The Chase Resumes

AYA

I struggled against the fiery debris with all my might. My hands were seared by the flames as I clawed my way up. I let out a scream of pure agony, feeling my skin sizzle and burn with each movement.

I pushed through the last of the smoldering stone, my body smeared with blood, ash, and grime. I managed to pull myself out of the pit I was in. The cool night air was barely noticeable through the dense smoke and the flames that continued to dance around me.

I forced myself to stand.

“There she is!” a voice shouted.

I spun around to see ten Shahalia henchmen charging at me, their boots seemingly immune to the heat. I let out a startled cry and bolted in the opposite direction, ignoring the searing pain in my feet as I sprinted over glowing embers. I could hear them thundering after me, their footsteps echoing in my ears.

I ran blindly, vaulting over the last flaming wall, and crashed to the ground. A henchman pounced on me, his sword at the ready.

“We need her alive!” someone yelled.

He pulled back just in time. I kicked back, hitting him in the stomach, and he toppled over in surprise.

I stumbled back to my feet and took off running. I was disoriented, the trees around me completely foreign, but I could somehow detect my own scent through the thick smoke that filled the air. So I followed that. I clung to my scent—and I ran.

The henchmen were hot on my trail, bellowing at me to stop. I hurdled over rocks, climbed trees, and waded through rivers—anything to throw them off my scent. But they were relentless.

I pushed myself to the limit, not allowing my wounds to heal, focusing all my energy on my speed. My muscles screamed in protest, and my burned skin tore as I ran through sharp pine needles.

Every time they got too close, they would try to aim, to shoot. A few bullets ripped through me—my legs, my side—but I managed to dodge most. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, knowing the moment I stopped, the moment I gave up, they would be on me, and I wouldn’t be lucky enough to escape a second time.

Exhaustion began to set in as the moon climbed higher in the sky. The cool night air had helped to heal some of my burns, but I was growing weaker. The burns I’d sustained in the fire and from the sun were too severe, and I was losing blood.

I stumbled into a field of poppies, their flowers a deep purple in the moonlight. The heavy scent of blood seemed to permeate the field. I didn’t even have time to turn—to run—before a figure emerged from the shadows.

He charged at me, and his speed, his strength told me that he was a pureblood. Then he was on me, his hand slamming against my chest. I fell backward, hitting the ground hard, gasping for breath.

A face loomed over me with dark, golden skin, thick, dark hair, and a twisted scowl. His green suit was cut differently from the henchmen. I realized that I’d seen him before—a long time ago—in the manor. Jahan Shahalia.

His blood-red eyes locked onto mine as he surveyed my broken body lying in the poppy field. His henchmen caught up, forming a circle around me. I stared up at their faces in horror, exhausted from the chase, seething with anger.

“You have no business being here,” Jahan hissed. I realized he was speaking Arabic.

“Fuck you,” I spat back.

He shot me a glare, then turned to his henchmen. “What the fuck is she doing here?” he demanded in Hindi.

“She escaped,” a woman’s voice answered. She pushed her way to the front of the henchmen and bowed deeply. “She killed Sahil.”

Jahan’s eyes blazed with rage. He turned back to me, his expression murderous.

“He had it coming,” I retorted in Hindi.

He hissed, leaning down and grabbing the front of my torn top. He yanked me up, his face inches from mine. He inhaled my scent deeply.

“You’ll regret killing my son,” he snarled. “I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life. You’re mine now—slave.”

His fingers dug into my skin. I hissed and slammed my head against his. He howled in pain, flinging me back onto the ground. I landed heavily, my back throbbing.

He leaned over me again and spat on the ground next to my face. “Filth,” he sneered. “Tie her up. She’s not leaving my sight from now on,” he ordered.

Suddenly, I felt arms encircling me. I squirmed, but the grip was unyielding, the nails biting into my skin, the force of the hold pushing me into the earth.

Then, an unexpected sensation washed over me. It was as if I was soaring, enveloped in tranquility. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I’d hit my head too hard, but then the sensation morphed into something warm, comforting, and potent. It was love.

I gasped, struggling harder against the arms that held me captive until I could finally see him.

He was bounding over the poppy field, landing with a deadly silence, his sword drawn and shimmering under the moonlight. His face was a canvas of raw anger, pure loathing. His crimson eyes found mine amidst the crowd and held my gaze. I could feel his power. The grandeur of my rage seeped into me.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he whispered, his words meant only for me.