Reborn: The Duke's Obsession-Chapter 271 - Two Hundred And Seventy One

The horses thundered along the narrow country road, their hooves a frantic, desperate drumbeat against the hard-packed earth. Eric stood in the driver's box, the leather reins cutting into his raw hands, the wind whipping tears from his eyes. Every muscle in his body was coiled with a terrifying urgency. The face of Delia being in danger burned into his mind.

"Please be alright, Delia," he said to himself, the words an anxious prayer carried away by the wind. "Just hold on. I'm coming."

Up ahead, through a break in the trees, he saw it. A dark carriage, moving steadily towards him. A chilling sense of recognition washed over him. He knew that carriage. It was one of his own, from the Carson stables. His heart hammered against his ribs. He looked around, his eyes taking in the familiar, dreaded landmarks—the gnarled oak with its crooked branch, the sharp, blind curve just ahead. This was the place. This was where it happened.

History was about to repeat itself. Fate, it seemed, was determined to have its way. But Eric was done following fate's rules.

No, he thought, a cold, hard resolve solidifying in his gut. Not this time. I will not crash. I will not fail her again. I will change the ending.

He didn't slow down. Instead, he urged the horses on, timing his approach with a mad, desperate precision. As the two carriages drew near, he didn't steer for a head-on collision. Instead, he drove his own carriage right alongside Philip's, a hair's breadth away. The sudden appearance of his thundering horses so close to their own sent Philip's team into a panic. They whinnied in terror, their eyes rolling, and veered violently to the side.

The maneuver worked exactly as Eric had intended. Philip's carriage swerved off the road, the sickening crack of splintering wood echoing through the woods as it crashed sideways into the thick trunk of a nearby tree.

"Blast!" Philip roared from the wrecked driver's box. The world had just been a blur of green and then a sudden, violent jolt. He wiped a trickle of blood from a cut on his forehead with the back of his sleeve. His plan was ruined. He looked over the less wrecked carriage and remembered Delia was still unconscious on the floor, and a new, more brutal plan formed. He yanked open the carriage door, intent on pulling her out, on finishing this somewhere else.

But as he reached for her, a hand like an iron vise clamped down on his shoulder and yanked him out of the carriage. He was thrown to the ground, landing hard.

He looked up into the face of his brother.

"I told you this before," Eric said, his voice a low, guttural roar. He hauled Philip to his feet. "Come at me. And leave my wife alone."

He didn't wait for a reply. His fist connected with Philip's jaw, the impact a solid, satisfying crack. Philip's head snapped back. Before he could recover, Eric hit him again, a brutal punch to the stomach that drove the air from his lungs. Philip doubled over, gasping. Eric grabbed him by the collar and hit him again, and again, channeling all his fear, his rage, and the grief of two lifetimes into his fists.

Philip fell to the floor, squirming in the dirt, his face a bloody mess.

Eric stood over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. He shook his hands to get the feeling back into them, then turned, his rage vanishing as quickly as it had come, replaced by a mad concern for Delia. He ran to the open door of the crashed carriage.

"Delia! Delia, wake up!" he cried, his voice breaking. He climbed inside, the space cramped and smelling of dust and fear. He saw her slumped on the floor, pale and still. He gently removed the foul handkerchief from her mouth, his hands trembling. "Delia, are you okay? Delia!"

He started to work on the tight ropes binding her wrists and leg, his fingers fumbling with the knots. But there was no response from her. She remained limp, unconscious.

On the ground outside, Philip stirred. He pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest, the world a hazy, spinning mess from the blows. A low growl of uncontrollable hatred escaped his lips. He had been beaten, humiliated. But he had not lost. He reached into his coat, his fingers closing around the cold, heavy steel of a pistol.

He staggered to his feet, adjusting the pistol in his hand. He saw Eric in the carriage, his back turned, completely focused on bringing Delia out. Philip raised the gun, his aim unsteady but determined.

Eric had finally managed to untie Delia's hands and was now carefully lifting her, trying to carry her out of the wreckage. As he backed out of the carriage, half-pulling her with him, Philip fired. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

BANG!!!

The gunshot ripped through the quiet woods. The bullet slammed into Eric's stomach. A sharp, searing pain exploded through him. He grunted, the sound a mixture of shock and agony, as he staggered back. The force of the impact made him lose his grip on Delia, leaving her half-pulled out of the carriage, her legs still inside.

Philip's lips curled into a snarl. The gun recoiled in his hand as he shot again. This time, the bullet hit Eric's shoulder, spinning him around.

Eric's eyes widened, a look of pure, uncomprehending shock on his face. The strength in his legs gave out. He fell to his knees, and then, like a great tree being felled, he fell backwards onto the ground. He looked up at the sky. It was turning a flat, dull grey, the color of storm clouds. A cold drop of water hit his cheek.

"Why…" he said, his voice a hoarse, weak whisper. "Why does it want to rain… at the beginning of spring?"

Just then, a boot pressed down hard on his stomach wound. A scream of heart wrenching pain was torn from his throat. He tried to use his hands to push the leg away, but he had no strength left. He looked up through a haze of pain and saw Philip standing over him, his face a mask of triumphant cruelty.

"Eric," Philip said, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "It has been long, little brother."