Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles #2) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,112
mind screamed at her for leaving Wolf behind. Her muscles burned, her head pounded with the rush of blood. She could only focus on putting one foot in front of another. Ignoring the burning. Ignoring the sharp stabbing pain in her side. Blinking away the sweat. One. More. Step.
Something sliced across her back. She heard the rip of fabric, a loud thump, and then something grabbed her ankle. She screamed and collapsed at the bottom of the ramp. Fingernails buried themselves into the flesh of her calf and she cried out in pain.
Whistle. Thud.
The hand released her.
Scarlet kicked the man in the jaw before scrambling up the rest of the ramp, into the gaping hull of the ship. She flew into the cockpit and stumbled into the pilot’s seat. They hadn’t bothered to stop the engines and the ship rumbled and purred around her. Her motions were automatic. She could barely see for the salty sting of sweat in her eyes. Her heartbeat felt like horse’s hooves trampling her chest.
But her fingers knew what to do as they breezed over the panel.
“Captain? Cinder?”
Startled, she spun back toward the door, but there was no one there. “Who’s there?”
A momentary silence, then: “Who are you?”
Scarlet swiped the sweat from her forehead. The ship. The ship was talking to her.
“I’m Scarlet. We need to get ready for takeoff. Can you—”
“Where are Thorne and Cinder?”
“Right behind me. Is this ship equipped with auto lift?”
A series of lights lit up on the panel. “Auto lift and auto magnetic stabilizers.”
“Good.” She reached for the thruster output control and waited to hear the sound of footsteps on the ramp.
A drop of sweat slid down to her temple. She gulped, harshly, failing in her attempt to wet her sandpaper throat.
“What’s taking them so long?” Swiveling the chair around, she threw herself toward the cockpit entrance and peered past the cargo bay.
Wolf’s prone body was laid out not a dozen steps from the end of the ramp, and there were Linh Cinder and her friend, standing back to back.
They were surrounded by seven Lunar operatives, and the thaumaturge.
Forty-Two
Cinder sensed the thaumaturge before she saw him, like a snake slithering into her brain. Urging her to stop running. To stand still and be captured.
Her right leg obeyed—her left kept going.
With a yelp, she crashed to her hands and knees. The unconscious man—Wolf?—nearly crushed her before his body rolled away. Thorne cried out and tripped, barely able to catch himself before falling.
Cinder jumped back to her feet and spun around.
The men came out of the shadows, from the alleyways, around corners, from behind the ship, each with their glowing eyes and sharp canines bared. Seven in all.
She spotted the thaumaturge, handsome as they always were, with curly black hair and a chiseled face. He wore a red coat—a second level thaumaturge.
Backing up, she collided with Thorne.
“So…,” he murmured. “How many more darts do you have?”
The thaumaturge’s dark irises sparkled with moonlight.
“One.”
She doubted the thaumaturge could have heard her, but he smiled serenely and tucked his hands into his maroon sleeves.
“Right,” said Thorne. “In that case.”
He snatched the officer’s stolen gun from his belt and spun, aiming for the thaumaturge. Then froze.
“Oh no.”
From the corner of her eye, Cinder saw Thorne’s arm curl back, change direction, until the barrel was aimed at her temple instead.
“Cinder…” His voice nearly broke from panic.
The thaumaturge’s expression remained complacent.
Cinder held her breath, stilling her nerves, and targeted her last tranquilizer at Thorne’s leg. The thunk made her cringe, but within seconds the gun had clattered from Thorne’s fingers and his body collapsed motionless on top of Wolf’s.
A warm laugh spilled out of the thaumaturge. “Hello, Miss Linh. How pleasant to make your acquaintance.”
She swooped her gaze over the seven men. They were all threatening, hungry, ready to pounce on her and tear her limb from limb at the slightest provocation.
Somehow, she preferred that to the thaumaturge’s gleeful amusement. At least with these men there was no misinterpreting their intentions.
She’d taken three steps forward before she realized it. She braced herself and strained to keep her feet still, wobbling for a moment before finding balance and standing solid on the pavement, at the same time that her bionics picked up on the intrusion.
The text vanished as Cinder regained purchase of her own thoughts, her own body. Her brain was being stretched in two directions as the thaumaturge failed to control her, her own Lunar gift fighting against him.