Twenty-One
Anger isn’t smart. Is it?
Anger isn’t really productive when fear is right there and easier to grab, like low hanging apples on an overburdened tree. I stare at the paper and my father’s signature, dark loops and damming orders.
My vision blurs the longer I stare until Grayson takes the paper from my hands, reading it for himself. Re reading it like the words make no sense to him either.
And through it all?—
Moon madness winds its way through me, sinuous, the voices growing louder with rage.
I’m pissed off. I’m so fucking tired of being pissed off.
“So back in the forest, at the cabin, it was him?” Grayson frowns and crushes the paper in his fist. “He’s been hunting us this entire time?”
The hunter glares between me and Grayson like this is a mild inconvenience for him, his hatred palpable. It’s a sickening film coating my skin and I bear down to stop from scratching.
“How can he hunt his own kind?” A rage similar to mine swells Grayson’s voice.
“It doesn’t matter.” Mine is dull in comparison. “He’s been contracted. For him, there’s no space between the job and the mark. Not on a personal level.”
Disgust and loathing simmer in the hunter’s gaze, though his expression remains calm.
He doesn’t care who we are, or what we were before the curse. We’re animals to be put down, a nuisance.
Once again, my life, my death, has been dictated for me. I frown, any sort of confusion and shock replaced with singular focus.
I face the hunter and wish for a knife. Or claws.
And something fractures inside of me.
The fracture starts inside my ribcage, my body going still as blood and rage paint dark spots on my skin. The hunter squirms at whatever he sees but the tingle forming in my head, the one cascading down my back, doesn’t stop until it turns me to ash.
“What are we going to do with him?” Grayson asks.
“We kill him,” Colt says through his teeth.
The hunter twists, his expression shifting as he lowers his head like he’ll snap at their throats.
My mind whirls too fast to think of anything besides destruction. Revenge.
Grayson tosses the orders and reaches for me, both hands cradling my elbows. His fingers tremble. I absorb it. “Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.”
“Whatever it is, do it quick. We’ve got to finish the cure. The sooner we get to the library, the sooner you guys will be healed.”
RJ jerks her head toward the van like we should load the hunter into the back and dispose of him somewhere far away.
Or maybe turn him into a toad.
He’d look decent as a hood ornament, and karmic justice would be served.
“No.” The strength of my insistence shocks me and I shake it off. “Leave him to me. Go work on the cure and we’ll meet up after I take care of something.”
“Okay, that’s fair. We’ll meet up here later, we promise.” The witches reluctantly obey, heading to the van.
I match the hunter’s glare, holding for a beat longer than he’s comfortable with and he’s the first to look away.
My gaze shifts to Lacey and Colt and the cold resolve filling their expressions