Page 72 of Hunted in the Shadows
“No!” Cliff roared. He started to race to her side, but Rhett fired off a warning shot that burst through the wet ground beside Cliff.
Rhett’s eyes flicked between Cliff and me. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Drop the guns and come with me, or the next one goes through her brain.”
I couldn’t move—couldn’t fathom why the hell he wanted us alive so badly. My thoughts staggered with ways to use that against him, but Rhett’s sudden cry of pain jolted me back to full attention.
Ice was crawling over the barrel of Rhett’s gun, spreading rapidly. In a matter of seconds, frost enveloped his palm and fingers and raced up his arm. The glow of the magic was strange—a shade of lavender I had never seen in Sylvia’s magic before. I might have thought there was another fairy present if it weren’t for Sylvia’s raised hands.
How the hell was she doing that?
“Fuck,” Rhett hissed, eyes bugging wide. “FUCK!”
But the ice didn’t stop. It spread like it was hungry, feasting on his form. He backed away from Sylvia, fear mingling with the pain in his voice. She followed him and rose above his eye level, closing in like a delicate goddess of vengeance. I faltered where I stood, watching with an odd mix of pride and horror as Rhett’s movements were forced to halt.
Sylvia’s chanting voice was a ragged, unrecognizable cry, growing louder with each verse. The pale purple first completely covered Rhett’s body, solidifying around him like a statue. It crackled as clear layers thickened.
A small gasp—and then the spellwork flickered. Sylvia plummeted like a stone, magic exhaustion finally staking its claim on her.
I shouted her name, diving for her, but she hit the ground before I could reach her. She lay unmoving on the mossy earth—but she was breathing. She was alive.
A glint caught my eye. Her amethyst shard lay just short of her fingers.
Thatwas how she’d pushed through the magic exhaustion. She’d finally spent the gem shard her mother had given her. As I scooped up her prone form, I made certain to take the shard too.
I heard Cliff sprinting behind me, helping Gwen sit up. Blood stained both their hands as they applied pressure to the bullet wound. She whimpered through gritted teeth, shaking.
“Deep breaths,” he commanded, then glanced toward Rhett. “Is he dead?”
With Sylvia cradled carefully in one hand, I got to my feet and approached Rhett. Faint panting and shifting could be heard within the shell of ice. His eyes followed me as I circled him, vocal cords straining to say something. It was as horrifying as it was impressive, and I stole another glance at Sylvia’s unconscious form. Gem magic or not, it never ceased to amaze me that someone so delicate could be capable of suchdestruction.
The ice was thickest at his hands and feet, but rivets of water were already dribbling down his neck. It was thin enough, and without Sylvia conscious to reinforce the magic, it was only a matter of time before he broke loose.
“Unfortunately, I think he’ll live,” I called over my shoulder.
A faint sound caught my ear. The rustle of leaves. I turned, my chest tight at the notion of another predator targeting us. Scanning the trees, I spotted movement through the underbrush.
Not a monster.Humans. More hunters had found another way across the water, trekking through the mossy woods—directly toward the sound of gunfire.
“Damn it,” I muttered, ducking to grab the bag of silver bullets so graciously provided by Rhett.
The car’s short distance felt like miles as we bolted, the forest towering over us. I spared a quick glance behind me as it came into view, and I circled for the driver’s side.
Cliff had Gwen cradled in his arms, her small frame barely weighing him down despite her injury. I’d never seen her look sofragile—her lips pale and her head lolling against Cliff’s chest without even so much as a scowl in his direction. Her face was tight with pain, like she was refusing to give in to the urge to weep.
Though I couldn’t see the hunters pursuing our trail, I could still hear every distant twig snap under their tread. I vaulted behind the wheel of the car, pausing only to lay Sylvia carefully on the passenger’s seat. Cliff helped Gwen into the back seat, barking for me to drive.
I heard him murmuring something assuring to Gwen as I peeled off along the dirt road. The click of the first aid kit.
“Hold on,” Cliff urged her. “I’ve got you.”
I didn’t have to look back to know—he was cutting through her black jeans skillfully. He pulled off his button-up, twistingthe sleeve into a rope. He offered it to her, saying, “Bite down on this.”
Gwen did so. A bottle was uncapped and the sharp smell of alcohol filled the vehicle as Cliff sloshed it generously over the wound. Gwen screamed, muffled through the cloth.
“Stay with me,” Cliff said, cupping her face and fixing her with a cementing look while he pulled away layers of alcohol and blood-soaked gauze.
He withdrew a pair of tweezers from the kit. “Hard part’s next.”
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