Chapter 4 #2
My mom’s worried voice filters through my mind. I don’t want to cause her any more stress tonight. If I could have texted them, I’d definitely take the longer, well-lit route, but since I can’t . . .
I take off in the direction of the trees at a brisk pace. The temperature has to have dropped at least thirty degrees since I sat on the lawn with Kendra. Goose bumps break out on my exposed arms, and I rub them as I walk-jog toward the woods, cursing myself for not bringing a jacket.
Plunging into the trees, I tell myself I’m not being stupid, but that I’m being a good daughter.
I’m only a few minutes’ walk from home now, and even though it’s near pitch-black, I’ll see a streetlight from my neighborhood peeking through the trees at any moment.
Not that I need it. My eyesight in the dark is far better than any human’s, so I don’t need the light to guide my way.
Something else that’s heightened besides my eyesight is my hearing, so when a branch snaps in the stillness, it’s as loud as a warning shot.
I freeze, cocking my head toward the noise. As my blood starts to pump faster, I try to convince myself it was only an animal. But it was unmistakably the snap of a twig beneath someone’s foot.
Carefully, I scan my surroundings, taking note of every shape and shadow. Breathing shallowly, I stretch my hearing, trying to pick up on any other out-of-the-ordinary noises, but after a minute I shake my head and let out a nervous laugh.
I must be hearing things.
When I take my first step, a dark shape bursts out from behind a tree and tackles me to the ground.
I hit hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. My bag goes skidding into the leaves.
It takes a second for reality to register as I gasp for breath, and then fear crashes over me, freezing me in place.
A large man pushes off me and rises, looming over me as I break through my paralysis and scramble to my feet. Before I can get my footing, he grabs a handful of hair and wrenches my head back.
I try to scream, but I’m still recovering from the blow, unable to draw enough air to make more than a soundless gasp.
The man pulls me backward by my hair. It’s excruciating, like my scalp is on fire, but the sharp pain clears my mind, and my self-defense training finally kicks in.
As he drags me across the leaf-strewn ground, I reach up and clamp one hand around his wrist to ease the pull, then grab his pinky with the other. Without giving myself time to chicken out, I jerk his pinky back, feeling the bone snap.
I’m expecting a howl of pain from my attacker, but it never comes, though his grip on my hair loosens.
Grabbing another finger, I break that one too, my stomach roiling.
He can’t hold on to me with only two working fingers and a thumb, and so as he switches his grip to his other hand, I twist free.
Scrambling for footing, I spin toward him, panting from fear and exertion.
I didn’t get a great look at him before, but as I face off against him now, I’m surprised to see how young he is. Probably around my age. Maybe a student here?
He has black hair, cut close to his scalp. He’s tall, having almost a foot on me. And his eyes . . .
I swallow a gasp.
His eyes are completely black, devoid of any white.
I’ve never seen anything like it before, and my fear triples, practically choking me.
This is it. This is exactly what my parents have been trying to protect me from my whole life. And I just walked into the woods alone and right into its evil clutches.
The guy takes a menacing step forward, not seeming the least bit bothered by his two fingers bent at odd angles. Just looking at them makes me nauseous, but he seems completely impervious to the pain, his entire focus on me.
My head is sore from being pulled by my hair, but other than some bruises I’m fine.
I steel myself, getting ready for what might be a fight for my life. I could run, but he’d just chase me, probably overtake me before I can break through the trees and get help.
My best chance is to face off with him, but when he steps closer, his chest heaving with fury, my feet betray me, carrying me backward.
When facing off with an opponent, stand your ground, I hear my instructor saying. Don’t let him back you into a corner or dictate the fight. Take control of it and steer it in the direction you want.
Yes, he’s caught me off guard and is super scary, but I remind myself I’m not defenseless. I have physical training and erratic magic.
With a burst of speed and power, I run at him, driving my fist forward with all my might. It catches him in the cheek and his head snaps to the side as I sail by him.
Spinning, he growls.
Not a normal growl either: a deep, resonating sound that no human throat could ever produce.
I feel it all the way to my soul.
If there was ever a time to disregard my parents’ warning and use my magic, it would be now, but even as I try to bring it forth, he lunges again. I lose focus, and the magic falters just as he comes at me, arms spread like he means to crush me in one brutal embrace.
Ducking, I slip under his reach and slam a jab into his side.
The blow lands, but it’s like punching a fleshy wall. He barely flinches.
Before I can retreat, his hand lashes out. A backhand cracks across my face. Pain explodes through me; the metallic tang of blood coats my tongue as I’m sent sprawling to the ground.
My elbows and palms scrape against dirt and stones, the breath knocked from my chest.
I scramble, desperate to stand, when light flares in the corner of my vision.
Before I even have a chance to turn my head, a blast of flames hurtles out of nowhere and slams into my attacker’s chest with a thunderous impact.
