Black Holes - The Mors Mortis Trilogy Book 3

Chapter Seventeen

Jared had never felt as hopeless as he did when those creatures crept towards him, hunting him in the darkness.

He knew that whatever action he chose would only dig his grave deeper. Standing still was impossible, if not for the fact that they knew where he was, then for the adrenaline coursing through him. But moving was a death sentence too — every step announcing his location like a homing beacon.

He had a feeling death here, in the jaws of those things, wasn't something he'd come back from either, even with the gifts Brenton had forced on him. And if that wasn't the case, if he lived through it, that fate was even worse.

The adrenaline was what ended up deciding it. He needed an outlet, a way to keep his heart rate down, even if it only bought him a couple more hours.

He crept away from those monsters, knowing his breath was too loud, that his steps echoed through the silence like gunshots.

Maybe he could find something to hide behind, some landform to shield. But he'd seen the expanse of this place when that light appeared, the barrenness of it. If any landforms existed, they lay far off. He'd never reach them in time.

So, he forced himself to a stop again, listening. For a long moment, his breathing was the only noise, rattling and broken, but then he heard a clank of metal, a clatter of steps. The noise was light, fast, and heading directly for him — much quicker than the creatures he crept from.

Jared slid a dagger from his backpack, forcing his mind to sink into that killing calm he'd been trained to find.

Confidence in a fight is as dangerous as any weapon, Brenton's voice echoed through his head. If you've got the clearer mind, you always have the upper hand.

The memory was like a splash of icy water, and Jared gritted his teeth. Those steps came closer. Of course Brenton would find him here, in his last moments. Of course he'd play a part in this.

It was only once the footfalls were mere metres away, when they'd nearly reached the point of his dagger, that he heard another sound alongside them. A hiss of his name, muttered under a breath, as if searching for him.

Human. Or at least, mimicking humans.

Jared had a split second to decide whether he'd finally gone crazy or not.

He'd just pulled the knife away, pointing the tip to the ground, when something crashed into him. His chin hit a forehead, his stomach receiving an elbow, and he let out a grunt as he staggered back, his arms swinging around whatever had collided with him to hold them still.

The sprinter came to a stop, sucking in a deep breath, and for a moment he blinked at the darkness, as if he could see who it was. Because it was a who. He was sure of that now. Hair tickled his cheek, long and soft, and warmth spread through his palms, across his chest where they touched.

Jared felt a rush of something, everything — panic, relief, guilt, nausea. He wanted to tell them to leave, to keep running, that they'd found him at the worst possible time.

But then the person spoke, and every thought he had shattered to bits.

"Jared?"

The voice was determined and frightened and so so familiar his knees went weak.

"Jared, you need to keep moving."

He sucked in a breath, hope and terror exploding inside him like starbursts.

"Leah?"

Hands touched his face, brushed along his lips, and then she was fisting his shirt, tugging him after her.