Chapter 7

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Panic tears through me, lashing its unforgiving claws up my throat. My every impulse tells me to sprint across the camp to my friends, to get them as far away from the Red Movement as possible. But I know that such an action will backfire. So instead, I remain rooted to the spot, eyes locked on the squadron from the Red Movement.

The wail of the man who was shot has attracted the attention of my friends and Callisto and Thane, who at once all spill out of the tent on the far side of the camp. The Red Movement soldiers immediately train their weapons on them.

"Stop!" I shriek and dart forward into the light of the blazing fire. The arrows turn back to me and I raise my hands. "It's me you want, isn't it?"

"Elle!" Ruben yells but I ignore him, training my glare on the Red Movement.

"Grab her!" someone in the squadron orders. Four large men march forward and before I can protest, snatch me by the arms. I thrash and writhe, shouting profanities, although only briefly, as the sleek blade of a dagger meets my throat.

"I suggest that you stay still and compliant, Elizabeth," one man says, the one holding the blade. He must be the general. He glances up at my friends. "I also suggest that none of you tries anything stupid."

"You will not kill me," I fairly spit, grinning maliciously. "Edward Mallory needs me, does he not?"

The general mirrors my grin. "He does. But he does not need vermin like this tribe getting in the way of obtaining his noble goals. We will douse the camp with gasoline and set it alight. No one will make it out alive."

Pure hatred surges through my veins and I work up a wad of saliva in my mouth and spit it in his face. "Fuck you," I hiss as he gasps, retracting away, cursing. The momentary respite gives me the opportunity to attempt to wrestle out of the grip of the men. I almost wrangle myself free but the general recovers quickly, bringing the knife back with surprising speed and the blade catches in my throat. Fire licks up my neck and I let out a strangled scream. I vaguely hear both Ruben and Aston yell out as I double over, cupping my throat. Warmblood streams through my fingers and dribbles onto the soil. I feel light headed and my vision blurs. Through the distorted images, I see Aston bring his sword through the chest of the general. The man wails, gurgling blood before collapsing heavily to the side. At once, the grips around my arms loosen. Aston grabs me by the wrist and yanks me forward.

"Run, Elle, run!" he shouts and somehow I manage to kick my feet out from under me and stumble forward. I catch up with the others who have begun running into the trees. Ruben materialises beside me and grabs my hand when I hesitate and the pair of us tear forward.

What are you doing? My conscious screams at me as my feet kick up dirt. Turn around! Don't leave all those people behind!

I dig my heels into the soil and Ruben lets out a yelp when I yank his arm sharply as I do so. I spin around and sprint back the way I came. Ruben yells my name. But I don't stop. I don't turn back. I only urge myself forward.

"Don't hurt anyone!" I shriek as I stumble back into the clearing, not bothering to hide the desperation in my cry. "Don't hurt them, for the love of God. You want me. Take me, instead!"

I expect the people of the Red Movement to ignore me, to douse the camp in gasoline anyway and set it alight. I expect to watch the camp become engulfed by flames, to be destroyed in minutes, to take its inhabitants with it. But instead, the people in the Red Movement have not changed position at all. Furthermore, they laugh. One, collective, taunting laugh, a cacophony of disturbing cackles.

Then, one woman in the centre of the group grins at me maliciously. "We knew you'd come back, Red Leaf."

An all-too-familiar sharp pang shoots up my leg and I let out an instinctive groan. A tranquil dart protrudes from my flesh. The bittersweet drug immediately begins to take effect. My vision blurs. My mind clouds. Just before I collapse to my knees, I catch the distorted image of Ruben as he bursts into the clearing. Hands grab me roughly by the arms.

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