Chapter Sixty-Eight
“I’m toast,” I have a chance to think.
Then I land in Nero’s blood-covered arms with a loud smack.
Whatever rib or internal organ I felt crack earlier sends angry pain signals to my brain.
Nero carefully puts me back on my feet by the wall—and I try not to vomit from the pain as I use my hand to steady myself.
Nero then rejoins Chester, and they brutally finish off the last of the orcs.
“Bert,” I croak, wiping a gallon of orc blood from my face.
Chester looks where his lion is still trying to hold on to the chieftain’s throat.
“Save him,” I rasp and slide by the wall to check on Felix.
Chester leaps for the chieftain. Over his shoulder, he says, “You might not want to see this.”
I focus on Felix as he suggests, then regret not also covering my ears. Whatever C
