Page 14

I t should have been me.

My blood, my bowels, lodged into the steel grooves.

But I was somehow still standing—frozen in place, sweat slicking my temples, stringy-haired—absolutely filthy.

My brows grew heavy with exhaustion; my throat burned and threatened to close.

I still felt the adrenaline tingling beneath my skin, and the memory, it was like the wake of a speedboat, rippling through my thoughts.

Nothing made sense.

Ryder had quieted along with the forest—aside from his frantic looks.

I felt those, even this dazed and confused, but I didn’t react to his silent pleas for me to get down.

I was content where I was, hanging over the top of the truck.

Plus, there’s no way my knees would bend and cooperate.

The Chevy’s engine thrummed through the stillness.

Its tires crunched on the narrow dirt road, that at some point, we had turned down.

Ryder slowed so the bounce over the potholes didn’t fling me off the side.

The redwoods blurred together, despite there being no way we surpassed ten miles per hour.

Dizzy, I tore my gaze from the leaping tree trunks and focused on the smooth metal directly in front of me, wondering how far he’d divert us into the wilderness.

He revved around a corner, splashing through a puddle.

Mud flung through the air, settling on the bumpers and the back of my pants and probably in my hair.

Hopefully they had showers wherever Ryder was taking us.

A flock of roaming chickens squawked and ruffled their feathers as they darted away from the incoming tires.

“Welcome home,” he offered.

I never got the impression Ryder came from the whole white-picket-fence situation, but I hadn’t expected something as off-grid as this.

The driveway dumped us at a multitiered home that was built into the trees as if it were just another sequoia.

Deep copper trunks fused with the walls and shady crowns shielded the roof.

Twigs scraped the windows like fingers, shedding remnants of their leaves onto the six or so balconies.

A lookout tower on stilts stood tall and watchful in a grove of oaks, connected to the main house by a pretty badass rope bridge.

It was the most epic treehouse I had ever seen.

My nine-year-old self would be reeling with envy.

I wished I had the stamina to explore every nook and cranny, but…

baby steps. The first order of business was discussing the teratorn, not gawking at the woodwork.

A break in the branches revealed a small glade where the sunshine funneled down and ignited the dust, the specks floating through the air like effervescent forest fairies—which could be plausible at this point.

We rolled up to a gabled barn, its sliders opened wide, exposing rafters and a loft strewn with hay.

A large bay hollowed out the middle of the building, tools lining the walls and grease staining the floor.

I shifted as Ryder braked, still clinging to the roof of the truck, staring at the rooster weathervane, admiring its rusty feathers…

alright, I was avoiding him.

But the metal bird was good company—it asked no questions, it didn’t cluck orders, it had no social obligations to meet.

Yet waiting around in park seemed to amplify the silence and his implicit curiosity.

Uggghhh. I couldn’t stay up there forever.

Slinking through the window, I slumped onto the cushion.

His eyes were on me before I spoke.

My neck felt so light, like something was missing—my headphones.

That alone made me want to cry.

“I yelled at it.” It came out flat, unconnected, like this never could have happened.

My nails found their way to my mouth and my teeth clamped on.

“You what?” His voice matched my disbelief.

“I was desperate,” I said in between bites.

“I didn’t have any other great ideas.”

Ryder gently pulled my hands free, guiding them down to my lap.

“So, you yelled at it.” He didn’t break the physical contact, his calloused palms wrapping around my knuckles.

“And…poof?”

“And then it got struck by lightning?” I said into the floor, embarrassed to admit it out loud because it…

it just…

“That doesn’t make sense?—”

“No shit,” I cut in.

None of this did.

“What I mean is, lightning itself won’t send a demon back to the underworld.”

I huffed, exasperated, but mostly tired of talking, already and this conversation didn’t seem like it’d be over soon.

A couple days ago, these things didn’t exist outside of comics and sci-fi movies.

It was supposed to be fiction.

Make-believe. Not real.

Yet I’d been there; I’d witnessed it.

And so had he. But only one of us was having trouble processing it.

“You’re the expert, dude. I’m just telling you what happened.”

We glanced at the bed of the truck.

Smoke melted into the post-rain air, rising from the char where the creature once stood.

As we both turned to face forward, he watched me beneath lashes so long they could sweep the floor.

Then all he said was, “‘Dude?’”

What, like he’d never been called that before?

“Yes.” I doubled down.

“Dude.”

He chuckled, giving my hands a light squeeze.

Somehow, his heat managed to break through the layers of my crusty exoskeleton.

“Let’s go inside and chill out. You need a bath, dude .”

When he said it, his accent dropped the U a few pitches, reverberating in my lower belly.

The truck may have stopped, but my pulse shot right back to the chase.

Good lord. It was just a word .

Heat bloomed in my face.

I didn’t need to check the side mirror to confirm I was blushing, hard.

When I met his gaze as he opened my door, his smirk said it all.

Ugh. Could we just go back to discussing demons?

