Chelsea Fine - Awry

By Chelsea Fine

Copyright © 2012 by Chelsea Fine. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any methods, photocopying, scanning, electronic or otherwise, except as permitted by notation in the volume or under Sections 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the author.

ISBN 9781452484693

Contact the author

www.TheArchersofAvalon.com

www.ChelseaFineBooks.com

Published by

Firefall Publishing

Phoenix, AZ

Cover photo and design by Jon and Ashley Bugg with Bugg Photographer LLC

Amazon Kindle Edition

Also by Chelsea Fine

Sophie and Carter

Anew

To my husband, Brett, who encourages me to fly. You are my heart, my soul, my Hunter.

Tristan watched the brilliant blue light fade from Scarlet’s eyes.

“Scar!” he cried.

No, no, no!

He shifted her gently, drawing her closer to his body. Suffocating in fear, he cupped the side of her face with a shaky hand. “Scar…?” His vision went blurry. “Come back to me, Scar. Come on.” He blinked tears away. “Please….”

Scarlet’s body went limp in his arms and cold panic froze his lungs. He felt inside himself, trying to find Scarlet’s heartbeat amidst the pain and tightness in his chest.

He searched…and searched….

He blinked away more tears and searched some more….

At last, he found it.

Broken and faint, Scarlet’s fragile heart beat out a tiny rhythm. She was still alive.

He heard someone call her name in the distance, but the only sound Tristan cared about was the absence of breath from Scarlet’s mouth.

She wasn’t moving.

She wasn’t breathing.

But she had a pulse.

His hand traveled over the soft skin of her back to where the deadly arrow still protruded. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his fingers in warmth.

No, no, no….

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to breathe. “Scar…?”

Stars filled the December night sky, peeking through the tall forest trees, and moonlight cast a soft glow against Scarlet’s cheek, making her look peaceful, healthy.

The moonlight lied.

“Scarlet!” Tristan heard his twin brother, Gabriel, scream into the forest. The sound cut through the trees and pierced Tristan in the gut. “Scarl—”

Emerging from the darkness, Gabriel ran into the clearing. Out of breath. Desperately searching for Scarlet.

When Gabriel caught sight of her tucked into Tristan’s arms, he stopped in his tracks. His eyes shifted up and down Scarlet’s body and Gabriel went pale.

“ No! ” His voice echoed off the silent mountains and floated up to the lying moon.

Tristan moved his tremulous hand away from Scarlet’s soft cheek.

“No!” Gabriel repeated as he ran toward them and dropped to his knees at Scarlet’s side. “What happened?” he snapped at Tristan as he looked Scarlet over. “Scarlet? What happ—” Gabriel caught sight of the arrow sticking out from Scarlet’s back and the dark pool of blood gathering beneath her body.

Gabriel choked, running his hands over her body. “S-Scarlet?” He looked up at Tristan. “What happened?”

Tristan tried to swallow, but couldn’t. His voice came out cracked and twisted. “I didn’t mean for her to get hurt. She wasn’t supposed to be here. I didn’t know…I didn’t know….”

Dark fury shadowed Gabriel’s face as he narrowed his eyes. “What happened ?”

“The arrow was supposed to hit me . I didn’t know she was here. I didn’t know…I didn’t…. But she’s still alive.” Thousands of memories flashed before Tristan’s eyes.

He couldn’t lose her. Not again.

Not like this.

“She’s still alive,” Tristan repeated, like saying it out loud was powerful and would somehow keep her heart beating.

“Scarlet?” Gabriel’s voice was soft this time, laced with torment as he looked at her empty face. “Scarlet…can you hear me?”

Tristan closed his eyes, trying to hold onto the quiet heartbeat in her chest; the struggling scrap of life he loved so much.

“Get out of the way, both of you.” This time it was Nate’s voice booming into the night. Tristan didn’t know where Gabriel or Nate had come from, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care about anything but Scarlet.

“Gabriel, move.” Nate crouched down before Scarlet, nudging Gabriel aside. “Tristan, let go of Scarlet.”

Nate sounded authoritative, business-like. There was barely a hint of panic in his voice.

Tristan opened his eyes to look at his friend, but refused to let Scarlet go.

“Tristan.” Nate lowered his voice. “Let go.” He placed his hands under Scarlet’s body and gently pulled, trying to maneuver her out of Tristan’s arms.

“Let go of her, Tristan!” Gabriel barked, his voice singed with grief and anger.

Tristan whispered, “She’s not dead, Nate. I can feel her.” He looked at his friend desperately. “She said…she said she knew where the fountain was…and…and then she closed her eyes…but she’s…she’s not dead…she’s not dead...I can still feel her.”

His thoughts, his reasoning, his heart, his soul…all were lost. All were vacant.

He was empty of everything but the hushed echo of Scarlet’s heart.

Leaning in, Nate looked at Tristan sternly. “You have to stop touching her, Tristan. You’re killing her.”

Tristan blinked.

Nate’s eyes hardened. “The longer you touch her, the weaker she’ll get. Let. Go.”

With reluctant movement, Tristan released Scarlet from his arms and watched as Nate slowly picked her up, careful not to disturb the arrow, and strode back into the trees. Gabriel followed after him.

Wiping his face with a shaking hand, Tristan pulled himself upright and stumbled forward. The world started spinning—the dark clouds and bright stars above swirling into one another like a milky whirlpool. He tried to find his balance, but it was no use.

Nothing about the world was right anymore. Balance was impossible.

Scarlet was on the verge of death and it was his fault.

All. His. Fault.

Choking on his heart and coughing through tight lungs, Tristan made his way back to the cabin.

Back to the faint call of Scarlet’s dying heart.

England

1538

Scarlet hid behind a thick tree in the morning sun and watched him from a safe distance. He was a practiced marksman, that much was certain. But his target, an unsuspecting deer in the distance, was too far away for even the best of hunters to hit.

From where she stood, Scarlet could not determine what age the stranger was. He looked like a boy, but moved with the confidence of a man. He wore fine clothes with a patch on his arm displaying an unfamiliar family crest, and his dark hair curled against the back of his neck in the morning heat.

His movements were smooth and silent as he retrieved a long arrow from the quiver at his back and drew on his bow.

Patiently, he waited; his eyes steeled, his body motionless.

The deer was grazing alone, looking up skittishly every few minutes. The shot was impossible, not only because of the sheer distance the arrow would have to travel, but also because of the numerous trees that stood between the stranger and his target. The arrow would have to be launched with incredible strength and fly error-free if he wished to hit his mark.