Awareness of their deathly predicament doesn't register with Neva after the violent shock that barrels through her chest and limbs. Before the scalding cold water jolts her into a desperate attempt to swim.
Realisation comes too late for her as water surges into her nose and mouth. She doesn't know how to—
Bubbles drift through the blue and green as her
lungs burn, instinct rising in a silent stream while the current drags her sideways and downstream.
Her arms flail, battling the sharp, relentless current as she tumbles down and down, consumed by the endless green when a shadow slips through the dark.
She reaches forward as he moves towards her, black creeping along the edges of her vision.
But he's nowhere close, and she needs air. Air—
Her chest convulses, unconsciousness creeping in as weakness and the numbing burn sever her in two.
A hand seizes her wrist, wrenching her forward through the greenish darkness,
while her thoughts slowly dissolve into nothing.
He pulls her upward, faster and faster, though
she dimly realises it, until a faint light ripples overhead, flickering through the dizzying blur.
Her chest convulses once more, bubbles drifting past her, before they break through the surface.
Air slams into her lungs, her ribs aching as she gasps, chokes, and coughs out water violently.
Keeping her above the surface, he pulls her through the roaring current, and she clings to him, desperately dragging in precious breath after precious breath. A crash cuts through the ringing in her ears, and she catches
glimpses of guards, their shouted commands carrying towards them as they swim closer.
She coughs up water, dragging in air, each breath painful in her chest, as the shore rises into view.
Frantic motion reels behind them as he draws her towards the shore, the shadow of the forest looming overhead.
Water surges around them like a monstrous claw as he drags her onto the shore. She collapses to
her knees, coughing violently, her numb palms digging into the hard, snow-dusted gravel and dirt.
Her vision blurs, her nose and throat stinging raw as his hand moves over her back in steady strokes. She blinks hard as his face,
pale with cold, brow drawn tight, swims into focus.
Her chin trembles, and he pulls her into him, her chest pressed against his racing heartbeat, when voices slice through the roar of the river.
Please... she begs God. No more. No more.
"We need to move." Rhett wraps an arm around her, hauling her up as she stumbles to her feet.
Her limbs are heavy, her body protesting against the biting cold as they push deeper into the forest, the voices behind them growing louder and louder.
It's truly a miracle how she's moving at all, her
breath coming in ragged bursts as they push through the foggy, dark, and dense coniferous woodland.
Her foot slips on a raised, snow-draped patch of ground,
but he hauls her upright again just as a gunshot bursts through the trunk of a tree a few feet away.
Sodden boots crunch over gravel and snow while footsteps thunder behind them, shouts following, sharp and furious, warning of another gunshot.
A glimpse of the two-lane asphalt road through the fissures between the coniferous branches kindles a flicker a hope in her,
before she remembers the bike they've left behind.
The thick trunk of an evergreen tree, whose name she doesn't know, shields them from another
bullet when an engine roars to life in the distance.
Her back pressed against the rough bark, her breath heaving, her eyes meet his for a brief, grim second. Then he shifts round the tree, pistol raised, and fires.
Headlights slice through the fog, an apocalypse of gunfire unravelling her mind, when a sleek red Aston Martin surges into view, slowing as it nears them.
He must have realised the Aston Martin has screeched to a halt, for he catches her hand and pulls her towards the car, which she doubts isn't an Archangel summoned by the Lord to rescue them.
Ducking as gunfire cracks around them, she still remains capable of astonishment as the window rolls down and a light-brown-haired man grins at them before turning towards their pursuers and firing back.
The passenger-side door flies open, and a pair of striking sky-blue eyes meets her gaze. "Get in!"
Her fiancé doesn't waste a second. He flings himself inside, pulling her in after him and onto his lap, the door slamming shut beside them. He commands her apparent Archangels in the skin of humans to drive, in a tone she has never heard him use before.
Gunshots echo behind them as the Aston Martin surges forward, guards spilling from the
coniferous darkness as their own side falls silent.
The blinding speed of the car doesn't affect her nearly as
much as the lashes of wind on the bike, while the silhouettes of nightmares dissolve into the fog.
"Boss!" The light-brown-haired man turns towards them.
"Took us long enough. Though I'm disappointed you didn't inform us you've got yourself a girlfriend!"
"Give her a jacket," is her fiancé's curt response.
Unable to summon even the energy to clear up the confusion flickering
through her mind, she nestles into him, her teeth chattering as her fingers curl into his soaked jacket.
"Sure, take mine," the same voice chimes in, before she finds herself draped in a jacket, its warmth barely reaching her through her water-soaked sweater.
"Head for the Walmart on Elm Street," he says, his arms wrapping around her, holding her close against him, although his jacket is damp and freezing. "We should lose them by now. We'll make it quick."
"Why is Raka after you guys at all?" the familiar voice asks. "Good thing we were close.
But what a vacation it has turned out to be!"
Cold fingers brush the damp curls from her temple, but no response
comes from her beloved as drowsiness draws her under, the exertion finally weighing her down.
"Thanks for coming," he says after an unknown stretch of silence,
during which she has gathered that there are five of them in the four-seat Aston Martin.
"Sky gets the credit, Boss," the same voice says again. "And we figured you might need backup."
"Thank you," he murmurs, and she feels the faint rumble of his voice against her cheek.
"No big deal," the sweet, casual voice answers, the pretty blonde woman who opened the door for them.
But Boss? The gun fire? Is he hiding something from her?
His lips brush against the crown of her head, followed by a teasingly awkward
clearing of the light-brown-haired man's throat.
As sleep pulls her under, the comfort of the heater seeping into her, a prayer of gratitude weaves through the last remnants of her consciousness.
She really doesn't care about anything, not right now, as long as she has him close, pressed against her.