Chapter 38
CARWYNN
My sneakers scuffed the gravel as I raced down the trail, and the oak forest swallowed me whole.
I was late. Like . . . really late.
The sky had long passed sunset, clinging to the last kiss of light. Cotton candy pinks and dandelion golds had given way to rich purples and deepening blues. The vibrant skies truly were one of the best parts of Luckland.
My feet slowed as a new sound tugged at my ears. Rushing water.
Up ahead, a wide waterfall thundered down into a gorgeous pool of aquamarine. Ripples splayed across the surface, shimmering beneath the final threads of light.
A figure loomed just beside the waterfall. Half-sunk in shadows like an angry phantom haunting the woods, probably waiting for his next victim.
Pogue.
I nearly had to stifle a laugh with my hand. His irritation was beyond potent as he paced back and forth. I swear even the trees were leaning away from him.
Great.
This was either going to be wildly entertaining or full-scale torture. There was no in-between.
I gulped down air in an attempt to catch my breath. I was desperate to hide the fact that I sprinted for ten minutes and was now fighting for my life.
Please god, I thought, don’t let there be any marathons in the Eostre Trials.
Taking my sweet time at the dress shop and then making a pit-stop home to get changed felt like an empowering move at the time. But now, I wasn’t so sure.
Darkness suddenly swarmed my view. Pogue stepped forward, an angry puss plastered on his face.
“I can’t imagine you’d comprehend this,” he growled, eyes drawn like blades. “But some of us actually have important lives to attend to.” His voice dropped with a lethal force. “You wanna piss your time away? Fine. But don’t waste mine.”
The hit of his fury had my foot stepping back.
That old, familiar flush crept in—the feeling of being belittled. Having to wear my insecurities like a chainmail blanket. I wanted to bury my eyes in the dirt.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words are fucking bullets . . .
It shouldn’t have surprised me that my life didn’t count as important in his eyes. But I wasn’t going to shrivel, not this time. Because I wasn’t her anymore. The girl who’d let the insults stick to her like flung mud.
So—Fuck. Him.
“Waste your time?” I stepped forward, claiming my ground. “What about all the hours of my time you’ve wasted? Sending me off on solo-hiking missions so you could play creep in the woods. Living out your stalker fantasy!”
Darkness crept in.
“Like I said, it was a test. One you failed miserably,” he snapped, eyes like shards of glass, scraping.
“Not that I’m surprised.” He closed the space between us.
“Don’t, for one pathetic second, think I enjoyed watching you.
” Tone vicious and cold. “I’m not that low-grubbing dog that follows you around with his tongue hanging out. ”
The scorch of my cheeks went straight through me, burning into my soul. My insides bubbled, brewing a boiling pot of wrath.
My hands shot out before I could think—shoving him. Hard.
“Asshole!” I exploded, wielding my finger like a sword. “You’re a fucking asshole! No wonder you’ve got a permanent puss on your face. You’re constantly marinating in your own lonely, despicable existence. People would rather swallow their own tongues than be in your presence!”
It wasn’t my strongest comeback. But I was seeing red and threw the first insult I could reach for.
Pogue’s face went unreadable. Except that ever-present judgy face.
A wicked smirk slithered into place, possessing the corner of his mouth like it’d been waiting for this.
He leaned in, a mere inch away.
I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. I angled my head enough to meet his eyes.
Cruel. That hint of a smile was so, very cruel on that annoyingly pretty face.
“Kiss me,” he said, disturbingly low. It sent a stone plunking into the abyss of my stomach.
The air stilled. Or maybe my lungs had completely solidified as confusion slapped me clean across the face.
He didn’t blink.
“That’s what you said,” he whispered sharply. “What you begged.” His voice rose.
Every inch of my skin hardened, prickling like wet cement starting to cure. I was really hoping the memory of that night—the Liplock potion, the alcohol, the humiliating moment I asked him to kiss me—had been washed out of everyone’s minds. Turns out, I was painfully wrong . . .
Pogue’s head lifted, the movement enough to make my skin crawl.
“According to you,” he muttered. “Everyone would rather swallow their own tongue than be near me.” Eyes ignited savagely. “But you—you’d rather swallow my tongue. Wouldn’t you?” His words were nothing short of malicious as they paired with a following grin.
Words—what were words? They’d completely abandoned me. Leaving me to stand there, speechless. I was drowning in my own humiliation, and regret. The weight of familiar, oppressing insecurities moving to the forefront of my mind.
