Figures. I shake my head in mock disappointment. “ Missed .”
“You’re a bigger moron than you think.” A fire churns in his eyes. His hands move quick as lightning.
A blur of a line travels my way, slicing through the air at an alarming, low trajectory. I jump out of the way, and it nails me right in the heart.
Dudley straightens with pride. “I, on the other hand, never miss.”
My body lurches. I stagger back as a crimson stain blooms across my chest.
“You shot me,” I say, disbelieving. God. He’s going to fuck up my body. I try extracting it, and a spear of pain shoots through my skull.
Dudley strides toward me a few feet before reloading. “The important thing to note about a Treble is your flesh doesn’t quite have the ability to heal itself like it used to.” He fires another one off in my direction and lodges it into my chest right next to the last. “Pity.” He flexes a brief smile.
A jolt of pain rockets through me.
“ Fuck .” Now it’s my voice echoing across the field.
Maybe this is it—his big gift . Maybe the Decision Council sensed I was bitching about my imperfect half-life and decided to renege on the offer. And now Dudley gets to maim me at his leisure, bury me in his backyard so he can piss on my grave every now and again just for kicks. Hell, maybe Gage will join him.
“I’m not going down without a fight.” I pluck arrow after arrow out of my quiver and land six in the field, two in his gut. His crisp, white dress shirt darkens as a deep red liquid oozes out. “Looks to me, you bleed like the rest of us.”
He glances down at his newfound wounds slightly amused.
“I don’t take lightly to what you’ve done,” he says it stern as a reprimand.
“Nor do I.” My bow shakes as I stretch it taut with all my effort. I shoot another one off in his direction, aiming for that pompous mug of his, and son of a bitch—
Dudley lets out a strangled cry and sways back with an arrow through his eye.
The faint voice of a girl comes from the direction of the house, and Dudley holds up a hand as if to still me.
“Marshall?” she cries. Her voice carries high and light like a flute.
Skyla.
I take a step back and try to pluck the arrows from my chest, but they’re lodged behind my ribs, and it hurts like shit. My chest tightens. It’s getting hard to breathe as the world starts to fade.
“Marshall, where are you?” She shouts from just a couple feet away, and now the inevitable will happen. Skyla is about to see Dudley and me both in a serious state of disrepair.
“I’m in the clearing, love.” He calls back with his voice smooth as silk.
I glance over.
He’s already extracted the arrow from his eye, and is working the two out of his stomach. I reach down to do the same, and another hits me, creating an unholy trinity of overgrown darts—pinning my heart, caging it in with pain.
“Let this be a lesson.” Dudley tips his chin up. His eyes are still intact, his dress shirt, crisp and clean, no worse for wear. “Don’t ever think about turning on me.”
Footsteps quicken in this direction, and Skyla illuminates the dark woods with her porcelain skin. Her eyes glow like quicksilver.
“Logan!” She stops at the foot of the forest, examining me, but she doesn’t scream, or run, or flip Dudley the bird for inflicting such damage in the first place. Instead, Skyla smiles. She walks over slow with her eyes locked over mine as if the arrows, the blood dripping from my body at an accelerated rate—Dudley himself—were inconsequential in general. “It’s me.” She tilts her head as she steps up her gait.
“I can explain.” I give a tug at my shirt, and she holds a finger to her lips never once taking those luminous eyes off mine. I shoot a look to Dudley because something, for sure, is the hell up.
Maybe this is Chloe in disguise. Maybe Dudley’s big gift is for me to shack up in the Transfer with good old Bishop wearing Skyla’s body like a bad
“You’re a bigger moron than you think.” A fire churns in his eyes. His hands move quick as lightning.
A blur of a line travels my way, slicing through the air at an alarming, low trajectory. I jump out of the way, and it nails me right in the heart.
Dudley straightens with pride. “I, on the other hand, never miss.”
My body lurches. I stagger back as a crimson stain blooms across my chest.
“You shot me,” I say, disbelieving. God. He’s going to fuck up my body. I try extracting it, and a spear of pain shoots through my skull.
Dudley strides toward me a few feet before reloading. “The important thing to note about a Treble is your flesh doesn’t quite have the ability to heal itself like it used to.” He fires another one off in my direction and lodges it into my chest right next to the last. “Pity.” He flexes a brief smile.
A jolt of pain rockets through me.
“ Fuck .” Now it’s my voice echoing across the field.
Maybe this is it—his big gift . Maybe the Decision Council sensed I was bitching about my imperfect half-life and decided to renege on the offer. And now Dudley gets to maim me at his leisure, bury me in his backyard so he can piss on my grave every now and again just for kicks. Hell, maybe Gage will join him.
“I’m not going down without a fight.” I pluck arrow after arrow out of my quiver and land six in the field, two in his gut. His crisp, white dress shirt darkens as a deep red liquid oozes out. “Looks to me, you bleed like the rest of us.”
He glances down at his newfound wounds slightly amused.
“I don’t take lightly to what you’ve done,” he says it stern as a reprimand.
“Nor do I.” My bow shakes as I stretch it taut with all my effort. I shoot another one off in his direction, aiming for that pompous mug of his, and son of a bitch—
Dudley lets out a strangled cry and sways back with an arrow through his eye.
The faint voice of a girl comes from the direction of the house, and Dudley holds up a hand as if to still me.
“Marshall?” she cries. Her voice carries high and light like a flute.
Skyla.
I take a step back and try to pluck the arrows from my chest, but they’re lodged behind my ribs, and it hurts like shit. My chest tightens. It’s getting hard to breathe as the world starts to fade.
“Marshall, where are you?” She shouts from just a couple feet away, and now the inevitable will happen. Skyla is about to see Dudley and me both in a serious state of disrepair.
“I’m in the clearing, love.” He calls back with his voice smooth as silk.
I glance over.
He’s already extracted the arrow from his eye, and is working the two out of his stomach. I reach down to do the same, and another hits me, creating an unholy trinity of overgrown darts—pinning my heart, caging it in with pain.
“Let this be a lesson.” Dudley tips his chin up. His eyes are still intact, his dress shirt, crisp and clean, no worse for wear. “Don’t ever think about turning on me.”
Footsteps quicken in this direction, and Skyla illuminates the dark woods with her porcelain skin. Her eyes glow like quicksilver.
“Logan!” She stops at the foot of the forest, examining me, but she doesn’t scream, or run, or flip Dudley the bird for inflicting such damage in the first place. Instead, Skyla smiles. She walks over slow with her eyes locked over mine as if the arrows, the blood dripping from my body at an accelerated rate—Dudley himself—were inconsequential in general. “It’s me.” She tilts her head as she steps up her gait.
“I can explain.” I give a tug at my shirt, and she holds a finger to her lips never once taking those luminous eyes off mine. I shoot a look to Dudley because something, for sure, is the hell up.
Maybe this is Chloe in disguise. Maybe Dudley’s big gift is for me to shack up in the Transfer with good old Bishop wearing Skyla’s body like a bad
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