16
Brook’s heart panic-thumped, as she stared at Stefan’s vacated space. “My father is going to kill me.”
Clive groaned. “Oh, Christ.” He grabbed Brook’s upper arm. “Get up. We need to cut him off.”
She allowed him to tug her upright, his feet already moving in the right direction, his continued grip hauling her along behind.
No matter how fast they weaved through the trees, Brook could not see, nor hear Stefan anywhere ahead.
“It’s too late.” She panted, as she and Clive kept pace. “We’re too late.”
“Not yet, we’re not.” Clive grasped her hips and sailed with her on a leap of his own over a gnarled trunk bent and twisted with age.
She supposed anyone else would have questioned why Clive aided her. She’d seen the pain in his eyes, the disgust when he’d realised her secret, so why on
