36. Annalise
Chapter thirty-six
Annalise
The woods behind Hunter’s house have become Tyr’s and my unofficial training ground.
Partly because they’re quiet, mostly because they’re private.
And, if I’m being completely honest, because every recruit at Scion has developed a healthy and entirely reasonable fear of wandering anywhere near this patch of forest since Hunter threatened to punish anyone who even thought of coming out here to ask for help outside of hours, after we were almost caught messing around on the front porch after a particularly hands-on workout.
Luckily, his horrifying remediations have guaranteed me the perfect place to practice morphing while Hunter is teaching classes in the mornings.
I stand barefoot in the damp grass, my eyes closed, the morning air cool against my skin.
“Ready?” Tyr asks.
I open one eye.
“You always ask that, but saying no never gets me out of this stupid warm-up,” I laugh, and his amusement rolls through the bond.
“Begin.”
The first exercise is always the same: small, simple changes. Precision before speed he says.
I focus on my hair, the sensation a massage that’s irritatingly too light. There’s a strange internal pull as I direct the change I want and let the magic take effect.
My hair darkens from its usual shade to red—hold for three seconds—reverse.
“Again,” Tyr says.
I change it to blonde, then back. Short, then normal. Then long enough to be called the new Rapunzel, and back to my usual length.
“Faster.”
I roll my eyes.
“I'm going as fast as I can.”
“You’re thinking too much.”
“First I think too loud, and now I think too much?”
“Yes, now stop thinking and just do it.”
I hate that he’s right, but he is. Morphing’s never been about forcing my body into a new shape. The harder I try to manipulate every individual feature, the more sluggish—and faulty—the transformation becomes.
The trick is knowing what I want before I move.
I take a breath.
Hair: Red. Back. Blonde. Back. Short. Back.
I barely register the changes now.
“Height.”
I stretch upward, the world dropping slightly beneath me as my body lengthens, my bones shifting with an uncomfortable pressure through my spine.
Six feet. Hold and I wonder what it would be like to be this height in a grocery store when the last can is pushed just a little too far back on the shelf.
“Focus.”
Back to my usual height.
Six-two. Back.
“Faster.”
“That was fast!”
His laughter fills my head. “It was. Now make yourself as small as a dog.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “Aww do you need a friend to play with?”
His growl is immediate and completely half-hearted.
“Oh come on, you walked into that one!”
By the time Tyr tells me to stop, I'm breathing harder, though not nearly as hard as my first few times practicing again.
The warm-up has a way of working every brain muscle and leaving me feeling as though my mind has been scrubbed, every unnecessary thought stripped away until I’m left with just me, my body, the magic, and Tyr.
“Get ready,” he says.
“Ready. Give me someone!”
There’s a pause, then—
Matt.
I grin.
Too easy.
I picture Matt exactly as I know him: broad shoulders, dirty-blond hair, strong jaw. Even his shit-eating grin…and then I let the magic take over.
My bones shift, shoulders broaden, hair shortens, and my face rearranges itself with only a slight tingle.
I look down at my hands—no, Matt's hands.
“Perfect.”
I shift back, loving this part of our practice. “Again.”
Dax.
I change.
His appearance is a little tricky to mimic because I didn’t spend too much time paying attention to his appearance, but I recall the image Tyr had given me the first time he asked for this transformation, and trust the magic.
“Not bad. Now, Emily.”
Once I’ve gotten every hair on her head right, I throw in what I know Tyr will ask for once we finish this part of the exercise.
“Oh my Gods, Sasha! Look at that dragon…he’s just so…cuddly!” I say in the perfect Emily voice, though Tyr’s instantly snarling at the insinuation that he’s anything other than tough and scary.
“Back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Back. And then to Sasha. Theo. Calderon.” Tyr doesn't give me time to settle between them, my instant karma biting me in the ass.
The names come faster as he sends each name down the bond, forcing me not to think about each individual feature, and simply know.
“Again,” he says.
I breathe in, appreciating my own body for just a second. “Give me someone difficult.”
Hunter.
I groan.
“You're obsessed with him.”
“You spend enough time looking at him; it should be easy.”
“Sure.”
I shift: Hunter. Back. Hunter. Back. Hunter. Back. Faster.
The trees blur slightly around me as I transform and transform again, each change becoming almost seamless.
Then Tyr says, "Unknown male. Brown hair. Green eyes. Scar beneath left eye. Six-foot-three.”
I picture him and change, then change back.
“Young woman. Blonde hair. Hazel eyes. Freckles.”
Change. Change back.
My pulse climbs, not from exertion, but from the speed and the toll it’s taking on my body.
“Older woman. Gray hair. Five-foot-four. Blue eyes. Mole on her left cheek an inch below her eye.”
Change.
And then I hear footsteps, and my entire body locks.
“Faren!” Tyr's voice snaps through my mind. “Change back! It’s the Captain.”
My heart stops. He shouldn't be here, he's supposed to be teaching still.
“Seiri, I didn’t know you’d be out here,” he calls, oblivious to my panic as the magic snaps backward, my body becoming my own as I turn fully toward him.
I force my breathing to slow as he smiles back at me.
“Good morning.”
“Hi,” I say, my voice coming out approximately three octaves too high.
