Page 38 of Hunted by the Fallen
Liar.
The voice in my head taunts me. I stumble. I back away and throw my hands up before Zeke can reach out to help me. “I’mfine.”
He pullsback.
Zeke is watching me. He stops walking. I follow suit. Whatever he is about to say, it will be better if Annie doesn’t overhear. Even with my enhanced hearing, their footsteps are already almostinaudible.
We stand there for several seconds, staring at each other. I have no idea what Zeke is thinking. Is he wondering why I backed away from his touch? Does he know why I don’t want to make contact? Or does he think something else is wrong withme?
Lips pressed together, I don’t voice a single question, content to wait for him to break the tenuous silence betweenus.
At last, Zeke releases a tired sigh. He stares at the branches above us, his hands resting on his hips. “What is going on,Ron?”
“What do you mean?” My voice sounds steady despite my trembling fingers. Zeke met me when I was a starry-eyed fourteen-year-old. If any of the Fallen has figured out how to read my emotions, it would be Zeke. The others met me much later when I became better at concealing such things. Though, I still wasn’t anexpert.
Zeke’s attention moves from the trees back to me. His eyes zero in on my hands, immediately noting the nervous movement. I clear my throat, drawing his gaze back to myface.
“Zeke?”
“You’ve beendistant.”
“Distant?”
“You don’t want to train with any of usanymore.”
Four days. That’s how long it took for one of the Fallen to finally discuss my lack of training with me. I don’t doubt they’ve talked about it amongst themselves several times. I wonder if this was a planned inquiry or if Zeke is going off script by finally addressing thesubject.
Not having expected this conversation in this moment, I think carefully about how to answer. I can be dismissive, but that will only make Zeke more curious. I decide to stick as close to the truth aspossible.
“Training with my powers wasn’tworking.”
“Not yet, but with more practice I am sure it will be.” Zeke sounds hopeful. Instead of encouraging me like he intends, I feel my temperrise.
Zeke knows the ward is responsible for my unsuccessful training. But does he intend to help me get rid of it or even bother to tell me about it? Of course not. He and the other three Fallen don’t mind keeping my powers contained. They want power over me. They want to controlme.
My breathing accelerates, matching pace with my racing thoughts. The Fallen are determined to keep me weak. They need me to depend on them. The resentment which had taken root in me the past couple of days grows like a vine, wrapping itself around my heart and lungs, squeezing them in a debilitatingvice.
I bend over, sucking in air, but unable to catch my breath. I fall to my knees and throw my hands out to catch me before I hit theground.
“Ron?” Zeke steps forward. Again, I hold up a hand to keep him at bay. This time, though, my voice is not strong when I say, “I’mfine.”
“Like hell you are,” Zeke says, undeterred by my staying gesture. He crouches down beside me and places a firm hand on my shoulder to help keep me from falling onto my face. “Tell me what’swrong.”
Even if I wanted to, I can’t form a single word. Not even a sound. The skin under Zeke’s hand ignites. I’ve never felt anything so strong. Contact with the Fallen has always elicited tingles or made me shiver, but never something like this. I feel like my entire body is on fire. But not in a painful way. My core tightens. I raise my head, longing to drown in the depths Zeke’s ocean blueeyes.
Zeke sucks in a breath. His eyes flare. Whatever he sees in my expression, it must be something. “Ron?”
My pendulum of emotions leaves me off balance. I don’t understand what’s happening. All I know is I want to feel more of this feeling. All over my body. Desire gives me the strength to push off my hands and straighten my back. I ignore the sharp sting of gravel under my knees. All I care about is getting closer toZeke.
Zeke moves his hands to the sides of my head, holding me steady. He peers into my eyes, searching for a hint of whatever is happening to me. I sway towards him, but his fingers press into my hair to keep mestill.
“Talk to me.” He leans closer, and I inhale the scent of leather and sweat. I grip his forearms and dig my fingers into his skin. He’d abandoned his jacket prior to starting thehike.
“You smellnice.”
Zeke’s concern grows. “Veronica?”
I pout. “Don’t call me that.” He never calls me Veronica. I want to hear him use the nickname he gave me. It makes me feel special—like the connection I’d imagined we had was real. Not due to some ridiculous Fallen Angel stuff, just a link based on the fact that we have things in common. I want to believe we have the stuff that makes normal people a goodmatch.
