Bound by Prophecy (Descendants Series) - By Melissa Wright Page 0,55

at the other entrance, the one currently blocked by thirty of Council’s men, at the shouting and fighting and gunfire, and then, with a sick expression, impatiently back at Logan.

The door slid open and we were shuffling down the hall in an attempt at running, the two other men splitting up to scout ahead and cover our backs. Three downed guards littered the floor of the corridor.

“We broke in earlier,” Logan explained. “Took out the ones Morgan had planned to surprise us with, disabled some of their security systems. I would have done more, but we didn’t have long before we had to meet up and enter with Brendan. Couldn’t leave them alone.” We turned a corner. Two more men lay prostrate along the walls. “Most of them were tranquilizer darts,” he said, glancing sidelong at me as we moved. “The men weren’t quite ready to kill their brothers.”

“Down!” the scout yelled from the corner to the hallway in front of us. We crouched, Logan releasing my arm to ready his pistol, and gunfire erupted ahead of us.

Emily flinched as a bullet ripped through the arm of our frontman’s jacket. Several more rounds were fired, and then he turned to signal our backup before waving us forward.

“How much farther?” Emily asked, and I realized I was weighing a little too heavily on her slender frame.

Logan pressed a finger against his ear, and said, “Not much, they’ve got clearance at the northeast corner.”

Gunfire and shouting echoed behind us, and Logan picked up the pace to nearly drag me with them. Three Division men appeared in the corridor in front of us, guns at the ready, and ushered us the last ten feet to a door. Sunlight burst into the foyer, and I squinted, snow-blind as they rushed me across the lawn. More gunfire, the chopping sound of helicopter blades, the barking of orders, torturous groans from the wounded, and then I was face down on leather and Emily was curled into the floorboard beneath me.

I reached for her, my hand clutching hers tightly, and promptly passed out from loss of blood.

Chapter Twenty-four

Mending

I smelled Emily’s shampoo, and my mouth turned up at the corners. I was lying face down on clean cotton sheets, one arm under pillows, the other draped over the side of a bed. When I opened my eyes, she was inches away, watching me.

“Hi,” I said in a gravelly voice.

She bit her lip and swallowed hard. “Hi.”

The bedding beneath me was a deep shade of burgundy, and I knew we were no longer in the Fordham house. I glanced briefly around the room. Antique cherry dresser, highly ornate vintage armoire—this would be Southmont.

“How are you?” I asked Emily, and a shaky, breathless laugh escaped her. She’d been watching me for how long? Worried because I’d been shot. I rolled to my side to face her, cupped a hand on her cheek. “I’m fine.”

She was suddenly crying, and I pulled her to me for a hug. “What is it?” I whispered. “Is it Brianna?”

She tilted her head to look at me, wiping absently at her cheek. “No, I… I’m sorry. Everything is fine.” She took a deep breath. “Brianna is downstairs. She’s had a lot of work to do, but she’s fine. Everyone, everyone is fine.”

I sat up, keeping her near as I moved to question her.

She waved a hand. “Logan said you would ask. He said they were trained men, but never hit a lethal mark. Something about brotherhood”—she took another deep breath, this one seemed to steady her—“and that Morgan hadn’t prepared them ahead of time. He said to tell you that was what saved us.” A bit of guilt crossed her face and she looked away.

“What else, Emily?”

She sighed heavily. “And me,” she said. “He said to tell you me.”

Relief flooded me, but I managed to narrow my eyes on her. “So you have Logan taking your side now?”

Her gaze swept up to mine, still damp with tears, and I could see her repentance. “It was so stupid,” she said. “I could have messed up everything.”

“It was stupid,” I said, bringing her chin back up. “But thank you.”

My wrists were clean and smooth. I stretched, testing out my side. “I feel great, actually. How long was I out?”

She glanced at the clock. “About six hours,” she said.

“No, I mean altogether.”

She looked at the clock once more, nodding. “Yeah, that’s about right. The doctors stitched you up a bit.” She glanced down, twisting the hem of her clean