Fates by Lanie Bross Page A

his arms loosened, she was gone, and he surged above the water, gasping for air.
    He wiped the water off his face and saw her a few feet away, poised to attack. Wet hair clung to her cheeks, and she was focused on his face. She held the knife casually, and it finally hit him: this was easy for her.
    Self-preservation kicked in then, fierce and hot. She was trying to kill him. Clearly, she had lost her mind. Maybe the accident really had messed with her head. He lunged suddenly, grabbing the knife and driving his shoulder into her body. She stumbled backward, and he ran.
    He sloshed through the shallows and scrambled over the rocks lining the shoreline. Once back on solid land, he tossed the knife as far as he could and sprinted across an empty parking lot. Water squelched in his boots, and his footsteps pounded loudly, echoing in the still dawn air. Thud, thud, thud.
    He could hear footsteps behind him, too, half as loud but twice as fast.
    No way.
    He looked over his shoulder. She followed him, too close for his comfort.
    His wet clothes made it hard to move. There was no way he could keep running. Not fast enough, anyway. Already his breath was rasping in his chest; his heart felt as if it would explode.
    Ten feet ahead of him was a line of run-down apartment buildings. He shoved the door of the closest one and was relieved that it swung open, practically popping off its hinges.
    He took the rickety stairs two at a time, not sure where he was going. There must be a fire escape off the roof, or at least a room where he could lock the door. Corinthe must have lost her mind—or she was having some kind of a bad drug trip. The faster he got away from her, the better.
    He ran without thinking. The stairs stopped and he burst through a door, onto the roof. His lungs burned as he gasped for air. The fire escape was on the far side of the roof, but the only part that remained was a small portion of the rail. The ladder, the steps—everything else had been dismantled or fallen away.
    It was a sheer drop straight down to the alley.
    Back down the stairs, then. He yanked the rusty door back open and froze.
    Corinthe.
    God, she was fast.
    She wasn’t even winded. Her breathing was slow and deliberate, and she took several steps toward him as he backed up, raising both hands so she would know he wasn’t going to hurt her. The door slammed with a bang and he jumped. Shit.
    â€œLook. Look. Whatever’s going on—we can talk about it, okay?” Luc didn’t even know what he was saying. He needed time. Time to figure out a plan, time to talk her down.
    Corinthe stopped and cocked her head. She had retrieved the knife from the beach, but at least she wasn’t leveling it at him. She watched him with intense focus, her gaze moving with each twitch of his body. It made him feel extremely exposed, vulnerable. Jesus Christ. Her eyes were practically purple.
    â€œCan you talk to me? Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
    She wasn’t coming at him anymore. Maybe it was working—the talking. He had a sudden memory of Dr. Asswipe telling him to talk out his feelings, and he felt the wild urge to laugh. What he needed now was a weapon and an escape route.
    â€œWhatever I did to offend you, I’m sorry, okay?” He watched her carefully. He had assumed she might be on something, but her eyes were too lucid, her movements too steady. So what did that leave?
    Batshit crazy?
    â€œLook—last night and this morning have kind of sucked for me, okay? I’ve been looking for my sister. If I scared you, I’m sorry.”
    The thought occurred to him that maybe Corinthe had been sleeping on one of the boats in the Marina. Was she a runaway? Maybe he had startled her and she had come after him in self-defense. Assumed he was going to turn her in.
    It had to be a misunderstanding.
    Now that the hard lines of her face had softened, she looked like the girl he had talked to at the party. Luc