Free Borderlands by Skye Melki-Wegner Page A

I’ll explain everything.’
    â€˜In the morning?’
    Lukas’s expression shifts a little, but he nods. ‘When it’s safe.’
    We fall silent for a while, just two nervous bodies squished into the dark. I remember the first time I had to hide inside a log – the night I escaped from Rourton. I’d just shot Lukas’s biplane from the sky so he must have been lost in the forest as well.
    â€˜You must have been lonely,’ I whisper. ‘Those first few days after we left Rourton.’
    Lukas gives a half-hearted smile. ‘I’m used to being lonely. I grew up in a family of royal nutjobs who would’ve killed me to inherit the throne.’
    â€˜But now you’ve got us,’ I say. ‘You’re part of our crew.’
    Lukas doesn’t respond. After a couple of minutes, his fingers nudge their way into my own cupped palm. I accept his hand and squeeze gently, reassured by the warmth of living flesh against my own. His breath brushes against my cheek, a lullaby of warmth and apricot syrup.
    â€˜Better than the last night I spent in a log,’ I think. Then, too late, I realise I’ve whispered the thought aloud.
    â€˜Oh?’ Lukas says. ‘Is it the decor that’s improved, or the room service?’
    â€˜Teddy’s rubbing off on you.’
    â€˜Is that such a bad thing?’
    I tighten my grip on his hand. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No, not really. Lukas, I –’
    There is a crunch in the undergrowth. We lean together, hearts hammering, as an unseen figure stomps through the foliage. I can’t twist my neck far enough to search for a knothole on that side of the log, so my ears are all I have to go by.
    Somehow, hearing an enemy is even worse than seeing one. It could be a man or a woman. It could be a wild animal or a hunter. It could be a figure with a gun, or a Flame proclivity, or some other terrible weapon pointed at our hiding place. I don’t know. I can’t see. In another second our entire world could be in flame, our bodies burning, and I wouldn’t even know death was coming.
    All I know is that those footsteps crunch, crunch, crunch . . . and their maker moves without fear. Every step is loud. Unafraid. Whatever is making that noise, it knows it’s the predator, here. Not the prey.
    I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on the feel of Lukas’s hand. It’s warm and moist, dampened by sweat. I run my thumb back up across his wrist and settle on his pulse point. It takes me a moment to find it, but then it’s there – the thrum of heartbeat beneath skin. I force myself to calm down. We’re alive. This rhythm inside Lukas’s wrist is proof of that much. So long as I can feel his pulse, I know we’re still alive.
    The footsteps fade. A minute passes, two minutes, and finally they’re gone. The world is silent. I keep still for another minute, finger pressed so hard into Lukas’s wrist that it’s probably hurting him. I know it’s selfish, but right now I barely care. All that matters is that we are alive.
    We don’t speak after that – not for a long while, anyway. I release Lukas’s hand and turn back to face the log. This isn’t the time for long conversations. This isn’t the time for anything. I yearn to stretch out my legs, to twist my torso, but it’s too risky. If I punch through a wall of the log, or even crack off a slab of bark . . .
    So I sit, stiff and sore, my limbs tingling. Pins and needles . My left leg bends at an unnatural angle beneath me, so it’s the first to prickle and numb. My right arm isn’t much better, as it’s pinned against the wood. I’m in a narrower part of the log than Lukas, so I can’t move my hands as easily as he does. I sense his quiet movements behind me – the stretches as he flexes each limb – and fight a stab of envy.
    â€˜You all right?’