarters, well furnished and unremarkable with the exception of the heavy chains set deep into the thick stone of the walls and floor. Anushka shoved Sabine. The girl tripped over the heavy skirts and would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her.

“Chain him.”

“Not a chance,” Sabine said, righting herself. “Feel free to do your worst, but I won’t…”

Anushka’s gun fired.

FIFTY-SIX

CÉCILE

The swing took a thousand years to lower, and I jumped off when it was still several feet above the ground. Ignoring the startled looks, I sprinted toward the exit and into the hall, letting instinct guide me in Tristan’s direction, screaming a mental warning to him even as I felt his shock and knew it had come too late. My bare feet made little noise as I ran through the narrow corridors. If she kills him, it will be your fault, my conscience whispered, and I knew it was true. I’d thought I could have it both ways, and now I was paying for my mistake.

The sharp bark of a pistol firing filled the corridors, and I tripped on the hem of my skirt and fell, barely feeling the pain as the rough stone floors ripped the palms of my thin gloves.

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