Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

I took a deep breath, gathering courage, the whip still gleaming brightly in one hand, then followed the scent of blood into the scrub.

But I’d barely taken three steps when the ground underneath me gave way and I tumbled forward into deep, dank darkness.

Fourteen

A mine.

Another fucking mine.

Horror and fear surged, but I ruthlessly thrust them aside and threw out my hands, trying to find something, anything, to latch on to before I fell too far and too deep. My left dug into the soft sides of the shaft but didn’t catch. My right scraped against wood that crumbled away at my touch.

Below me, there was nothing but darkness. Then, out of that ink, loomed a deeper shadow. An old support beam, sticking out at an angle from the wall; it was right in the path of my fall.

I hit it just above my belly, and with such force it knocked the air from my lungs and cracked something inside. A tide of pain washed through me, and oblivion threatened. But if I gave in to the siren call of unconscious, I’d fall and die.

I’ve just contacted Aiden; he’s ordering search and rescue out as we speak. Belle’s mental tone was filled with tension and fear. How secure is that beam you’re wrapped around?

I have no idea. And no immediate desire to move and find out. Not when it felt like someone had lit a fire inside my chest.

That could be the pressure of your weight against your ribs. You probably cracked one or two of them when you hit.

If that was all I’d done, I’d be damned lucky. I wriggled fingers and toes just to be sure, and they all responded. Relief swept through me, though I was a long way from safe.

My breathing was fast and shallow—the absolute wrong thing to do if I had cracked ribs—but with the pressure of the old beam digging in I had little other choice. I carefully turned my head and inspected the length of it. From the little I could see in the darkness, it appeared to be securely stuck into the shaft’s wall, though whether it would remain that way with my weight dangling close to the end of it was another matter entirely. I needed to adjust my position and move back toward the wall.

It was going to hurt. A lot.

I could do it. I had to do it.

I carefully pictured exactly what I needed to do, and then, before the fear of what it would physically cost could stop me, swung my right leg toward the beam. Heat and pain and darkness surged, tearing a scream from my throat. It seemed to echo forever in the mineshaft, an indication just how deep this thing was.

Then, from darkness far above me, came an answering howl.

Imagination? Wishful thinking?

Possibly.

The heel of my boot caught the far edge of the beam. I shifted position, forced my entire leg over, and then shifted again, this time pulling myself around until I was lying along the length of wood rather than hanging limply over it.

It hurt. Lord, how it hurt. But I wasn’t finished yet. Wasn’t safe yet.

Slowly, carefully, I hooked my feet together under the beam and began to inch backwards. Sweat stung my eyes, making it difficult to see, and all I could smell on the dank air was my own fear.

It was a slow and painful process; by the time my butt hit the wall, I was soaked and shaking. But I was still conscious and still on the beam, and that was a miracle in itself.

I remained in that position for several minutes, but Belle was right. My weight was putting too much pressure on whatever I cracked. I closed my eyes, once again gathering courage for the pain that was about to hit, and then carefully pushed upright. For one intensely scary moment, I tipped sideways, but I gripped the beam fiercely and managed to stop the fall.

Then, and only then, did I look up. The stars twinkled brightly, looking far closer than I thought they’d be. Despite what I’d thought, I hadn’t actually fallen that far—maybe only twenty feet or so.

People can be killed falling ten feet, Belle said. Once again, lady luck has been with you.

She does seem to have a soft spot for me.

Or perhaps you were a cat in a previous incarnation and you’re just using up whatever spare lives you carried forward. It could also explain why Eamon dislikes you.

I snorted and instantly regretted it. I hissed and clamped a hand to my left side in a vague effort to contain the hurt, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. How far away is the rescue party?

Aiden called me about five minutes ago—they’d just found the remnants of our SUV.