I barely managed not to throw up, found I was half lying in Viggo’s arms. The wetness of the ground was soaking through my jeans, my bad leg a block of ice being gnawed by wolves. I remembered…everything. “I’m so sorry,” Viggo whispered. I shook my aching head, trying to dislodge the mists in my mind. “No. It wasn’t your fault. He was crazy. Jealous. And I provoked him. Taunted him.” I felt empty inside. “It was my fault. I should have died too.” Viggo’s hands tightened on my arms. Startling me. Hurting me, even. “No. No. You think because you were angry at him, you deserve to die? That’s as crazy as he was.” I nodded mechanically, my gaze on the rocky ground. “What did you do…after?” He was silent for so long, I stared at him. I was about to repeat the question when he spoke. “I didn’t do what I should have done. I thought you were dead. Both of you.” I waited for several breaths before he carried on. “I ran away. I saw some tourists down below.
