Page 112 of His Trick

I leaned against a tree, watching as the storm slid down my face, the tears I never allowed myself to shed. His shoulders rose and fell in heavy slumps. His breath was ragged and hoarse.

I couldn’t make out the muttering. Maybe it was bitching at Xanthy. Maybe curses for the wedding he clearly didn’t want to attend, or maybe it was prayers to a God who never fucking listened.

He let an arrow fly into the dark. It went wide, vanishing into the brush, and he laughed like a man broken: low, bitter,and humorless. My chest tightened. Even drunk, soaked, and broken, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever fucking seen. But he wasn’t mine.

He was hers.

I pushed off the tree, circling him closer, my steps hidden by the storm. On a good day, Shiloh would know I was here. Instead, his drunk ass staggered forward, bent low like he thought he was stalking prey, and lunged at a stick poking out of the ground.

Pathetic.

Mine.

I wanted to call him out, fucking mock him, and remind him of what he was.

Hiding, always fucking hiding.

Now trying to hide from a wedding he didn’t want to touch because he knew it went deeper. That my fucking sister would want more. My throat locked around the words.

Wedding.

I trailed after him. The wet soaked his shirt, making the muscles across his back stand out, the bow slipped from his fingers, and his knees nearly buckled with every uneven step he took in the muddy terrain. The air reeked of whiskey and rain, yet still I ached for him.

Fucking Sunshine.

“Shiloh,” I said at last, my voice too low, barely cutting through the storm. But he heard me.

He froze, his head lifting slightly, his blue eyes searching the shadows. I saw the bleariness in them even from here. He blinked and swayed, then laughed again like he thought I was a ghost, tilting that stupid bottle back to his lips.

“Care Bear?” he slurred, his voice rough. “The fuck you doing out here? Bring more dead bodies to haunt me with? Or maybe come to tell me you murdered someone else I loved?”

I didn’t answer. I stepped closer, the mud sucking around my boots like quicksand. He looked at me like I was a mirage, his brain not knowing whether or not to believe.

I didn’t dissipate.

I stood there as the rain ran down my jaw and onto the ground between us, close enough to him now that he could feel my body heat. Blinking rapidly, his breath hitched, as if he saw me clearly.

That familiar fear.

That familiar pull.

It tugged like a marionette string, and I was helpless but to follow the lull.

“I’ve been watching you, Sunshine,” I said truthfully, reaching for him but letting my hand fall away.

“Why?”

“Someone has to. You’re stabbing rocks, leaving carcasses to rot all over the damn trails, and you look like fucking hell.”

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, smearing rain, sweat, and whatever tears he wouldn’t admit to. “Didn’t ask you to. I don’t need anyone. Especially you.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, dumbass, my darling sister has no inkling of how to handle anything that isn’t buying designer handbags, and you’re likely gonna be shipped off to a psych ward. Are you forgetting her degree? Every second you slip is a second she analyzes what’s underneath that stupid mask.”

I tilted my head, studying him. The way he couldn’t quite stand up straight, the wobble to his posture, and the tremor in his hand where he held the bow. My gut twisted with equal parts anger and hunger.

My stupid, self-destructing masochist.

“You think drowning yourself in whiskey’s gonna make my sister disappear? Xanthy’s still waiting, Shiloh. She’s not going to stop.”