Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) - By Rebecca A. Rogers Page 0,37

across the expanse, only mere feet from where I stand. Should we make one small misstep, we’re done. Terminado. Finito. O-V-E-R.

This is a fucking suicide mission.

Candra, focus!

I yank myself away from bad thoughts and concentrate on the weapon maze of death. Damn it, I don’t want to die in the sixteenth century. I’m not going to die, I chant to myself.

That’s my girl, Ben encourages, with his award-winning smile. In three . . . two . . . one . . . NOW!

We bolt just as one axe swings upward, the other on its way down. Ben was right: there’s a brief clearing in between the next set. I clutch his hand so tightly his fingers are white from loss of circulation. Pausing for only a few moments, we wait until the next axe zings through the space ahead before moving again. The other axe descends, the breeze it produces lightly nipping my backside. I scream, but I’m quick to silence myself, in case the witches are within hearing range. As soon as we’re free, Ben wraps his arms around me, resting his head atop mine. My body won’t stop trembling.

“We made it, baby,” he soothes. “We’re going to be out of here soon.”

The words no more exit his mouth than a loud crrraaaccck reverberates from our left. Even without glimpsing in that direction, I know another tree has fallen into the dark, shadowy abyss below. A flimsy clunk indicates I’m correct—the next tripwire has snapped.

“Shit,” Ben mumbles. Shaking his head, he says, “One more time, Princess.”

He and I run through the axes, which actually are in sync with each other, making the task of passing through them more difficult; while they both swing left or right, they cover an expansive amount of space. We’ll have to run either farther to the left or farther to the right, if we want to make it through. We choose left.

Almost immediately, the last tree breaks off at the roots; it groans loudly, until it collapses into the pit. Ben decides not to stop, believing we can make it before the final set of axes swoop down from the branches and ties holding them in place.

“Ben, we’re not going to make it!” My eyes skimming up toward the trees, I notice the momentum of the axes is faster than either of us anticipated. They’re also farther out than the other three sets, which will be an issue, since we’re going for it. “Ben, run!”

Kicking his legs into warp speed, he practically drags me along with him. The edge of the forest is just ahead, if we can manage to get there in time. In my peripheral vision, I see the axe to my right descending at an alarming rate of speed. If my swift calculations are accurate, Ben and I will meet the axe at the same location, at the same time. This obviously isn’t good.

“Faster, Candra!” Ben bellows.

My legs ache from pushing them to their limit, but if I want to live, I have to get past that exact spot before the axe does. This is like watching a car accident happen in slow motion—there’s nothing I can do to stop it, and the seconds seem to tick by in sluggish increments. Down, down, down descends the axe. Coming straight at me. My mind is one big pile of mush as I try to block out the insane possibility I might not be alive in five seconds.

Five. “Almost there, Candra! Stay with me!” Ben yells over the steady whoosh-whooshes occurring behind us.

Four. I squeeze the shit out of Ben’s hand, and he does the same with mine.

Three. Less than twenty feet to go.

Two. The axe is so close that I inadvertently bite my tongue and taste blood.

One. I scream when Ben attempts to yank me out of the way at the last minute, but the axe descends too quickly and catches the back of my skirt, carrying me with it. My fingers slip out of his grasp, and he frantically chases after me. With the axe swinging upward into the trees, my face snags on several branches. I cry out, but I’m silenced by the tree’s limbs slicing my lips. Cold air stings my open cuts, and liquid warmth seeps from the wounds. As I descend with the axe, Ben eagerly waits, his hands deftly snatching me when I pass through again. We tumble to the ground. My face feels like it’s on fire. I don’t know how badly I’m bleeding, but