Free My Soul to Keep by Sharie Kohler Page A

the dense air.
    At last, she caught a whiff. The faint, woodsy, peat-smoke scent of Tresa carried on the arctic wind.
    Panting, Sorcha stopped, twisted around, following her nose. Trailing the earthy scent, she slid down an embankment in a spray of snow and landed on her feet. She dragged in a deeper breath and realized Tresa was everywhere, all around her.
    Sorcha’s gaze swung left and right. Too late, she heard a snap behind her, the crunching of snow and ice beneath the weight of something moving in swiftly.
    Everything slowed down then.
    She turned, the wind cutting her cheeks. Her ponytail slapped her in the face, so she must have moved quickly, but it all felt so drawn out. Sluggish. As if she moved underwater.
    The embankment she slid down hid a den. A shallow burrow from which Tresa emerged, charging Sorcha with an inhuman shriek, her eyes black as tar.
    Sorcha dodged the first swipe of her fist andlifted her sword, ready to strike, but Tresa was too fast. Whipping in a fast circle with the speed of wind, she jumped on Sorcha’s back. Like a wild beast, she clung, sharp nails digging into her exposed neck. Sorcha thrashed, trying to fling her off. Her efforts brought them down with a shuddering crash to the frozen ground. Her sword flew wide. With a grunt, she flipped over and scrabbled for it. But Tresa beat her to it. The demon witch stood with the sword raised, her hair a wild black nimbus haloing her pale face, a woman possessed by darkness.
    â€œI told you to leave me be,” Tresa rasped, her voice hissing through clenched teeth. Her head jerked side to side as she spoke, clearly under the influence of her dark and twisted demon. “Now I
have
to kill you.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do anything. Why don’t you let me end your miserable existence?”
    The witch laughed hoarsely, her eyes flashing in and out from black to blue. “Tempting, but I can’t let you do that. As bad as I am, unleashing my demon on the world would be far worse.”
    Crouching low, Sorcha eased forward. “Oh, so you’re being altruistic.”
    Tresa’s face contorted in a pained grimace. “Enough,” she choked out. “He grows stronger inside me. Soon I’ll have no control. He invites mydeath. Welcomes it, don’t you see? He wants you to free him.”
    â€œThen let me accommodate him.” Sorcha lunged forward but Tresa held up a hand.
    It was like smacking into a brick wall. Her body convulsed from the force, shuddered with pain. Gritting her teeth, she tried to move, tried to push ahead.
    Her gaze narrowed, and she suspiciously eyed Tresa’s poised hand, the fingers that curled in a very deliberate, menacing way. Something else started to happen then. It wasn’t just that Sorcha couldn’t move anymore. A tingly numbness started in her neck and coursed down her arm. Her chest constricted, each breath an agonized drag from her lungs.
    The witch’s fingers stroked the air in clawing sweeps, weaving her dark magic. With each pass of her fingers, the tightness in Sorcha’s chest grew.
    Gasping, she clutched a hand over her heart, pressing at the tightening ache. “What are you doing?” She panted, feeling the slowing thud of her pulse, the sluggish flow of blood in her veins. A cold sweep of fear washed over her.
    â€œMaking your heart stop.”
    No, no, no …
    Shaking her head, she fell to the ground, herknees hitting the frozen earth first before she fell to her side.
    A heart attack wouldn’t permanently kill her. She would recover, but in the time it took her to regenerate she would be at Tresa’s mercy, totally defenseless. And that was the witch’s plan. Disable her and then sever her head from her body.
    As she lay on her side, a cold she had never known penetrated her body, sinking into her bones. Still, she could not rise, could not move, could not stop the unbearable, twisting fist from wringing her heart