Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

No. I can’t let Aren get inside my head.

“McKenzie.”

I stand and chuck my rock into the river. “If you don’t want me to leave you here, get up. Now.”

Slowly, carefully, he struggles to his feet. I keep my hands fisted by my sides. I won’t help him. I don’t care how much his face pales or how heavily he leans on his sword. I’ll get him to the gate where it’ll be easier for him to fissure and then I’m out of here.

His knees manage to hold his weight. “You’re smart, McKenzie. You must see—”

“Don’t.”

“He’s manipulated you.”

“Just shut up.” I turn away.

Aren turns me back. “He’s agreed to be bonded to the daughter of Srillan.”

I stop breathing. My heart shatters. It shouldn’t. Aren wants to drive a wedge between me and the Court. Between me and Kyol. He’s making up lies to lure me to his side of the war. I have no reason to believe him except . . . I know the daughter of Srillan. She’s a beautiful fae named Jacia, and she’s been around Kyol often the past few months.

Cold, damp air clings to my skin. I’m not shaking, but I feel like I’m breaking apart on the inside. Could it be true? And if it is, why wouldn’t Kyol tell me? Did he deliberately hide it from me? I drop my gaze to the ground, unwilling to let Aren see the questions in my eyes.

Aren lifts my chin with a finger. His edarratae flare out over my jaw. I feel a bolt of lightning strike across my lips. Aren’s gaze focuses on it, then on my mouth, then back to my eyes.

“He doesn’t love you,” he says.

I slap him. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because all my doubts, all my frustrations, surge over me like a tidal wave. I don’t want to face them. Not now.

“I see,” Aren says quietly.

I shouldn’t have slapped him. It’s such a weak, girly thing to do. I should have balled my hand into a fist and launched it at his nose.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll search for the gate upriver.”

I had every intention to shove him through the fissure without me, but as we near the gate, I realize that’s not going to be as easy as I thought. Aren must have been conserving his strength for this last leg of our journey. As soon as Sosch’s fur begins to turn silver, Aren’s grip on my arm tightens. His face is pinched and he’s bathed in sweat, but he doesn’t feel weak at all right now.

He digs into the pouch tied to his belt and takes out an anchor-stone. It glows briefly when he imprints it with a destination.

“You should let me go,” I say, the first words spoken between us since we started upriver.

“ And leave you alone so far from civilization? And with no boots? No, nalkin-shom . You’ll come with me.”

My barefootedness is an issue. The boots would have quickly rubbed my feet raw again, so I didn’t put them back on. I took care to walk along the softest parts of the riverbank, but still they’re sore and sensitive. They shouldn’t be a problem for long, though, not once Aren is gone and I can use the cell phone that’s burning a hole in my back pocket. I haven’t had an opportunity to make a call yet. Aren hasn’t strayed from my side once since we left the car.

Sosch’s coat is completely silver now. He chirps and then scurries back and forth along the bank. If I don’t look directly at the spot in front of him, I can see the blur in the atmosphere.

“We’re here,” Aren says. He keeps a tight hold on my hand after he presses the anchor-stone into it, then he carefully steps to the edge of the river and dips his palm into the water. I sense the gate before the light trickles between his fingers. Edarratae , dozens of them, flash to life, darting over his deltoids, across his firm chest, and following one side of the V that dives from his lower abs down to his . . .

I realize where I’m staring, tear my gaze away.

Aren looks back at me. “You ready?”

It would be such an easy betrayal to melt into his warmth. It’s tempting. Aren, the son of Jorreb, the Butcher of Brykeld, could be my rebound guy. He could kiss me and touch me and do all the things I’ve wanted Kyol to do. He could fill the hole in my heart.

Until I give him the Sidhe Tol . What happens after he gets what he wants from me?

“McKenzie?”

This is ridiculous. I don’t trust him, and even if— if! —Kyol agreed to a life-bond with Jacia, Atroth is still the rightful king of the Realm. The Court fae have saved my life dozens of times. They take care of me. I will not let Aren make me forget that.

Without warning and with all the strength I have, I yank back on my hand. Aren’s grip slips, but his other hand is quick. He grabs me by the nape of the neck and pulls me against his chest.

“No.” The growl rumbles against my cheek. His heartbeat thumps in my ear. “You don’t want to go, McKenzie. You’re running from me out of habit.”

“I’m not.”

“If you’d bend your will just a little.”

“No!” That’s how it starts, a little give here, a little give there, until I’ve given everything to him. I push away. He lets me take a step back but takes a tight hold on my wrists.

He sighs. “This fissure . . . it might not be comfortable.”

“They never are,” I retort.

“I’ve lost a lot of blood. My magic isn’t strong. I’ll take on as much of the drain as I can, but it’ll be hard on you. Hold tight to the stone and to me. It’ll be over quickly.”

He holds both my wrists in one hand and then holds out his arm. “Sosch. Up ,” he says in Fae. The kimki leaps to his forearm, then to his shoulders. As soon as Sosch is settled, Aren pulls me into the ice.

No, not ice. Fire. My body convulses when we step into the In-Between. I nearly lose my grip on him. Everything is wrong at once. I’m outside my skin, not floating but falling. Falling fast. Fissures are supposed to be filled with piercing white light, but this one isn’t. Everything here is black. All black.

MY DOORBELL RINGS. They’re early. Great.

I run a brush through my hair, wondering yet again why I let Paige talk me into a double date. I should be studying or sleeping or doing any number of things other than going to dinner and some dance club with a guy I don’t know. Besides, I’m not feeling quite . . . right.

I try to shake the fog from my mind as I toss my brush on the couch and walk to the door.

“Hey!” Paige says when I open the door. She bounces on her toes, causing her beach-blond hair to swing just above her shoulders. It’s shorter than usual because she’s twisted small tendrils into thin braids, braids that are pulled and twisted in a dozen different directions. On me, the style would look like one gigantic rat’s nest. On Paige, it’s some kind of organized chaos—edgy and sublime.

“Hey,” I return, just as an electric thrum tingles across my skin. It takes everything in me not to turn around to see who’s fissuring into my living room. My guess is it’s Kyol. Fabulous timing.

“This is Ben,” Paige says, nodding to one of the two guys on my porch. “And you know John.”

I don’t know John. The boyfriend I met last month was called Mark or Matt or something like that.

“I’m McKenzie.” I shake Ben’s hand. He has a strong grip, a nice tan, and, as promised, a killer smile.

“I told you he’s hot,” Paige says at the same time a voice behind me says, “I’ll come back later.”

I give a little shake of my head to answer Kyol. The world moves more than it should. Weird. It takes a few seconds for it to settle. That’s when I notice Ben’s raised eyebrow and Paige’s frown.