Page 8 of Synodic

It was as though all life had hardened into a glass-like state, locking the entire glen in a frozen winter. Except it didn’t feel like winter at all, there wasn’t even the barest hint of a chill in the air. But still, a bitter shiver ran down my spine.

Looking at the barren scenery, I may as well have been staring in a mirror—my dormant existence reflecting the image of a lifeless forest—and a choked sob caught in my throat.

“I’ve had a hard time reaching you,” a voice like black velvet caressed my spine. “Then again, nothing about you seems easy. And now you show up here of all places.” His accent was unfamiliar, but the way he spoke raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Who are you?” I asked, whipping around so fast that my foot caught, and I tumbled to the ground.

Something firm grabbed my upper arm, just over my sleeve, and kept me from falling forward. I peered up, only to see the face of the man who’d been haunting me for weeks.

But he had never been this close—never touched me.

What little fog remained cleared in trailing wisps, and my mind rushed as I saw him completely unobstructed for the first time. The enigmatic man’s face was all pleasing lines and angles that caught the best of both shadow and light. He regarded me keenly, like a falcon mid-flight, with his piercing green eyes, strong brow, and high cheekbones.

Wavy dark brown hair haloed his face and neck in an effortless messy array, his prominent square jaw was covered in a rough stubble that framed his crescent-shaped lips, and his nose sloped down in an impossibly straight line. The hollows at his temples were accentuated by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw as he no doubt fully took me in for the first time as well.

I was suddenly very conscious that I was only wearing an oversized t-shirt and panties, and I made a mental note that what I wore to bed hardly felt like enough around him.

I tore my eyes away from his massive body, searching for what caught my foot. The culprit was a giant tree root twisting out of the ground in an ankle-breaking arch.

How had I not seen that gigantic thing?

I scolded myself for letting this man distract me so fully from my surroundings. Normally I was much more coordinated than this. I jumped hurdles for goodness’ sake!

“You’re going to need to be more careful if you plan on surviving out here, Copeland,” he urged crossly as he pulled me upright, his free hand gesturing to the looming black and grey forest.

I chose not to address his underestimating comment; instead, I looked up his towering figure. His once-obscure face was now so distinct, as if a lens were slightly adjusted, sharpening his features into crisp focus. Even when I had seen him from a blurry distance, I knew he was beautiful, but that was definitely an understatement. “It’s Keira, wha—wait. How do you know my name?” I asked warily.

“I make it a point to know the happenings in these woods, and lately, that very much includes you.” He practically purred the last word.

“Then I suppose you know what happened here?” I said with a slight tilt of my chin, showing him I wasn’t afraid despite the shaking of my knees. It broke my heart to see all the life, greenery, and beauty snuffed out, frozen. Destroyed.

“Its life was stolen,” he replied through tight lips.

“Were you the one who stole it?” I asked, fearing he might be the one responsible for all this…death.

His brow darkened and his strong hand squeezed tighter on my arm, doing things to my body that should not feel so real in a dream. “You think I did this?” he growled deep from the back of his throat.

Terrified that I’d provoked him, I shrugged imperceptibly in his grasp. How stupid could I be?

“I may be no stranger to death, but this is not my doing.”

To my relief yet disappointment, he let go of my arm, and where I first felt his warm hand through my shirt, I now felt a cool draft prickling along my skin.

It was taking nearly every ounce of my control to keep it together. I refused to make even the slightest noise or gesture that indicated he could faze me, even though his eyes on me shook me to my very core.

His beauty was shadowed and haunted, just like this forest, and I desperately wanted to tilt a light to cast away whatever darkness preyed upon them both.

“You know my name,” I said, finally finding my breath. “It’s only fair I know yours.”

“Such a demanding little thing,” he replied, his voice like water to a dry, dehydrated throat, so soothing and needed. “But I suppose you’re right. My name is Rowen.”

Satisfied, I ripped my gaze from his face to explore the rest of him. He wore a fitted, charcoal-grey shirt; the sleeves rolled to reveal his powerful forearms, and the open neckline was deep enough that I could make out the etched moldings of his chest. His rough-spun but perfectly tailored pants emphasized a tapered waist and muscular thighs that could snap me in half.

Everything he wore appeared earthy, frayed, and purely raw as if carefully woven from natural materials. By his posture, physique, and subtle yet decisive movements, he exuded a strength and assurance that told me he was dangerous. Very dangerous, if he needed to be.

Slung low around his narrow hips was a weathered holster I doubted was just for show. And sure enough, resting against his hip like a trusted companion was a single-handed ax, glinting with a deadly sheen.

My whole body tensed.

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