Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert)

But that was the thing about this one chunk of rock-jam it in tight, and it'd hold back the rest of the landslide.

The only catch? Now Sylvia was stuck inside, too.

Their only way out was blocked.

Even after making sure they were at least for the moment-safe, Sylvia didn't relax. Instead, she spun around and glared daggers at the man sprawled half- upright on the ground.

"Why didn't you move? You lied to me! You-"noveldrama

Sylvia's hand shot up, ready to slap him, but froze midway.

That's when she finally noticed Rupert's leg, pinned and bloodied, a crimson pool spreading under him.

Her anger crumbled, tangled up with guilt and confusion.

Rupert's face was unreadable as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look away. "Didn't hit the bone. Just a nasty cut."

Sylvia yanked her face free and glared at him, eyes rimmed red. "Why are you always like this? You slap me, then hand me a cookie! Am I supposed to thank you? God, I hate you sometimes!"

Rupert's hand hovered in the stale air between them, then dropped. He said nothing.

The old mine was pitch dark; she couldn't see his expression, not really.

Sylvia turned away and crouched by his injured leg to check the wound.

He was right-no broken bones. But the gash looked agonizing, and not a sound had escaped him.

She bit her lip, tore off the sleeve of her undershirt, and wiped away the dirt and blood before tying it tight around his leg.

The bleeding slowed, but with a wound that big, if they didn't get help soon, infection was inevitable.

With the first aid done as best she could, Sylvia curled up at the far edge of the

cave.

Across the darkness, Rupert's voice rumbled. "Come here."

Sylvia pressed her lips together, refusing to budge.

Rupert's brow furrowed as he tried to sit up; the effort made his leg ooze blood again.

On reflex, Sylvia reached out to steady him, snapping, "Uncle Rupert! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"If I wanted to live an easy life, would I be here?" he shot back, dry as dust. She faltered, lost for words.

Rupert pulled her down beside him, his arm strong and unyielding as iron. She tried to squirm away.

"Quit it." He clamped a hand on her shoulder, his voice cool. "Would it kill you to stop arguing with me for one day?"

Then, with a sigh, he opened his coat and wrapped it around both of them.

Sylvia blinked, startled, her body pressed against his warm chest.

For a brief second, she thought she could hear his heart pounding-fast and uneven.

He could lose his cool? That was new.

In the pitch black, only their uneven breathing filled the space.

"Why'd you get yourself caught?" Rupert asked suddenly.

"I don't know," Sylvia hedged.

"Don't know? You're not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you're not stupid either. Out with it."

Sylvia shifted uneasily but met Rupert's eyes-dark as midnight, even in the gloom. Just that look made her skin prickle.

"I figured the people tailing me were

in cahoots with the mine owners, so I tried to get proof. There's a tracker

hidden in one of my jacket

noi

buttons-ow!"

Before she could finish, Rupert's grip on her shoulder tightened, almost painfully.

His breathing was ragged, angry, like a storm rolling in off the Atlantic-barely restrained, on the verge of breaking loose.

"You? You idiot! If I'd been a minute later, you'd be buried here for good! A tracker? So they could find your corpse?"

"Then why did you come, Uncle Rupert? If I died, wouldn't that be

perfect for you? You thought I drugged you that night, didn't you? Without me, you and Bridget Simpson could live happily ever after."

Sylvia turned away, letting the darkness swallow her pale face.

Rupert's hand closed around her jaw, cold fury in his eyes. "Happily Sylvia, you really... you

have no idea, do you?"