Page 14 of Hunted in the Shadows
5
Sylvia
Just a second longer…
The gem shard’s aura pulsed under my touch, teeming with wordless promises. I stood perfectly still on the bathroom counter, allowing myself five—no,ten—more breaths with the amethyst in my hands. I held the last breath for an extra beat, then tucked the gemstone under the freshly cleaned clothes in the box that held my personal effects.
Even then, the reassurance of power teased me. I wished there was a way to shut it off. A little piece like that wasn’t nearly enough to fuel a transformation spell. Yet, it found its way into my hands any time I came to freshen up.
I closed my box pointedly and turned to the mirror. Late morning sunlight streamed through the tiny window reflecting behind me.
The traitor brand was stark black on my cheek. Somehow, the sight was becoming familiar, though the dark circles under my eyes made the rune less prominent. Between that and the bruising along my body, I was a mess. I’d given in to two hours of sleep, then lied to Jon that I’d gotten far more. He was out getting coffee. Although I couldn’t stand the taste, I considered choking some down to wake myself up.
I adjusted the snowflake necklace at my hip. There was a chip in the corner of the charm that I hadn’t noticed until now. I traced every detail of the weathered plastic groove with my finger. I couldn’t be sure if the damage came from our many movesbetween motels or when I’d dropped it between seats during a drive. The clasp had become less secure over the weeks as well. I swallowed guilt for not taking better care of Jon’s gift; at least the damage was the consequence of being well-traveled.
After combing through my hair one final time, I peeked out of the bathroom. Jon’s bag was already packed on the bed, prepared for travel. Perhaps there was time for me to search the room once more. I’d made it a habit to scour our motel rooms for treasures to add to my stash. The other night, I’d found a button under Cliff’s bed and an earring with a missing gem behind the dresser. Not my most interesting haul, but better than the dead roaches from the previous place.
I hovered at the threshold, a spark blossoming as I caught sight of Cliff. Considering his late night, he shouldn’t have been out of bed this early. Still in his undershirt and a pair of navy joggers, he was hunched over his laptop—a mug of motel coffee in his right hand and entirely too absorbed to notice me.
He was practically handing me the perfect opportunity to inflict some innocent revenge.
Throughout our journey, both hunters had been extremely supportive of my desire to continue training—to challenge myself. With the number of hunts that intercepted our route, honing my skills was a necessity.Survival of the fittestwas one of the most apt human expressions I adopted.
But truthfully, I trained for myself. To quiet that incessant, gnawing voice in my chest that no longer settled for the naive girl who had fled Elysia.
Cliff coached me, advising workout regimens—both physical and magical—and sparring with me when we could spare the time. His instruction was harsh, pushing me to my very limits. Sometimes, I resented the ache in my muscles the day after a grueling session.
Despite this, I kept my whining to a minimum; the results were certainly there. I not only felt stronger, I noticed the difference. My belongings were becoming easier to carry. I could perform twenty-five pushups instead of a painful ten. My spellwork, too—I could switch spells in quicker succession, not stumbling over the ancient Fae. Conjured ice lasted hours if I reinforced it.
Jon helped me train, too, but he was admittedly less effective overall, given howdistractiblehe became with me. On a rare occasion—my favorites—Jon and I would abandon training altogether and simply find a place in the forest to lie under the autumn sun and talk for hours.
Watching Cliff take a sip of coffee, I whispered a spell under my breath. I kept my magic in the shadow of the doorway, shaping the swirling frost into a javelin shape with a softchiiink. The rotating weapon was about the length of a human forearm with dulled tips that would little more than bruise when it found its mark. And, with any luck, it would scare the shit out of Cliff.
When he set the mug down, I thrust my hands out and sent the ice whistling forward.
Cliff ducked—easily.The projectile flew over his shoulder and smashed through the front window.
I winced at the explosion of glass.Shit.
“Good morning to you, too,” Cliff said, glancing at me with a lift of his brows.
Jaw slack, I glided across the room until I hovered over the table.
“You saw me?” I didn’t bother to hide the childish deflation in my voice.
“Heard you. I know the sound of your wings.”
Chilling yet oddly flattering.
“I can patch it with ice,” I said, looking at the torn curtains that now fluttered from the jagged hole behind them. “Maybe the motel staff won’t notice until we’re on the road.”
Cliff waved a hand. “Trust me, this place has seen far worse. If you’re gonna kick yourself about anything, do it for being so obvious. I’ve seen grizzly bears with more stealth.”
“You fucking liar,” I said, sending a small burst of frost at his chest. “I just need to practice on someone who’s not a paranoid freak.”
Cliff smirked. “Hey, in our line of work, that’s a compliment.”
I folded my arms, glancing from the shards of glass littering the carpet to scan Cliff’s athletic frame.
