Book 10: He's My Mate

Aviva

The air in my old home is humid. The sucking, sticky kind that makes me feel dirty and uncomfortable. Summer swept through the Deadlands last night after what felt like weeks of rain, and now, what’s left of the moisture hangs in the heated air, weighing me down, making me sweat, stopping the tears from completely drying on my cheeks. 

I brush them away with the backs of my hands and press my back to the cool, stone wall in the center hall, trying to gather myself. My heart is still beating rapidly. I arrived in Endova less than an hour ago. Far less. I still can’t catch my breath, and my legs are on fire from running like my life depended on it–because Ryan’s life was in my hands… clenched between my teeth. 

I run my fingers over my knife belt, counting hilts. I absently reach over my shoulder and count each arrow in my quiver. I make note of the press of the bow against my back, the strength of the leather of my new halter. <