Bound to the Battle God - Ruby Dixon Page 0,98

thought? You’d think I was rubbing him off with a damn cactus instead of my very eager hands.

Arrogant jerk.

How much does it suck that I still think about that night? Like, a lot?

All the time?

Obviously I’m the only one who even gives it much thought at all. But I force a laugh to my throat. “Yeah. That was the worst, wasn’t it?”

“You nearly died and ended our journey very abruptly.”

“You were the one that wanted us to leave quickly! How was I supposed to know the rope was too short?”

“I was referring to the fact that we were both suffering from the parting sickness, but come to think of it, you nearly died twice.” His tone is utterly sour.

Before I can make a protest to that accusation, there’s a low, creaking groan that rolls through the cemetery. Aron pauses, his hand going to my breast as he pulls out one of his blades. I want to point out that he’s grabbing dangerously close to tit-meat, but the look on his face is anything but playful.

There’s danger here. I scoot behind him, my heart pounding as the nighttime cemetery is silent around us except for the blowing wind that teases at my hair.

The creaking sound happens again, followed by a scratching. It’s weird. The sound seems out of place here, and I squint into the darkness, trying to figure it out. “What is that?”

“Hsst,” Aron tells me with a sharp look, indicating I should be silent.

I bite back my irritation, because the sound happens again, followed by another round of scratching. Then more scratching.

Then it sounds like the entire graveyard is full of scratching.

My stomach clenches uneasily. I move closer to Aron. I want to ask what it is. Rats? Lots and lots of rats? An army of insects?

Near my feet, one of the graves shivers, the earth moving. I yelp and stumble backward, and as I do, I turn and see another mound moving, the loose dirt piled atop it rolling away so something can break free.

Oh.

My.

God.

That sound of scratching? Of groaning? It’s people trying to get out of their coffins.

Dead people.

I think of the mass grave, completely uncovered, a moment before I hear a low, gurgling moan coming from that direction.

32

“Aron,” I manage to choke out, wrapping my hand in his cloak. “I would really like to leave now.”

Instead of making a dick comment, he nods tightly and sheaths his blade. Wait, that wasn’t what I suggested. I want him to protect me, damn it. He’s the one that knows how to sword fight and I don’t even have a thing to use as a weapon—

In the next moment, he grabs me by the hips and flings me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes. I don’t protest. I grab double handfuls of his cloak to anchor myself and choke out a “Run!” as Aron sprints down the path, my stomach slamming into his shoulder with every movement.

All that matters is escaping this place, which seems to go from bad to worse with every moment that passes. Aron sprints out a large double gate, and I hear a man bark out a warning. Aron doesn’t even stop, and when the man races alongside him, he casually reaches out, crushes the man’s windpipe, and then keeps sprinting.

Well, then.

Aron races out of the graveyard and into the dark hills. The lights of Katharn dim with every bobbing step and the trees grow thicker on the edges of the road, the hills seeming taller and more shadowy. My stomach begins to protest, bile creeping up my throat, but I fight it back. I can’t be sick right now. I’m still thinking about those awful, scratching sounds and the groaning. The mass grave that was open to the world. I can’t stop shuddering, my skin crawling at the thought of the dead rising.

Eventually, Aron slows, and he’s barely breathing hard. He pulls me off his shoulder and sets me on the ground. “I think we’re a safe distance away unless there’s a few dead along the side of the road.” He glances around, his features creased with annoyance, as if it’s irritating him to run away from the undead.

Me, I can’t stop shaking. I sink to the ground and press a hand to my forehead. “I need a moment.”

“Why? You weren’t running.” But he parks himself on the ground next to me and puts a hand on my nape. “Sick?” At my nod, he rubs the back of my neck, trying

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