I wave again, a little more vigorously, and finally, he lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers.
“God, the movies made it sound like making friends would be hard, but it’s not, is it? I already have four amazing besties.” I clap my hands together enthusiastically.
“Friends?” Krystian draws his brows together.
“Besties?” Everett growls, then he bends to grab my dagger, still embedded in the hellhound’s side. He cries out in pain anddrops the weapon, shaking out his fingers. “What the fuck?! It burned me!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” I awkwardly reach for the dagger and slide it into my thigh sheath.
“What the hell is that thing?” Everett demands, still staring at his fingers like they betrayed him.
“It’s her version of a scythe,” Zaid answers, appearing stunned. He forks his fingers through his dark hair, ruffling the strands. “Fuck, this is insane.”
“It fucking burned me!” Everett repeats.
“It didn’t want you to touch it,” Rafe deadpans.
Krystian takes a tentative step forward. “Why don’t we bring her back to the hotel for now? Just until we have more information.”
“Someone keep an eye on her at all times,” Everett grunts out, still glaring at me.
“Oh. A hotel? I’ve never been to a hotel before. How far away is it? Does it have a pool? A hot tub? Let’s go!” I begin to skip ahead of them, but before I can make it more than a few steps, someone grabs the veil of my dress and gives it a tug.
“Wrong way,” Rafe says, still staring at me with unnerving intensity.
I give him a two-finger salute and then hurry in the opposite direction, jumping over the dead hellhound bodies.
This is fucking awesome.
This isnotfucking awesome.
“How much longer?” I whine, dragging my feet.
My bruised, bloody feet.
Apparently, walking barefoot through a forest is a big no-no.
“Why the fuck aren’t you wearing shoes?” Everett snarls.
He has only just seemed to realize my current predicament, his eyes intent on the blood staining my soles as I hold one up after the other to inspect them.
“Because I was incorporeal and never had to worry about shit like this,” I snap back.
Apparently, pain makes me crabby. Who would’ve thought?
“Here.” Krystian moves in front of me and kneels down.
I stare at his back in disbelief.
What the fuck does he want me to do?
Wipe my blood off on his shirt?
Before I can voice my question out loud, I feel hands on my waist, hoisting me in the air. The tan, bloody hands tell me they belong to Rafe.
A second later, I’m on Krystian’s back, my legs dangling. I instinctively squeeze his throat in a death grip.
“Can’t. Breathe,” Krystian rasps.
