Free The Deadly Nightshade by Justine Ashford

both of us if we stayed together? We could help each other survive.”
    Snorting in contempt at the idea, I look him up and down again, trying to decide whether or not he would be able to hold his own in a fight. Doubtful. He’d snap like a twig if a man like The Brute were to get a hold of him. Then again, there is something promising about him. The shape of his body indicates he used to be in decent physical condition before all of this happened. Starvation probably ate away most of the muscle, but there are remnants. With a little food to strengthen him, he might not be completely useless . . .
    I disregard the idea immediately, unsure of what imbecilic crevice of my mind it seeped from. How could I be so stupid? I have no reason to keep him around. He is nothing more than dead weight; all he will do is slow me down and eat my food. He will never be of any use to me.
    “Get out of here,” I order. “I’m not some kind of charity. Go find someone else to leech off of.”
    He shakes his head. “No. You can’t make me.”
    My patience running thin, I whip out one of my katanas, grab him by the back of his neck with my free hand, and press the blade to his throat. His eyes widen in alarm, but he does not struggle against me or make any promise to go away. I stare him down for a minute to let him know that I am serious, that I will kill him if he keeps trailing after me, and when I am sure he has gotten the message I thrust him away nearly hard enough to knock him off his feet. Though he stumbles, he keeps his eyes locked on me, his disappointment visible in his knit brows and the downward curl of his lips. I disregard the disheartened boy, continuing on my way again at the same brisk walking pace, sure that he has finally taken my hint.
    But the footsteps still follow.             

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 13
     
    I continue to ignore the boy as he trudges behind me, his feeble body somehow managing to keep up with my quick strides either out of sheer determination and strength of will or complete stubbornness—I cannot tell which. For three days he remains my ever-present shadow, lurking behind me every time I decide to sneak a glimpse. When I stop to eat he is there, when I scavenge for food he is there, when I hunt he is there, when I pause to rest he is there, and when I go to sleep he is there. I chase him away every chance I get, threatening him with the blades of my katanas, but it only keeps him at bay for a little while and then he is back in his place trailing a few feet behind me again.
    I have tried everything I can to lose him short of violence—running, sneaking away in the night when I am sure he is asleep, and attempting to frighten him with threats to his life. But no matter how fast I run, he moves just as fast. No matter how quietly I creep, he wakes up and catches me. No matter how intimidating I am, he just shrugs it off. My patience for this boy is beginning to run very, very thin.
    On the fourth day, I decide to see what game I can catch, because although I still have some canned food in my rucksack I am craving fresh meat. As I set up my snares, I hear Connor’s loud tramping behind me as he blunders about on lead feet, not seeming to care who or what hears him. Startled by the noise, a flock of small birds scatters, cawing out their warning call to alert every animal in the area of the present danger. Finally, I have had enough.
    “What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, drawing both of my swords and advancing toward him. For the first time, he seems a little afraid of me. Good. “How can anyone walk that loudly? Do you realize you’ve cost me an entire day’s worth of food?”
    “I-I’m sorry. I’ll try to step a little lighter next time . . .”
    “ Next time? Are you kidding? You know, ever since you trampled into my life you’ve caused me nothing but difficulty. I’ll tell you one last time: stop following me. If I turn around again and see you there, I’ll cut