Chapter 12

There was no doubt in Rebel’s mind that death lingered over him. Pain seared

through his chest, the sting of torn flesh and bone intensifying with each breath he drew until he became convinced he’d rather not breathe at all. He could feel the heated rush of blood leaving his body, the intense chill its absence left behind. Every second drew him closer to the inevitable, closer to darkness, until, for a moment, he was certain he saw the face of the angel of death himself.

Hello, old friend.

He greeted death warmly, as they’d been acquainted many times before. More than once, Rebel had drawn so close to death that even in his waking hours, he could recall the sensation. First, the absence of thirst, hunger, need. The loss of his vision and voice came next, followed shortly by the absence of sound and touch until he was floating in an endless ocean of emptiness. The waves rising faster than the tide until suddenly, he was carried out to sea. His b