lightning strike. I was wrong about him before. He wasn’t hostile or menacing. That was a guard, a protective layer. It’s missing now and something’s been released—his temper is now armed with bare emotion. What I see now has put it all in perspective.
I try to twist out of his grasp but his hands are iron shackles. His face is the vicious mask of a killer. Blood to my hands is cut off. My legs are tingling hot with the urge to run, but when facing a predator of his power it’s the worst thing to do.
“Trey.” His name spoken in a way I didn’t plan. Not just an appeal, but a recognition. An understanding.
He drops my wrists like they’ve just burned him. He stumbles one step back. The broken look on his face is my reflection in a mirror.
My breath leaves me and I choke. I cover my mouth, attempt to control a sob but it’s too late. Once it starts it will never stop until I’m a dried husk, blowing away, all my moisture cried out.
“Do you have any more of that tea?”
He swallows hard. “It’s habit-forming.”
“I don’t care.”
I follow him out to the truck. He drives like we’re in a high-speed chase.
Inside his kitchen, he combines three jars of different tea leaves into one and dumps half of it into my palm and half into his. We stare at each other in a silent count of one, two, three. He crams the whole thing into his mouth, and I follow.
Chapter 10
Trey
I wake up on cold wood, a wet nose under my hand. I roll onto my back. The sky is a kaleidoscope, each point of color shrinking down until I see they’re merely stars. I’m not sure how I wound up on the porch. The temperature must be low but I don’t feel it. River claws my arm, a numb limb now alive with four distinct lines of pain. I’d stay out here and die if she wasn’t so insistent.
I feel my way inside and trip over a body in the kitchen. When I see her I’m glad it’s no one I killed, no body I need to drag from the house. Then I remember what we did. I kneel to find her pulse. Hell, she should be dead.
She’s not. I carry her limp body to the bedroom and lay her on the bed. Only I could survive a handful that size but I gave it to her anyway. Maybe this is how it ends, this is my out. If she dies here instead of at their hand, she won’t feel the pain of death.
It will be easy to make it look like an accident. I’ll take her body up to the bluffs. I’ll be sure to be part of the search party. If I’m there when she’s found, I can make sure they won’t question. It’s a simple effect—quick to prepare, effortless to dole out. My power might be rusty but I’ve succeeded at this more times than I can remember.
I pack all her clothes, gather her things from the bathroom and comb the house, removing every trace of her. Once her body is gone, I will wait for the harvest, and I will leave.
I collapse on the couch, too exhausted to remove my shoes.
I awaken to River’s howl in the night. Two more howls, followed by a pause. I wait for it. One more howl. Her warning call. Someone is here. My adrenaline is slow to kick in because the tea’s still in my system. It’s worse than being drunk but I’ll have to shake it off. I roll from the couch to the floor in a squat, listening. I can’t let them get to her. If they find her before I can deal with her, it will be more difficult to cover up. I don’t have a plan prepared for that, and I don’t have the desire or motivation to come up with one.
Using the shadows to conceal my motion, I slip over to the large bureau. Common sense pleads a good case, but I stopped listening to common sense a long time ago. I stand and shove the bureau down the hall and up against the bedroom door with flaccid arms and a swimming head. It makes a lot of noise, but it can’t be helped.
I prefer to face him outside. There’s more room to move around and it’s easier to clean up. My head start was taken by moving the bureau. I open the door and walk outside, offering myself.
A
I try to twist out of his grasp but his hands are iron shackles. His face is the vicious mask of a killer. Blood to my hands is cut off. My legs are tingling hot with the urge to run, but when facing a predator of his power it’s the worst thing to do.
“Trey.” His name spoken in a way I didn’t plan. Not just an appeal, but a recognition. An understanding.
He drops my wrists like they’ve just burned him. He stumbles one step back. The broken look on his face is my reflection in a mirror.
My breath leaves me and I choke. I cover my mouth, attempt to control a sob but it’s too late. Once it starts it will never stop until I’m a dried husk, blowing away, all my moisture cried out.
“Do you have any more of that tea?”
He swallows hard. “It’s habit-forming.”
“I don’t care.”
I follow him out to the truck. He drives like we’re in a high-speed chase.
Inside his kitchen, he combines three jars of different tea leaves into one and dumps half of it into my palm and half into his. We stare at each other in a silent count of one, two, three. He crams the whole thing into his mouth, and I follow.
Chapter 10
Trey
I wake up on cold wood, a wet nose under my hand. I roll onto my back. The sky is a kaleidoscope, each point of color shrinking down until I see they’re merely stars. I’m not sure how I wound up on the porch. The temperature must be low but I don’t feel it. River claws my arm, a numb limb now alive with four distinct lines of pain. I’d stay out here and die if she wasn’t so insistent.
I feel my way inside and trip over a body in the kitchen. When I see her I’m glad it’s no one I killed, no body I need to drag from the house. Then I remember what we did. I kneel to find her pulse. Hell, she should be dead.
She’s not. I carry her limp body to the bedroom and lay her on the bed. Only I could survive a handful that size but I gave it to her anyway. Maybe this is how it ends, this is my out. If she dies here instead of at their hand, she won’t feel the pain of death.
It will be easy to make it look like an accident. I’ll take her body up to the bluffs. I’ll be sure to be part of the search party. If I’m there when she’s found, I can make sure they won’t question. It’s a simple effect—quick to prepare, effortless to dole out. My power might be rusty but I’ve succeeded at this more times than I can remember.
I pack all her clothes, gather her things from the bathroom and comb the house, removing every trace of her. Once her body is gone, I will wait for the harvest, and I will leave.
I collapse on the couch, too exhausted to remove my shoes.
I awaken to River’s howl in the night. Two more howls, followed by a pause. I wait for it. One more howl. Her warning call. Someone is here. My adrenaline is slow to kick in because the tea’s still in my system. It’s worse than being drunk but I’ll have to shake it off. I roll from the couch to the floor in a squat, listening. I can’t let them get to her. If they find her before I can deal with her, it will be more difficult to cover up. I don’t have a plan prepared for that, and I don’t have the desire or motivation to come up with one.
Using the shadows to conceal my motion, I slip over to the large bureau. Common sense pleads a good case, but I stopped listening to common sense a long time ago. I stand and shove the bureau down the hall and up against the bedroom door with flaccid arms and a swimming head. It makes a lot of noise, but it can’t be helped.
I prefer to face him outside. There’s more room to move around and it’s easier to clean up. My head start was taken by moving the bureau. I open the door and walk outside, offering myself.
A
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