No. I’m not doing this . . .
Something shifted. A jolt. The darkness inside me—waking.
My attention snapped toward it, just as something flashed across Pogue’s features. It was focused, unmasked.
His gaze traveled over me. Not just watching but feeling. Like a slow, sensual caress.
I swear to god. This man and his whiplash emotions . . .
I looked down, following his tracks.
Oh.
Dark, shimmering wisps curled around my arms and torso. Tendrils of white and shadow spiraled off my skin. My magic was surging. And I was glowing again.
“Good,” Pogue said flatly. “Let’s get started.” He turned and strode toward the falls.
I’m sorry—what?
Something was seriously wrong with him. And I meant that. Like, seriously, clinically wrong with him.
One moment he was smiling, then flirting, then plotting my death.
It felt like starving in the wilderness and finding a beautiful, steaming plate of food just sitting there, smothered in the promise of nourishment.
You salivate. You take one bite. Only to realize, it’s poison.
Now you’re on your knees, retching up your insides, internally bleeding out.
That’s the effect I imagine he’d have on most women.
How the hell did he go from verbally tearing me apart to playing composed personal trainer?
“Psycho assmask . . .” I mumbled under my breath. Then dragged my feet behind him.
Pogue halted. Blue eyes pinned me over a shoulder.
“What was that?” he said.
I cleared my throat and casually walked past. “Nothing.”
His face narrowed like he was trying to mentally throttle me.
The woods thickened around us, night devouring what little light was left. The waterfall was close. Its roar was loud and foreboding. Just the forest, the crashing water, and us.
“Uh,” I said, scanning the dark. “So where exactly are we training?”
“Emerald Falls.” His side brushed mine as he took the lead.
No shit, Emerald Falls . . .
If I made it through the next hour without strangling him, it’d be a miracle.
“Cool. Swim lessons!” My arms flung wide, voice dripping sarcasm as I theatrically snapped my fingers. “Ooooo, shucks! I forgot my bathing suit! Maybe I’ll just head back to grab—” I spun on my heel, but his hand clamped down on my shoulder. He turned me back toward him in one smooth motion.
“There’s a series of caves under the falls,” he said, gaze fixed on the misty cascade ahead. “That’s where we’re going. For today’s training, you won’t need your eyes to see. Just your Soulsayer ability.”
The temperature around us plummeted, like a clammy, cold hand pressed against the back of my neck. My arms tensed before I could stop them, and a shiver slithered down my spine.
Emerald falls were, no doubt, absolutely stunning. The kind of breathtaking that’d be captured in some glamorous travel guide listed as a hotspot for quick dips and drunken fairy fun. But not cave exploring.
I swam here twice before with Aine and Breena.
They’d shared childhood tales about the Emerald Caves, cursed tunnels that could suck you in whole, like falling down a bottomless well.
The same caves said to house a Gorta beast who’d feast on the naughty, dragging them back to its bed of monstrous Hungry Grass, which would pluck out your entrails like toothpicks spearing appetizers.
They’d laughed it off as a spooky children’s tale or a campfire ghost story, but I definitely had nightmares about it all week.
“Umm, maybe we could play hide-and-seek in the woods and skip the whole creepy caves . . .” I scrunched my face warily, already regretting every life decision that led me to stand here.
“It’ll help you—”
Another voice, unfamiliar and horse, called out from the trees. “Ya ought to run along home.”
I turned to see a slender, elderly man standing near the path we’d just come from.
His head was bald, skin pale and stretched over sharp cheekbones.
A long, weathered white tunic hung off his frame like a curtain on a wood post. It looked as though he’d stepped right out from the forest—or perhaps never left it.
From the state of him, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did live out there.
Starved, protruding bones pressed against the fabric he wore.
I hadn’t heard him approach. And judging by the look on Pogue’s face, neither had he.
“It’ll be moonrise soon,” the man rasped, voice dry as petrified wood. “There’ll be creatures about.” His clouded eyes shifted between us, as if weighing something only he could see.
“Thank you,” I replied, then offered a friendly smile. “We won’t be long.”
Pogue was a statue at my side, staring at the man like he was seriously contemplating throwing him into the waters just to shut him up.
The man slowly licked his chaffed lips. “Say—ya wouldn’t have any food to spare, would ya?” he asked.
“If you want to beg,” Pogue condescended, “find a tin cup and a street corner in the city. Mind your business. Go waste your breath elsewhere.”
I nearly tore a muscle whipping my head around, my eyes wide with shock.