Page 38 of Blood Code

With each second, my life was slowly—oh so slowly and painfully—leaving me.

I fought as much as I could, driving my knee toward his balls. Useless. Utterly and totally useless. He was too strong. A trained Bratva assassin, built from pure muscle. No matter how strong or well-trained I was, he’d always have the advantage. Men would always be stronger.

Pressure built inside my skull, my pulse roaring in my ears.

I clawed at his hands, trying to scratch him, but his gloves and long sleeves left no skin exposed.

Was this a futile endeavor?

I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—believe it.

With the last of my strength, I threw my weight sideways. And just like at the cliffside, the gravel at the base of the tree shifted. I was counting on it. I wrenched him off balance, and we fell.

The impact knocked the air out of me, but I immediately started crawling.

Trying desperately to get away.

Sharp rocks dug into my palms as I struggled to stand.

But his hand shot out and seized my ankle, dragging me backward. I hit the ground again and whimpered.

Seconds later, he was on me, straddling me, his hands around my throat once more. His sleeves had ridden up during the fall, exposing the edges of a tattoo. Black ink formed a circular pattern. Scales like a dragon's… or maybe a snake's, with a black curve disappearing beneath his sleeve.

I was mesmerized, almost as if I were in a trance.

I was dying. My thoughts began to blur, surrendering to the peace of death. Tears gathered, and my limbs tingled as sensation slipped away. Sound became distant and broken.

Yet, I wasn’t quite ready to give up.

Something rough brushed my fingertips. For some reason, the texture comforted me—the tiny granules, the strange softness beneath the grit. It was wonderful.

Then it hit me: it was dirt.

My fingers closed around a handful, and I flung it into the assassin’s eyes.

Instantly, the pressure loosened and disappeared.

He clawed at his face, trying to clear the dirt. I squirmed beneath him, but his legs tightened around me, pinning me in place.

My mind raced.

How did I get out of this?

I reached for more dirt, but he caught my hands.

He blinked down at me, his bloodshot eyes a liquid blue darkening like a gathering storm. The wind hummed through the trees as he studied me, something uncertain in his expression. Something in him had changed. And the difference was stark.

His grip loosened. He released my hands, cocked his head, and stroked my cheek once more before shifting his weight back onto his heels.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

What? Seconds ago, he'd been determined to kill me, and now he was studying me like a research subject. Almost as if he wanted to see how I would react to this sudden change in our circumstances. Like he was equally fascinated by watching me die as watching me squirm.

His hand lifted slightly, and I flinched.

But he made no move to touch me again.

“Oh, Zaychek.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, as if savoring the mix of my fear and lavender perfume. I shivered, disgust churning my insides. “You’re a fun little thing. Go on, leave me.”