My back itched. My fingertips ached. My heart continued to hammer.
I couldn’t let anything happen to Milly. She was too old, too frail, and that wicked tongue of hers would only make things worse.
It had to be me. She protected me, so I had to protect her. This surging need to keep her safe was all-consuming. I looked around the sparse room for anything that I could use as a weapon, creeping off to grab my boot from the floor.
As I crouched against the wall, watching the flapping drapery on the doorway, my adrenaline surged. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Milly. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me.
But as the heavy footsteps started to make their way closer, my fingertips prickled. Pricked. As if little needles were suddenly pressing into them and threatening to splinter.
As soon as the curtain was moved aside with a callous shove, I leapt forward and slammed my boot across his face. He cried out with a curse, whirling on me, an enraged, weathered expression lit up by the moonlight. He shoved me so hard that my sore back hit the wall with a crack, stars bursting in front of my eyes, and this time it was me crying out, the sound magnified in the dim lighting.
“You want to try and attack me?” the man shouted, enraged, spittle landing on my cheek. His breath reeked of alcohol. “I’ll show you what happens, girl.”
He didn’t even hit me with his hands. Instead, he yanked off the heavy sack from his back and swung it at me. Hard. I don’t know what he had in there, but it felt like an anvil crashing right into my head. My shoulder. My ribs. Tucked against the wall, as if I could sink right through it, I tried to raise my arms to protect my head as the man snarled and swung.
Then I heard Milly.
She was slow at the best of times, but after she’d been lying down in bed for more than a few hours, her achy joints stiffened up and made it even worse. And yet, I heard her hurried shuffle, her walking cane scraping against the tile floor.
Panic surged through me. It was one thing for me to take these kinds of hits, but Milly couldn’t sustain that. Her brittle bones might very well shatter. I heard her scratchy voice calling my name. Heard the fear in it.
Her fear added to my surging adrenaline. It made it swell. Made it snap. Made my fingertips ache and burn and then bleed.
I felt the liquid dripping down my palms, but I barely paid any mind to the red-hot blood seeping from my fingers. Because Milly was getting closer, and the man was swinging back his foot to kick me in a crushing blow, and I launched myself at him.
Like an animal, I snarled as I jumped at him. Clawed at him. Raked my bleeding fingers down his face. Not Milly. He wasn’t going to hurt Milly. I wasn’t going to let him come into her home, steal her hard-earned coin, and hurt us.
The man stumbled as I attacked him, tried to pry me off, but I slammed my hands against his head and pushed. And the blood on my palms smeared and gushed, and I was too frantic to even care.
And then, his snarls turned to gurgles. His prying fingers left my body to instead claw at his face.
The slick blood pouring from my hands made me lose my hold, and I landed on the floor again, but then my feet were wet too, like I was suddenly standing in a puddle of my own blood, or maybe it was his? But that didn’t make sense, because I’d only scratched and hit him, and he’d hit me, and why was there so much blood? Was it raining? Was the roof leaking? But why was it so warm? So thick?
My frenzied mind couldn’t come up with a single explanation, but the air held the metallic clang of blood, and the liquid was warm. So warm.
Milly tore through the doorway. Eyes wide, hand spasming over her hold on her walking stick that she held like a weapon. She raised her cane, ready to hit, but then she jerked to a stop, good eye taking in the man.
“Felton?”
“You know him?” I asked, but my voice felt strange. I felt strange.
“He’s my brother. Comes every few months. What—”
The man made a strangled noise, and then his knees hit the floor. There was a splash on impact. I flinched back when some of it splattered across my face.
“Felton!” Milly cried, and I knew. Knew I’d made a mistake. Knew it by the way she turned, uneven steps hurrying away and then coming back, this time, holding a lantern in her hand to help the dim dawn to light the room.
When the light hit the room, I couldn’t make sense of it.
The amber hue that drenched everything. The shine reflected from the lantern. The man was on his knees, clawing at his throat, making the most disturbing noises. But he wasn’t marked with streaks of red. The floor wasn’t puddled with rain. My fingertips weren’t bleeding. It wasn’t the metallic warmth of blood I was smelling.