25. Chapter 25
25
Graysen
I n a burst of speed, I left Wychthorn to cross the lawn to the orchard, snatching a glossy red apple from a sprawling tree before heading to the woodland.
It wouldn’t be long. I’d seen the sheen of sweat coating Wychthorn’s forehead, the paleness of her complexion, and how she tried to hide the tremor in her hands from me. Whatever power she possessed, she needed to extinguish it. And that was the reason for these runs. I was sure of it now.
The furrowed bark of an oak scraped against my palms as I climbed upwards, shifting to sit on a branch, resting my back against the trunk to wait. The flesh of the apple was juicy and tart, but my mind didn’t register either the flavor or the sensation as I chewed, instead focused fully on Danne Douchebag Pellan. Seeing his hand crushing hers—I wanted to shred him. He knew she belonged to me. This was his way of paying me back for messing up his amiable, freckly face last year. Which he fucking deserved. And worse. Much worse. I’d only stopped because Ferne begged me to.
He was up to something. I could taste it in the air. He was nervous, anxious, and greedy for something Wychthorn could provide, hiding his creepy Pellan nature behind stupid-ass grins that promised he was just some easy-going chum.
No Pellan was.
They were sick motherfuckers. All of them.
Why the hells did she lie about jazz? Why was it so important that Danne liked her? A friend. Gods, I’d sooner try befriending a krekenn. Those spindly otherworldly critters hunted in swarms and had a one-track mind—flesh. They mostly preyed on the homeless, dragging them down to the sewers into nests spun from webs to consume their victims slowly. At least krekenns were honest.
Wychthorn was clever, so how could she be taken in?
Sure, I guess if I looked at Danne from her point of view—he seemed nice and charming, unassuming. No doubt, in her mind, the complete opposite of me. Which I suppose was most of the appeal.
I bit the apple, nearly devouring half of it with my black mood. I hissed through gritted teeth and chunks of sweet flesh. Gods, why was it so hard to keep myself objective with her?
I don’t care.
I do not fucking care!
Fuck. I do.
I flicked a message to my brother Caidan.
Me: Find out what you can about Danne Pellan.
Caidan: What’s the shady motherfucker been up to now?
Me: He’s sniffing around Wychthorn. I want to know where he’s been and who he owes.
Shoving my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I kept my vigil. And soon enough, through the leafy boughs of the oak, I spied Nelle sprinting across the lawn. That ridiculous too-big dress flared wide and the messenger bag slapped her hip as she ran with Sage at her heels.
I tossed the apple core away and jumped down, landing softly on the thick, lush grass. In several heartbeats, I crossed the tree line to the spot where she’d plunged into the murky depth of the woodland and began my hunt. She’d picked a muddy trail cutting through in an easterly direction, the earth was pressed with tiny footprints and her unique fragrance lingered in the air.
Why does that girl have such an aversion to shoes?
Where is she where is she where is she—
She was gone. Not a trace. I couldn’t scent her anywhere. I should have been able to see imprints of feet in the mud. It was as if one minute she was there, the next she wasn’t.
The answer came.
Surely not—
But if she did …
If she could…
What the hells is she?
Because the only way to disappear like this was to swift.
And like she’d said to Sirro, nothing living can swift.
An hour later, by chance, I picked up her scent and found her. Creeping out of the shadowy woods and silently stalking into a clearing, I carefully approached the sheer edge of a cliff that ringed a natural well of water. Crouching, I peered downward.
We’d crossed into fall, but it had been unseasonably hot so far, and sure enough, Wychthorn was floating in a deep pool, the depth so dark I couldn’t see the bottom. A noise of crashing thunder came from a waterfall. Sheets of white water tumbled from a river into the pool below and bright morning sunlight glanced off the rippling surface. Squinting and scanning the surrounding land, I spotted a path cut into the rocky cliff face that would have taken Wychthorn to the bottom of the water well. But her scent ended right here. Of course, she would have jumped off a cliff seventy feet high. That girl was fearless.
Wychthorn spread her arms wide as she floated, basking like an otter in the sunshine, her long hair drifting in the water.
I swallowed thickly, and my heartbeat raced faster. She was wearing her underthings. Nothing else but for the dagger strapped to her thigh.
Holy hellsgate .
She was willowy and toned and gorgeous. I grinned. That simple cotton bra was slightly translucent, clinging to her perky breasts, and the cool water had peaked her nipples.
Abruptly, Wychthorn jerked as if she were alerted to something. For a moment, I thought she’d spotted me. But she rolled over and dove underwater.
I patiently waited, keeping a close eye on the deep well, wondering where she’d emerge.
A minute went by…
A second…
I didn’t even make it to the third minute before I shot to my feet.
Fuck, where was she?
Shit, shit, shit—
Tossing my phone away and shucking off my boots and socks, I surged forward and dove off the cliff.