The archer sprang to his feet, facing Reid. She skidded to a halt. His fingers curled as he came at her, swinging his fist toward her face. She ducked, twisted, and rammed her dagger into his exposed stomach. Grunting, he punched her in the side. She stumbled to the ground, gasping in pain. He reached down, picked her up, and threw her. She sailed through the air, landing five feet away flat on her back. Pain exploded through her body, stars floating across her vision. Reid couldn’t breathe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rick hack off his assailant’s arm. Unable to watch, she choked back a gag and focused on the archer stalking toward her. He withdrew her dagger from his arm, then stood above her, glaring as she lay on the ground, unable to move or defend herself.

A hissing sound reached her ears. The archer crumbled to the ground, an axe protruding from his back.

Rick knelt next to her. “Are you okay?”

Tears slid down her face. Everything hurt. “Are they dead?” she wheezed.

“Yes. All three are dead.”

“Good.” She stared up into his face. “Thank you. I’m glad you know how to fight. I wouldn’t have survived on my own.” Breathing was painful, and she feared she’d broken something.

His grin was fierce. “I’ve chopped a lot of wood over the years. Never realized how handy my axe was until now.” He reached down to help her sit up.

She hissed, pain piercing her side.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.” He picked her up, then carried her toward the house.

Chapter Fifteen

The door flew open. “Is she all right?” Dexter demanded.

“She’s fine,” Rick said. “I think she may have a broken rib.” He stepped into the house, carefully setting Reid on the bed.

“You can come out,” Dexter called to Ava.

Ava stepped out from the closet, a kitchen knife in hand. Rick rushed to her side, enveloping her in a hug.

“Reid,” Dexter said, sitting beside her on the bed. “Look at me.”

She did as he asked, tears streaming down her face.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” she answered.

“Does it hurt to breathe?”

“It’s getting better.”

He lifted the hem of her shirt, examining her stomach. “I’m going to touch your ribs. Let me know where it hurts.” His fingertips trailed over her right side, then her left.

She hissed. “Right there. In the middle.” Where the archer had punched her before tossing her like a rag doll. Her back and arms felt scraped raw, but that was nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in her torso.

“It’s already turning purple.” He lowered her shirt. “You probably have a broken rib. First, I need to clean up the mess outside. When I come back, I’ll wrap your torso to help with the pain.”