I took his outstretched hand, my legs a little shakier than I’d like to admit, and he helped me to the ground.

“We don’t have to talk about any of it right now if you don’t want to.”

An attempt to reassure me, clearly.

It might have done so, if the rest of the world hadn’t started to spiral around me.

After one puny step I teetered for support.

He caught me and guided me into the crook of his chest. I leaned in, my arms instinctively wrapping around his waist— not because he was solid and comfy and his touch was sanctuary—but because everything was spinning.

Until it wasn’t, because by then, I’d passed out.

Whispers flooded my mind.

Had the Voices finally come home?

In my foggy state, head still pounding, it could have been two or all three of them.

My mind raced to wake the rest of my body, which clearly wasn’t ready to stir—my legs leaden, fingers tingling, throat tight and parched.

It took a few moments, but my bleary vision adjusted to the late afternoon, and my ears perked at the voices I’d heard: two guys, hints of their accents slipping under the crack of the door.

I pulled off the comforter someone had placed over me and swung my legs off the bed someone had put me in—cringing at the stains left by my dirty clothes, and how overall crusty I was.

I tiptoed towards the entrance of the bedroom, pushing the door ajar just enough to catch a glimpse of Ryder and the silhouette of whomever he was talking to.

If it hadn’t been for their terse exchange of words, the crackling fire would’ve drawn me out.

Although his face remained in shadow, Ryder’s intensity burned as bright as the flames in the hearth.

Normally the hunter moved with grace, but something added tension to his stride, like he carried an invisible weight.

“Just some girl,” Ryder said to the figure in the room.

“Why’d you bring her here?” the guy questioned, the timbre of his voice similar to the deep bellow of a foghorn.

“I had no choice. We almost got killed by a teratorn.” Ryder’s pacing halted.

The response that came was angry as the spitting fire.

“Teratorn don’t just come up for air from the underworld; they need an anchor. Who would waste that energy on a mortal girl? And more importantly, why would you risk our lives to save her?”

“I don’t know, I-I got caught in the crossfire.” Ryder’s pacing resumed.

“These childish games are derailing your first real mission. If you can’t fix this, I will.” The figure stepped closer to Ryder, his brawny, straight-backed shadow completely engulfing him.

I had to crane my neck whenever I tried to meet Ryder’s gaze, so I couldn’t imagine how tall this other guy was.

“No more messing around.”

“I won’t screw it up, brother.” My stomach fluttered on that detail.

“The oath was taken in blood. I still have time to find them.”

The floorboards creaked, and another pair of boots entered my narrow field of view.

“It’s been two weeks and you don’t have eyes on your target?” Something slammed in the room, a fist perhaps, rattling a piece of furniture.

Brother’s rage made me shiver.

“No,” Ryder murmured, barely loud enough for me to hear.

“I haven’t found them yet.”

The flames snapped.

He turned to face the bedroom and I jumped back, going until I hit a wall.

I really hoped he hadn’t seen me or noticed the fact that the door had been slightly opened—but who was I kidding?

With that hunter’s precision, the one that saw every movement no matter how big or small, I’d been caught like a fox in a trap.

I clenched my jaw, molars grinding at the base of my skull.

My chest bloated from the air I held hostage, too nervous to breathe.

I remained there for several heartbeats, which thundered wildly in my ears, waiting for him to call me out.

But he continued talking, whether he noticed me or not, his words now muffled by the space I’d put between us.

Eavesdropping post abandoned, I slid down the cold, bare wood, allowing myself a sigh of relief.

I landed on my butt, bracing my elbows against my knees, and let the last words I heard sink in.

This friendship clearly wasn’t built to last, as he readied to drop me to continue his search for another…

target? Friend? Potential girlfriend?

That I wasn’t sure of.

The conversation I’d overheard raised many concerns, but above all else, the reference to me as just some girl made my heart sink.

For whatever pathetic, superficial reason, I’d held a glimmer of hope that his wild, depthless stare was reserved for…

me. That it wasn’t just part of the hunt.

That it meant something different.

But it didn’t. I didn’t.

So, whatever.

Pale yellow light trickled in through the cracks of yet another door.

This one closer, to my left.

It flickered with a soft, rhythmic pulse.

I brought myself to standing, the wood around me creaking and groaning as if recording every time I so much as shifted.

I pulled on the handle and peered into the room.

My soul might’ve left my body as the promise of relaxation hit me: cozy candlelight flickered off the ivory walls, pooling over the lava tile.

A fresh towel lay draped over a stool, next to a steaming clawfoot tub filled with bubbles .

An earthy, floral scent diffused from a ceramic vase in the corner.

I breathed it in. Lavender .

When my feet crossed the threshold, I expected my toes to be hit with a flare of coolness.

But the tile was warm, as if it was…

heated .

Maybe I was just some girl , but that girl needed a bath.

With no hesitation, I pulled off my clothes and got in.

After a morning of hell, it felt like heaven.