Gods of the Dead (Rising Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

they want to be. Like when they don’t want to get run over.
    Or when they know the devil is on their tail.

Chapter Four
    Trent
    “I don’t want to do it,” Chris says, flinching. His outstretched fingers creep slowly forward. “It’s going to hurt.”
    “Not if you’re fast,” I remind him.
    “I’m fast.”
    “Probably not fast enough.”
    “If you can do it, so can I.”
    “I wouldn’t use me as a benchmark for your accomplishments.”
    “Why not? ‘Cause you’re better than me?” he asks sarcastically.
    “I may not be better as a whole, but I am better at a lot of things. Speed is one of them.”
    “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
    His hand shoots forward, his fingers diving inside the trap. He touches the cheese but that’s it. He fumbles it, replacing the dairy with his digits, and the bar snaps forward hard. It cracks against his knuckles. He yelps, jumping up and down wildly.
    Orsen and I laugh as he shouts indistinct curses at the ceiling.
    “I told you that you weren’t fast enough,” I chuckle.
    “Shut up!” he shouts, rubbing his fingers. “Dammit, that hurt!”
    “Should have been quicker,” Orsen tells him.
    Chris tosses the trap onto the table. “Let’s see you do it.”
    “No way. I know I can’t do it.”
    “I’ll do it again,” I offer.
    “You’ve done it three times,” Chris protests, sitting down heavily and eyeing the trap with latent anger. “We get it. You’re quick.”
    “Never been caught.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Fastest hands in the forest.”
    “Not something to be proud of. We all know how you got so fast.”
    “Stop,” I tell him seriously, my body going stiff.
    He laughs. “Why? Are you embarrassed? You’re alone up there in the cabin with your dad and a goat. Of course you churn your own butter. It’s no secret.”
    “The goat is dead,” I tell him plainly, my eyes on the doorway behind him. “It was eaten by wolves last week, and you need to shut up about this.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he heard me coming,” Zoe says, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’s wearing white pants and a thick gray sweater that hides her curves. Her long hair is braided loosely and swept over one shoulder, the way she always wears it. “He’s worried I’ll hear what disgusting things you guys are talking about.”
    “What’s up, Zo?” Orsen calls, waving faintly.
    “Not much. Just following the sound of stupid. What are you guys doing in here?”
    Chris shows her the mouse trap. “Playing a game.”
    She smiles at his red fingers. “Looks like you’re losing.”
    “Only because Orsen won’t play.”
    “Orsen playing wouldn’t help you,” I assure him. “You’d still be too slow.”
    “Yeah, but I wouldn’t be the only one losing.”
    “You’d still be losing.”
    “Can I play?” Zoe asks.
    Orsen shakes his head. “No, Zo, you don’t want to—“
    “Sure,” I interrupt.
    Her smile widens as her eyes find me. I feel myself start to sweat a little.
    I shrug out of my jacket and deftly reset the trap.
    “What are the rules?” she asks, sitting down next to me at the long dining table.
    “You have to pick up the cheese without getting your fingers snapped, that’s it. Simple,” Chris explains. “But seriously, you don’t want to do this. It hurts like hell.”
    “Only if you do it wrong, right?” she asks, nudging my leg with hers under the table.
    I nudge her back, catching her scent. Sweet honey soap and winter orange.
    Chris grins at her. “Yeah, we’ll see how much trash you’re talking in a minute when that thing is latched onto your fingers.”
    She glares at him before turning her head toward me. “Any tips?” she asks softly.
    “Don’t get caught,” I advise.
    “Wise words. Thanks, Trent.”
    “I’m here to help.”
    “Less talking, more stalking,” Orsen chants. “Get that cheese!”
    Zoe sits up straight, squaring her shoulders. She theatrically flexes her fingers out. She makes a show of darting