Page 66 of Storm of Shadows

What’s wrong is that nothing is working out the way I planned.

I want to melt into the background and disappear and now there is no doubt that everyone knows who I am.

I want to stay as far away from shadow weavers as I can and yet three of the most powerful want me as theirs. Even Thorne, who I was convinced disliked me.

I want to hate and despise them with every bone in my body and yet, I can’t deny I feel some strange attraction to them. One that whispers through my body whenever they’re close to me.

Dray outside the classroom. Thorne just now standing next to me in front of the line.

Why?

They represent everything I loathe.

The gruesome twosome come striding out onto the field, whistles hanging around their necks, sinister smiles pinned on their faces.

“We’re racing again,” the slightly taller one declares. There’s some moaning. My legs still ache from the last run and I bet I’m not the only one.

“Gentlemen first today,” his twin declares before blowing his whistle.

I stand alongside Clare and watch as the men race away into the mist, Beaufort, Thorne and Dray at the front of the pack, fast, powerful and agile.

If I didn’t know they were bond brothers, the closest of friends, I’d never have guessed it. Their demeanors and theirlooks are so different. Beaufort smart and pristine, his hair styled perfectly, his tracksuit zipped right the way up to his neck, his gait controlled and powerful.

Dray’s appearance is so laid back, it’s verging on horizontal. His tracksuit hangs open and his shoelaces are untied. However, despite the casual persona, there’s an eagerness in the way he runs, an excitement, an energy that can’t be contained.

Thorne is impossible to read. His face is blank most of the time and though he looks more put together than Dray, there’s still a scruffiness to him – stubble covering his cheeks and chin, his hair shorn in that haphazard manner. And then there are those gloves he always wears, like he doesn’t even want his hands to give him away.

In a couple of seconds, all three are lost to the mist. It’s so thick today, it’s like pea soup, swallowing them up into its depths.

I wonder how the hell we’ll find our way through.

I guess I’m about to find out because in the next minute, the whistle is blown again and we’re off.

“You don’t have to run with me,” Clare says, her cheeks already puffing and her face red.

“It’s fine. I’d like the company. Unless,” I say, “you’re worried running with me might land you in trouble.”

“Are you kidding?” she pants, “after what Thorne Cadieux just did, no one will ever touch you again.”

“Hmmm,” I say, “I’m not so sure about that.”

“If you’d accepted the collar,” she says, stumbling slightly, “you’d definitely be safe.”

“How is a collar any different from Thorne’s warning?”

“Well, it has magical properties I guess,” Clare says musing on the question.

I slow my pace, so she can catch me again. “Magical properties?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know what they are exactly, but they protect the thrall from danger.”

“Bullshit, I bet there is no magic.”

“That’s what people …” she raises her hand, struggling to catch her breath, “say. Honestly, Briony, please just go ahead, trying to keep up with you is going to kill me.”

“Really? I’m going slow.”

She gives me a little push. “Please just go.”