He staggers back with another inhuman roar, smoke curling from the scorch mark spreading across his shirt. The skin beneath is already blackened and blistered.
I blink up through the haze of pain, my pulse thundering as someone comes to stand between me and the monster.
It’s a guy with fire dancing over his fingers, his eyes locked on my attacker.
I can only see part of his profile from the ground, but I know I’ve never seen him before:
strong square jawline, muscular build, shaggy blond hair that almost reaches his collar. I would have remembered meeting him, or even catching a glimpse. He’s not the kind of guy a girl forgets.
Despite the danger, a spark I can’t quite name flickers through me.
With a bellow of rage, my attacker charges, heedless of the fire the blond guy is wielding, and takes another fireball full in the chest. This time it doesn’t stop him. He drives forward, and I haul myself up just as the two crash together in a brutal tangle.
The blond guy’s strikes are violent and punishing, but there’s something savage in how my attacker fights. His moves aren’t smooth or precise, but feral and vicious, and completely unconcerned with self-preservation.
Flames lick up and down the blond guy’s arms as they trade blows, and though the fire sears my attacker’s flesh, he fights as if he doesn’t feel it at all.
I hover at the edge, frozen in indecision.
Run or try to help?
Then the blond guy lands a blow just as a sudden gust of wind out of nowhere slams into my attacker. The combined force hurls him into the trunk of a tree, its branches shuddering on impact, before he slides to the ground in a crumpled heap.
The blond guy’s shoulders heave as he stomps over to the fallen attacker.
Is he dead? Or just knocked out?
He’s in bad shape. Multiple burn marks over his arms, chest and face. One eye is swollen shut, and from the angle he’s slumped, his shoulder might be dislocated.
I happen to catch sight of his hands and I gasp. The ends of each finger are tipped in sharp claws.
The blond reaches him just as a groan leaves the attacker’s mouth, and I’m not sure whether I’m glad or not that he’s still alive.
His dark head lolls to the side, but his eyes remain shut.
“Stay down,” the blond orders. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.” His voice is deep and authoritative, and a shiver runs through me.
It’s obvious he saved me from what would have been, at best, a kidnapping, but he isn’t human. The fire, the wind magic, prove that. Which means he’s exactly what my parents taught me to run from my entire life.
My would-be rescuer turns his back on the attacker and our gazes connect.
Green. His eyes are green . . . and slitted?
He blinks and the pupils are normal again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, the attacker lumbers to his feet behind him, his black claws catching the moonlight.
I open my mouth to shout a warning, but the blond’s already turning, his fist a blur of green and red flames as it slams into the attacker’s chest, hurling him back into another tree, where his dark head snaps against the trunk with a hollow crack.
This time, when he hits the ground, he doesn’t groan or twitch. He lies perfectly still.
The blond guy mutters a curse and crouches down, feeling for a pulse.
“Is he . . .?”
“Still breathing,” he says. “But we should get—”
A loud gasp cuts him off, the attacker’s chest jerking upward. For a heartbeat, his eyes fly open and he convulses as a stream of thick, black smoke pours from his mouth, curling into the night air like a serpent tasting the dark, before evaporating into the night.
I stumble back, shocked, and lose my footing. Rolling my ankle, I fall to the ground, landing hard on my butt.
The guy falls still again. Too still this time.
The blond remains crouched over the body, and I don’t need to ask this time. We both know he’s gone.
With a frustrated grunt, he rises to his feet and turns to me.
I can’t decide if I should be thanking him or running from him, but when his green eyes lock with mine, they pin me in place.
In silence, his gaze drifts over me, tracing every detail from the top of my auburn hair down to my size seven Chucks before sliding back up to my face.
When he does, his body goes rigid, and his expression flickers with something between disbelief and barely concealed fear.
I can’t quite read it, but the way he looks at me is almost like he’s seeing a ghost. Then he gives his head a quick shake, and the expression vanishes.
I’m still in shock as the blond pulls a phone from his pocket and punches in some numbers. Someone picks up on the other end of the line.
“Hey, it’s me,” he says, and then half-turns away.
The person on the other end responds, and normally my hearing would be sharp enough to catch every word, but a buzzing in my ears makes it impossible to focus on their conversation.
In a daze, my gaze moves to the dead body only feet in front of me. I wonder in a detached way who he was. Who were his parents? Did he have a girlfriend or a wife?
What if he had a dog?
Whether he has a pet shouldn’t matter, but I find myself fixating on it anyway, on the thought that there’s a dog out there somewhere that will never know what happened to its owner.
“I found her,” the guy says, snapping me out of my trance.
The muffled male voice on the other end of his line responds, “Are you sure it’s her?”
The guy glances over at me, and the intensity in his eyes sends heat rising to my cheeks.
“It’s her. I’m positive.”