Encore of the Avenging Muse (Sylvia and Rupert) novel Chapter 348

Sylvia clung to Jayson’s hand with all her strength as he started to sink.

The poor boy’s face had gone ghostly pale, terror written all over his features.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Sylvia urged, trying to sound calm, even as she hooked her other hand under his chin to keep his head above water.

Rescuing a six- or seven-year-old wasn’t exactly easy, especially since his soaked clothes weighed him down like a sack of wet sand. Even for a grown woman, it was a struggle.

Thankfully, Sylvia hadn’t been wearing much—just a thin summer dress, her arms free to move. The water was frigid, biting through her skin, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

Slowly, painfully, she dragged the boy toward the riverbank. The moment they were close enough, the woman was there, sobbing as she reached out.

“Sylvia, give me your hand!”

“Take the boy first,” Sylvia gasped, barely able to keep her grip.

She could feel herself growing weaker by the second, unsure how much longer she could hold on. But the woman scrambled down, murmuring frantic thanks as she pulled the shivering, petrified boy onto the shore.

Just as Sylvia reached for the woman’s outstretched hand, something thick and heavy—a tree branch, big around as a baseball bat—came sweeping down the current and slammed into her shoulder.

She barely had time to grunt in pain before her numb fingers slipped, and the river yanked her back into the freezing water.

“Sylvia! Sylvia!” the woman screamed from the bank, voice cracking in panic. “Help! Somebody help!”

Sylvia flailed, kicking and struggling, but the current pulled her down. Cold and exhaustion closed over her like a heavy blanket. Her lungs burned, her vision blurred.

Just before everything went black, she thought she saw a shadow moving through the rippling water—someone coming for her.

…

Hospital.

Sylvia woke up feeling like she’d been run over by a truck. For a second, everything was blurry. She tried to move, but something heavy and warm was draped across her waist.

When she pulled back the blanket, she realized it was an arm—a strong, male arm, with a glinting silver ring on the finger that looked oddly out of place in the sterile hospital room.

A low, raspy voice sounded at her ear just as she was trying to free herself. “You’re awake?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, still groggy. She reached down, trying to gently move the arm away.

Sylvia let out a shaky breath of relief. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“That’s it?” Rupert’s brow furrowed, his expression hard to read.

“What else do you want me to say?” Sylvia blinked, genuinely puzzled by his reaction.

Rupert shifted on the pillow, their foreheads nearly touching as he fixed her with a searching stare.

“So you care more about a random kid than you do about me?” he asked, voice low and a little accusing.

Sylvia stared at him, stunned, unable to tell if he was joking or actually upset.

After a moment, she decided to play it safe. “Uncle Rupert, are you okay?”

Rupert almost laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Their eyes met, and his gaze grew darker, more intense.

He’d promised himself he’d take it easy on her while she was still recovering—but she was making it awfully hard to keep that promise.