His hand darted to his boot, pulling a smaller, concealed blade.
“Persistent, aren’t you?” I snarled, catching his wrist before he could drive it into my chest.
“Someone has to end you,” he spat, his face twisted with rage.
With a burst of strength, I wrenched the knife from his grip and tossed it aside. My hands closed around his throat, pinning him to the dirt.
Declan struggled beneath me, clawing at my hands, but I held firm.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, his defiance giving way to desperation. Finally, I eased my grip, letting him gasp for air.
He coughed violently, blood speckling his lips as he stared up at me. His expression was a mix of hatred and fear, but the fear was winning.
I could end it right now. One snap of his neck, one fatal strike, and this nightmare would be over.
But I didn’t.
“Do you really want to die here, Declan?” I asked, my voice low and cold.
He coughed again, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. “You’ll… kill me either way.”
“No,” I said, leaning closer. “Not today. But if you come after me again, I’ll finish what I started. And if you push me, I’ll make sure Donovan is next.”
His eyes widened, the mention of Donovan shattering what remained of his bravado. Real fear flickered across his face, raw and unguarded.
“I promise,” Declan whispered, his voice trembling.
“You’d better,” I said, releasing him and rising to my feet.
He lay there, coughing and clutching his ribs, as I stepped back into the shadows.
I watched him for a moment longer, ensuring he wasn’t foolish enough to reach for a weapon again.
“This is your only warning, Declan,” I said. “Don’t make me regret letting you live.”
I moved quickly, my body protesting every step as the adrenaline began to wane. The wound in my side throbbed, a sharp reminder of the fight I’d just survived.
Declan was alive. For now.
I told myself it was the right call, sparing him for Asher’s sake. But as I made my way back to town, a nagging doubt crept in.
Would he heed my warning? Or had I just made a mistake that would come back to haunt me?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ASHER
When I opened my eyes, the world was too sharp. Too loud. Tooeverything.
The faint hum of the inn’s ancient electrical wiring buzzed against my skull like a swarm of bees.
The soft shuffle of footsteps in rooms down the hall thundered in my ears.
Even the air felt different, heavier, carrying scents I shouldn’t have been able to detect. Cheap cleaning supplies, stale cigarette smoke, the faint trace of someone’s perfume.
I groaned, the sound foreign to my own ears, and pushed myself up. My limbs felt alien, my movements too smooth, too quick.
The bed I was lying on creaked under the slightest shift of my weight.