Tyr practically purrs inside my head.
“Excellent recovery.”
“Shut up.”
Hunter looks at me, then at the clearing. “What are you doing out here?”
“Training.”
“With Tyr?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitches. “Ambitious to think you can take on a dragon, but I’d still bet on you.”
He takes another step closer, and I smile. Normal. Completely normal. There’s nothing suspicious happening here.
Then Hunter's eyes narrow.
“You must have really committed; there’s dirt on your face,” he says, extending his thumb up to wipe it away.
My stomach drops. The mole. I forgot about the fucking mole.
“Breathe, Little Faren.”
His fingers brush the spot just as I slowly pull it back…enough to think there was something, not enough to alert him of a drastic change.
“Tyr.”
“You can do this.”
Hunter watches my face, and for one terrifying second, I think he saw it. But then his expression softens. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit, letting him lead me into the house.
Tyr's amusement warms through the bond, “You are terrible at lying, but that morph was impressive.”
“Thanks! Let’s never get that close to being caught again.”
Hunter looks at me for another second, smiling as if seeing me has made his whole week.
“Gods, you’re beautiful.”
Hunter is halfway through complaining about Jacobs when I realize I’m smiling.
“I swear, he does it on purpose,” he says, chopping broccoli with far more aggression than the vegetable deserves.
“There is no other explanation. Every time I tell him to do something, he finds a way to make it ten times harder than it should be. It’s not like this is new to him—his parents are both respected Vanguard Commanders! ”
I set the pot on the stove and light the crackling flame beneath it. “Maybe he just enjoys watching you get pissed off.”
“He does.”
I laugh.
“And then,” Hunter continues, pointing the knife accusingly at the cutting board, “this morning his dumb ass decides the best way to avoid a thrown dagger, is by fucking ducking!”
“Okay?”
“There were other recruits behind him!”
“Oh shit!”
“Exactly! So now, I have a recruit screaming in pain because they took a dagger to her side—Thank the Gods it missed her vital organs—and another recruit fucking crying because he’s destined to live in a cush little office writing nursery rhymes and playing with his potions and can’t believe he stabbed someone. ”
I shake my head as I fill the pot, thankful that somewhere between all the good and bad this kitchen has seen over the last few months, this house has become more of a home to me than the one I lived in for most of my life.
Our plan is simple enough: make use of the leftover chicken Hunter grilled last night while I was out with Sasha and Emily. Chicken, broccoli, something quick and filling before I have to leave for Dragon Riding.
“Anyway, then Jacobs has the nerve to tell me—”
Standing on my tippy toes, I reach into the cabinet for two glasses, my fingers brushing the rim of a glass, when I suddenly notice how quiet it’s gotten.
I begin to lower my hand, and then I feel him.
Hunter's warm body presses against my back, his breath brushing against my cheek.
“What happened to Jacobs?” I ask, though my voice comes out softer than intended.
“Who?” he asks, as his hand settles lightly at my waist.
Then his fingers trail lower, skimming the bare skin of my leg, sending a shiver through me.
His touch is slow, deliberate, torturous as he stops just beneath the hem of my shorts.
I grip the edge of the counter.
“Hunter…”
“Yeah?” He plays coy, though his voice is rougher now.
I turn in his arms, and suddenly we're standing far too close.
His eyes drop to my mouth, the look alone making my pulse spike.
“You were saying something about combat class.”
“I don't remember.”
I smile despite myself.
“Convenient.”
“Very,” he grins as his hand slides back to my waist, pulling me just a little closer. “I almost forgot; I came home to eat.”
I glance toward the boiling water, then back at him. “Lunch isn't ready.”
For a second, he just looks at me.
Then he smiles wide, slow, and knowing…and suddenly I have the distinct feeling that food was never the only thing he came home for.
He kisses me, carefully and restrained at first, but the second I lean into him, something in him snaps loose. His other hand comes up to my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek as he kisses me deeper.
My fingers curl tighter into his shirt.
“Hunter…”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing hard.
“Tell me to stop.”
I should. But I don’t.
A low sound catches in his throat as his hands tighten at my waist, lifting me onto the counter in one smooth motion and pressing himself between my legs.
His mouth moves from mine to my jaw, then pauses just beneath my ear, “Say red if you want me to stop, okay?”
For a second, I try to remember where I’ve heard that before, then go wide with recognition. My room. My dream man who instructed but wouldn’t touch.
But he’s more than happy to touch now, and so am I.
“Ooh! Aren’t you two looking all dark and daring?” Mattey calls, walking into the kitchen as if he can’t see what he’s obviously interrupting.
“Now I know I locked the doors,” Hunter groans into my hair.
“Yup! You did—so proud of you! But…I’m hungry, and since Lee wasn’t in her room, I figured she was out here cooking up something delicious.”
“Mattey—”
“What? I’m a hungry boy, Lee. And you can’t expect me to eat alone.”
“Alone? Literally all of our friends eat lunch in the dining hall.”
“Well, yeah…but Theo’s eating with them, and you know I can’t stand that guy.”
A response is just on the tip of my tongue when Hunter turns around, joining Matt in turning lunch into a Theo bash session as they list all the things they find weird and annoying about him, and I go back to stirring the boiling pot of noodles beside me.