Page 45 of Shackled to the World
Both of them were beaten black and blue, and a few minor cuts nicked her knuckles and face. Her bones ached from the jarring impact of flesh meeting flesh, but it was a pleasant ache that she’d grown used to while living with her uncle.
Terrance surveyed her critically, his own body more battered than hers, but he was already healing even while she watched, his wounds knitting together. “You’re a fast learner. You’re getting better.”
But not good enough to win in an all-out fight against a shifter.
At least not yet…but maybe in a few more weeks.
Mason stopped beside them, glaring threateningly at the wolf, and Annora had to smother her smile when Terrance lifted his hands in surrender. Taking pity on him, she slipped between them and grinned impishly up at the troll. “No eating wolves today.”
He grunted, giving one last glare at Terrance over her head, before he finally dropped his gaze to her, immediately locating every scrape, every bruise, his glower deepening. “Heal.”
Annora stopped teasing him, his gruff tone warning her that he was on the edge of losing his shit. With a nod, she lifted her hands and allowed the dark particles resting under her skin to rise. A black smog hovered over her hands, then slowly wound around her hands and arms, licking at her injuries. Bruises faded, scabs flaked away, while cuts slowly stitched themselves together, the sting of pain making her inhale sharply.
Instead of feeling weakened by the healing, the pain and touch of the afterworld invigorated her. The smoke twisted through her fingers playfully before finally sinking back into her skin. Smiling brightly up at Mason, she held her arms out from her sides. “See? All better. No need to pound the wolf into mulch.”
Whispers spread around the arena like wildfire, and her smile faded when she saw dozens of unfamiliar faces gawking at her. Mason and Terrance seemed to realize it at the same moment and sandwiched her between them.
The ferret grabbed her bag from the sidelines and dragged it after him as he scurried toward her side. She slipped her sweater over her head and barely had time to scoop the ferret into the bag and pick it up before the guys frog-marched her off the field.
She brushed her fingers over the ferret’s head, silently vowing to come up with another name for him. She couldn’t just keep calling him ferret.
Once away from prying eyes, the men gave her a little more breathing room. Terrance eyed her arms with awe, reaching out to touch her, but stopped just short when Mason gave a little snarl of displeasure from behind them.
“That…was not smart.” Terrance gave her a grim look, then glanced over his shoulder, as if he half expected a horde of people with pitchforks to be following them, clamoring for her blood.
She scowled at him, hating the way gooseflesh pebbled her skin at his ominous pronouncement. “What do you mean? All shifters heal.” She snorted at the absurd idea that she was somehow different. “I’ve even seen witches do spells to heal just as fast. What’s the big deal?”
Terrance grimaced, while Mason rubbed his forehead as if to ease a threatening headache. He herded her down the tunnels, skipping the showers completely. The troll’s large hand came to rest on the small of her back as he hurried her along, practically sweeping her off her feet as he rushed her into the twists and turns of the dark tunnels. “Strength is valued in the paranormal community, but it can also be a curse. Those people saw you take a beating for hours, saw you fight in a way that they cannot beat, then saw you heal without any ill effects.”
“What he’s trying to say—” Terrance interrupted, bringing up the rear, guarding their backs. “—is that they want what you have and will do everything in their power to take it from you.”
“Good.” Annora couldn’t repress her savage smile.
Terrance gaped at her, while Mason stopped walking, his hand sliding off her back for a second before he grabbed a fistful of her shirt and hauled her to a stop. She turned to find herself confronted by a very angry troll.
“You orchestrated this whole fight, didn’t you?” He glowered down at her, his agitation making his hair puff up with static and stand on end all around his head.
If she didn’t know him so well, she’d be intimidated.
Okay, maybe she was a little intimidated.
She couldn’t work up a smile in the face of his anger, but she refused to lie. “Yes.”
A shutter fell over his face and his arms flexed when he clenched his fists, his hair wilting. “That’s why you asked for me. I’m so stupid and gullible that you thought you could put one over on me.”
The dejected look in his eyes, the way he was no doubt calling himself all sorts of an idiot, tore up her insides. Annora turned toward Terrance, struggling to control the anger brewing in her gut. Tiny particles swirled around her like Hell was reaching beyond the grave to pull her back. “Go and make sure we’re not being followed. Then head out and tell Greenwood our plans for tonight. Ask him how we can get in touch with your brother to let him know we’re coming.”
The kid glanced between her and Mason, as if he thought he should stay to protect her, then closed his mouth and took off with a nod.
Without waiting for him to go, she grabbed Mason’s arm, and dragged him toward the stairs. She released him, took a few steps up before turning, almost putting them on eye level, then she crossed her arms and glared down at him. “Is that the kind of woman you think I am? That I would single you out that way?”
She snorted at the absurdity. “You’re one of the most intelligent men I know. I picked you for the reasons I stated this morning. I would’ve acted the exact same way if any of the other guys came with me instead, and I resent that you would judge me by others’ standards.”
She was so angry she was shaking with it.
That he thought she would treat him in that way…hurt threatened to crush her.
Mason studied her a moment longer, his eyes searching hers intently. He must have found what he wanted, because his shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand over his hair. The hot pink hair reached out for her, as if begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”
