Page 64 of Hunted in the Shadows
His grip relinquished me as he slammed into the wall, making the Pit rattle and clang.
In my mad scramble into the air, I could only think of protecting myself. Even in my panic, the hours of training surfaced like a lifeline. I conjured a wall of ice to thwart his approach as he grunted back to his feet. I wouldn’t be able to maintain it for long—even with the humidity and terror-driven magic, there was only so much strength coursing through me.
The crowd gave another nasty cheer as Jon shattered the ice wall with his iron bar. He stalked toward me precisely the wayhe approached a monster—a serpent ready to strike with bite after bite until its prey was dead.
But in the heat of my retaliation, his expression wasn’t quite so composed anymore. Something broke through the unreadable stare locked on me, and it wasn’t malice or bloodlust.
Terror. Grief. Desperation.
This wasn’t a man who hated me but one who cared for me beyond words, beyond reason.
And now I couldn’t shake the awful thought that arrived with the realization—what if he accepted there was no possible way for me to leave this outpost alive? What if this was his last kindness toward me—a swift mercy kill to ensure that none of these other hunters tortured me to death?
His expression darkened once more as he recomposed himself.
Corner him in a no-win situation and see what he does.
He charged, swinging the rod in a wide arc. I zipped past it safely, but the proximity to the toxic metal made me all the more lightheaded. There was no time to recover. He swung again, this time far too close.
Upon his third swing, I focused my attention on the beer behind me. Liquid spurted from two bottles, coming together in a javelin aimed for Jon’s face. He staggered, just as startled by my aim as I was. The discolored ice barely whistled past his head, shattering into the side of the cage and making a number of hunters curse and scatter.
Jon touched his face, interrupting a smooth line of blood that trickled from where my attack grazed him.
Stars, I wanted to heal him. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness.
But his expression hadn’t changed, those empty, predator eyes fixed on me like he would not rest until I was nothing but a corpse at his feet. Everything about him drew me back to that night in Dottage, when he was but a hulking shadow hellbent on killing me for daring to exist.
Jon Nowak is dangerous.
So was I.
With a cry, I conjured another three beer javelins. Hunters shouted their ire, glass shattering as they dropped their bottles in alarm. Jon swung the iron, decimating two spears. He caught the third in his hand. Blood pooled between his fingers. He threw my weapon back at me—and missed.
I took control and redirected it before the ice could break against the cage. While he dodged, I couldn’t help but wonder how he missed me by such a wide margin—was it because he had no intention of hurting me, or because the splintered ice in his palm threw off his aim?
Fuck, there had to be a way out of this alive—if I could only untangle his intentions. I flew back up, desperate for a breather. I conjured an icy shield over my head in case another beer bottle was tossed at the dome.
Below, I finally caught sight of Cliff. I’d recognize his chiseled profile and dark gold hair anywhere. He was weaving through the churning crowd, his eyes locked on me. I tried to read his face, to find some kind of answer there, but—
Something lurched at me from the corner of my eye. Iron.Chains!
I ducked just in time and saw Jon grabbing one of the chains, pulling hard. The connected ones at the top near me swayed and jumped, shattering the veil of ice over my head. One slammed into my knees—thank the stars for my ankle-length trousers that protected me from an agonizing burn—and sent me hurtling downward.
I gathered my bearings, only to see theentire fucking crateflying at me. With a shriek, I flew out of its path, flinching my hands to my ears as it exploded into splintered wood against the fence.He isn’t holding back,I thought, tasting wood dust in my mouth.
He had herded me within three feet of him near the center of the Pit—the close quarters he needed to gain the upper hand.
Fuck him.The thought lashed through my mind, and before I knew what I was doing, my hands were poised at heart level, fingers steepled for a spell. Frost surged from my fingertips, spreading across the ground beneath Jon’s feet, turning it into a slick, icy trap. My lips moved faster than my thoughts, weaving a spell to liquify the trap. I balled my fists and swung them to my sides, jerking Jon forward with a sudden, brutal force. He went sprawling, his rod clattering beside him.
That’s for throwing a fucking crate at me.
“Get up, you pussy!” Someone in the crowd beat their fist against the fence. “Use the iron on her!”
Jon groaned as he pried himself up, sporting a busted lip and a gash cutting through the sleeve of his black tee. One of the nails in the deck had caught him badly. But he was on his feet with speed I couldn’t decide was relieving or terrifying—and lunged for me again, the slender rod grasped in his left hand. Jon’s hand closed around my legs.Fuck—I’d drawn too close.
I shouted a spell, summoning a spike of discolored ice between his boots. Jon cursed, releasing me to evade it. As he circled me, I focused on his footing. I had seen him fight dozens of times—I knew how he moved. I could match him blow for blow.
I shifted my focus down to his boots, an idea taking hold. I channeled all my magic at the deck, frost crawling up the leather, up to his ankles, crackling as I laid it thicker and thicker. Jon’s eyes widened, and for a moment, I felt a pang of remorse. I didn’t want to fight him.
