Page 79 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Five years ago…

I Kicked. Hard. Up, I prayed. Hoping I was moving the right direction, even as the burn in my lungs deepened and everything inside me screamed.

Where the hell were his friends? Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?

A noise. A shout. A laugh. Anything to anchor me.

But there was nothing. Just the cold, the dark, and the panic twisting up inside me.

I kicked again, even as my lungs spasmed.

Please. Please.

Finally—finally—I broke the surface. Mountain air sliced through the cold and stabbed down my throat. But instead of filling my lungs, I choked. Water surged up and out, purging itself in ragged coughs that left me wheezing.

Limply, I dragged my arms forward, toward what looked like a strip of white. Sand. Shore, I hoped.

Every breath was a fight. My body shook with adrenaline as I hauled myself through the shallows and collapsed, soaked and trembling, onto the bank.

Where were they? Where the hell was he?

Had someone heard me scream?

The silence beyond my gasping breaths was...wrong.

No music. No splashing. No taunting jeers.

I sat up fast, panting, scanning the water. The dock. The boat. The dark expanse that stretched on forever. I knew that voice. I’d heard him.

“Crew?” I croaked, then louder—rougher—“Crew!?”

Nothing.

I was on my feet a heartbeat later, slipping on the wet boards as I sprinted back onto the dock.

“Help!” I shouted. “Crew, where are you?!”

He might have been a royal douche canoe, but he couldn’t drown. I couldn’t let him drown.

This couldn’t be happening.

I screamed again, shrill enough that someone should come. Where were his fucking friends?!

No answer.

Panic swelled in my chest, expanding like a storm, rattling the cage of my ribs. I whirled toward the lake, eyes scouring the black water for anything—anything—and then I saw it. A glint of gold. Moonlight on a wristband, maybe. Hair.

I didn’t think. I dived.

The cold hit like a freight train all over again. But this time, I was ready.

Powerful strokes brought me to him. “Help!” My hand closed around fabric, then hair. He was face-down. Floating. Heavy as hell. My lungs spasmed as I turned him over, and the effort dunked me under again.

When I resurfaced, I screamed, mouth full of water, arms wrapped under his shoulders. “Help!”

But no one came.

Kicking furiously, I dragged him toward shore. My body screamed in protest. He was taller than me—lean and long—but deadweight in the water.