Burning Darkness by Jaime Rush

told herself losing his love was worth saving him. She slid down to the floor, realizing she hadn’t taken a breath in so long her chest was hurting. The harsh intake of air was followed by a sob. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose his abilities. Maybe he would forgive her then. Love her again, no. If he could just forgive her, she could somehow go on without him. If she’d let him die, she would never have forgiven herself.
    She let herself cry now. Soon, there would be no time for crying.

Chapter 5
    F onda’s chest hurt like hell. Racing through the woods in near pitch-dark, her sworn enemy helping her, an unknown enemy somewhere behind them . . . she could hardly wrap her head around it.
    Eric slowed, thank God, and tugged her closer.
    She felt his finger press against her mouth, and in the watery moonlight saw him looking behind them. Her pounding heartbeat and harsh breathing obliterated any other sounds. She hadn’t felt that insane crushing feeling in her head after they’d run from the agent. Just before her head would have probably exploded, Eric ordered her to do that visual thing. It worked.
    Their breathing quieted. There, in the far distance, the sound of footsteps. Walking, not running.
    A vibrating noise came from the vicinity of Eric’s jeans. His cell phone. He jabbed the button to stop it. She started to say something, but he pressed his finger over her mouth again. Then they were off again, his fingers still clamped over hers, drawing her through the trees as though he had night vision.
    Maybe he did.
    Eventually he let go of her hand and slowed to a walk. The pursuing footsteps were farther away each time they stopped to listen.
    Eric leaned close and whispered, “Maybe his injury is dragging him down. I cut him pretty good back at the motel.”
    The air was chilled, and her face felt numb. The sun was only thinking about coming up, lightening the sky to a dull gray. They couldn’t hear anything that sounded like footsteps, only the sound of birds waking and road noise in the distance. He nodded toward that but said nothing. Every time she started to say something, he either put his finger over her mouth or made the cut sign across his throat.
    They broke out of the woods as the sun started filling the sky with streaked pink light. It wasn’t the highway they saw, though, but what looked like a shantytown: rows of little buildings, if you could call them that, cobbled together, some two stories, some painted and some gray, weathered wood. Some of the booths had signs tacked onto the front of their open spaces, the letters too faded to read. Grass grew tall between the buildings, caressed by the breeze, and the huge parking area was all dirt and weeds. Once, the place must have been filled with sounds and activity, but now nobody cared about it.
    Not liking the direction of her thoughts, she turned to something she liked even less. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at Eric since they left the motel room. His shirt was still unbuttoned, showing a damp slice of his chest. His blond hair at his neckline was also damp, though if not for the twigs, it would have been as perfectly mussed as it was at the bar. Like flames, she’d thought then. She was sure her hair looked much worse. He walked into the jumble of buildings, his expression tense, as though he expected someone to jump out at him.
    Standing in the opening between the buildings and the woods felt too vulnerable, so she walked toward shelter. The place smelled of moldering wood. Eric moved among the shadows and shafts of light that poured down between the slats, but glanced up occasionally, obviously checking for her. No, she hadn’t run off. Yet. Or maybe he was worried that she would sneak up on him, a shard of wood clutched in her hand. She glanced at herself, no real weapon, a third his size. Probably not. Even when he had been drugged, she couldn’t overpower him. Their glances held for a moment, giving her a tight feeling