Balthazar’s nostrils flared. “You’ll never stop me, bitch. Once you find the journal and deliver it to me, I promise tokillyou, Olivia. The longer it takes for you to find it, the greater the pain I shall exact upon you. I will never leave you until the journal is in my hands.”
I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong.
“Remember something, my beloved,” he said, stroking my cheek with his index finger. “I will always hunt you. I will find and torment you until your last dying breath.”
He drew his face closer to mine and whispered against my skin. “I will take everything you love and weaken your soul until youbelongto me.”
He released my jaw, and my hand flew up to rub away the feel of him.
He shoved me backward and kicked me hard.
I fell to the ground.
“No!” I screamed, wrapping my arms around my bulging belly. I had to keep my child safe, to protect it.
Balthazar disappeared, fading from my eyes as I crumpled to the ground.
This was it. This was my final moment on earth. Wretched, heaving sobs escaped my lungs as I hunched over my belly.
“Olivia! Olivia! Where are you?” Emily cried.
I didn’t answer her. I just continued to sob.
She rushed toward me and fell to the ground beside me. When she rolled me over, her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at my upper abdomen, marked by a demon’s blade. The shallow wound had sealed already but the sting of it lingered.
“Oh, God,” she cried. “Who did this to you? Was it the Kiowa?”
“No,” I screamed. “It was Balthazar!”
“You…you’re bleeding!” Emily pointed to the blood trickling staining my inner thighs.
She wrapped her arms around me and held me in the pouring rain.
“Oh, God,” I cried out. The only thing that kept me going was saving my child.
Roman
Dawn fought through the dark clouds as approximately one hundred of the best Sioux warriors, Marcellious, and I set out in pursuit of the Kiowa. Our spirits were high. Our day would be a fortunate one.
“The Kiowa are probably tired of the rampage, too, and peace will be welcome,” Earth Bear said, riding next to Marcellious and me on horseback.
As we continued, the Thunderbird spirit rumbled through the sky. Lightning split the sky, halting our progress. No warrior wanted to be struck down by electrical bolts when riding across the plains. This ominous weather said to be a “sign of power,” lanced me with a feeling of unease.
“I don’t like this,” I said to Marcellious, who sat on his horse next to me. “I have a bad feeling in my gut.”
“I do, too,” Marcellious said.
The rain pelted us unceasingly, making me wish I had a head covering. We were all dressed in our deer-hide breeches and tops. I was used to engaging in battle fully armored. While our attire lent itself to ease of movement, we were all sitting ducks, ready to be picked off by spears, arrows, or bullets.
But the Kiowa were in the same place—I doubted they wore armor of any kind.
My unease grew as the day wore on, and I didn’t know why. The storm had passed, leaving us to slog across the wet, muddy plains. My hair hung plastered to my scalp and neck, and all our warpaint had streaked, giving us a terrifying ghost-like appearance.
The disquiet had spread through us, even our horses, by day’s end. We paused beneath a copse of trees, considering our next moves.
The horses stood alert, shifting side to side, scanning the horizon for signs of danger.
Marcellious’ horse let out a nervous whinny and stomped his foreleg, which sent a ripple of nervousness through the herd.
