Page 6 of The Hidden
He roars in my face, and I jump with surprise as the angry sound assaults me. I flinch, not able to help it, and then tense, knowing at any second the vicious sound pouring out of him will be followed by a beating. I stare at him in challenge. He’s going to fucking annihilate me, but that doesn’t make him the tough asshole he clearly thinks he is. He can stare into my eyes and see just how little I think of him as his fists connect with my body.
I breathe heavily, adrenaline, fear, and anger pumping through me. Shock suddenly drowns out all my other emotions as a flash of pain runs up my back. The next thing I know, a pair of large ebony-feathered wings rip out of my back. I keep my face blank in spite of what I’m feeling inside.
Well, that’s fucking new.
Based on the surprised look that Zeph is now wearing, it’s not only new, but apparently a pretty kick ass trick at that. I’ll take it.
4
Gasps fill the room, and I whimper, wavering slightly when my wings spread to almost twice my size. They’re not nearly as massive as they were when I was a gryphon though, and I wonder if they adjust in size to my different forms. Zeph stops roaring immediately, like my wings just reached out and bitch slapped him silent. I expect the new black feathered appendages to feel heavy or force me to topple over on my back like an upturned turtle, but the opposite is true. They feel like they’re a part of my body just like my arms and legs do. They feel like they’ve always been there and my body has always accommodated them.
Zeph’s honey gaze traces the top curve of my feathers, and he rolls his shoulders as if the appearance of my wings is somehow calling to his own. The ability to partial shift is rare back in the shifter world I grew up knowing about. Judging by the reaction currently circulating through this room, I’d guess the same is true here. Zeph closes his shocked mouth, and next thing I know, he’s stomping out of the room and slamming the large intricately carved doors behind him.
I turn back to the others, feeling helpless, frustrated, and fighting against the adrenaline currently slamming through my system. My stare lands on Gray Eyes’ stormy gaze, and suddenly white and gray wings thrust out of his back. We both give a sharp inhale of surprise. He flexes them out behind him, his rain-cloud gray gaze never leaving mine. He gives his massive wings a quick flap, and the air stirs and whips around the room.
My wings itch to do the same thing, but I keep them tightly locked together at my back. It’s clear that, for whatever reason, Zeph thinks I’m a threat despite the teenage lie detector test still leaning casually against the wall. Gray Eyes’ contempt-filled stare tells me that he’s feeling the same way. The last thing I need to do is get torn apart because I flapped my wings and they deciphered that as an act of aggression instead of me just stretching.
Gray Eyes pulls his wings back inside of him, and I stare at where they used to be over his shoulder. He just did that like it was as easy as breathing, and it makes envy and wonder flash through me. I take a deep breath and try to coax mine back inside, but nothing happens.
“She needs to be cleansed before we go any further,” Gray Eyes declares.
The dark-haired woman gives a small nod. “Yes, Ryn. I mean, Altern,” she quickly corrects when Gray Eyes—who’s apparently named Ryn—narrows his eyes at her.
The way people here use Syta and Altern makes it clear that they’re titles of some sort. They’re said with reverence and respect and mark Zeph and Ryn as leaders or commanders maybe. It also seems anyone with a title is a raging douche bag.
“I want her doused in the tears of clarity and anything else we have that will combat any of the old magics. Let’s make sure we’re not up against any unforeseen variables, and then we’ll see what her truthreallylooks like.”
Ryn storms out, his order hanging in the air, and all but the dark-haired woman follow him. We watch each other for a moment before she steps out from behind the heavy wood table and makes her way slowly toward me. I tense as she approaches, and her critical eyes roam over every sheet clad inch of me.
“If you think I’m going to let you scrub me down, you’ve got another thing coming,” I warn her. She just stares at me for a couple of awkward seconds before she gives me a slight nod.
“Follow me, please,” she tells me, and she starts walking toward the door.
She’s taller than me by probably six inches and thicker in every way. She’s not as big as the males that were at the table, but she’s massive by human standards. She’s the biggest woman I’ve ever encountered, and she moves with a grace that stuns me. I can’t take my eyes off of her as she practically floats over the ground. Even just her hands swaying at her sides as she walks reminds me of the time I saw this beautiful hula dance at school.
I gasp, surprised, when my wings are suddenly pulled into my back. I spin like a dog chasing its tail as I try to deduce what made them snap out and then disappear just as mysteriously. My guide doesn’t even pause, and I have to shove my curiosity away and rush to catch up.
I follow her throughmorewinding hallways until I find myself back in the room with the balcony and large bed that’s missing a yellow sheet. She walks right past everything and through another doorway that looked like it was just part of the wall. I walk closer to where she disappeared through, wondering if it’s some kind of magic, but as I get closer, I realize that the back part of the entryway blends really well and makes it look like a solid wall when it’s actually recessed.
“What’s your name?” I ask as I step through the hidden doorway and into a massive bathroom.
“Loa,” she answers simply, not looking at me. She pulls a lever, and steaming water pours from the ceiling into a huge empty bath that’s been dug into the floor of the room.
A large window-like cutout on the back wall allows natural light to illuminate the stone room, and I take it all in. Steam, and a deep musky scent I can’t place, start to fill the space. It coaxes out some of the tension that’s locking up my muscles, and I exhale a small sigh of relief. Loa presses another lever, but I don’t notice what it does as I catch the reflection of her back in the large veined mirror she just walked in front of. She steps back to the large tub that’s still filling, and I’m left staring at a shell-shocked stranger.
I know the reflection is mine because it’s wrapped up in a butter-yellow sheet. It also mirrors my movements exactly when I bring my hand up and run it over my hair. I’m stunned beyond words to find that my dark brown tresses have somehow been stripped of all color. I walk closer to the mirror and reach over my shoulder to grab the tail of the tight braid I always wear when I ride my motorcycle. It’s looser and a bit disheveled, but the braid is hanging in there through all the shit that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. Crap, has it even been twenty-four hours, or has it been longer? I run my fingers through the end of the braid and try to work the tangles out that are keeping it from unraveling.
What the hell?
The ends of my hair are completely white, and it darkens to the faintest of grays at my roots. I stare at the wavy kink left behind by the braid and don’t even know what to think. I pull my eyes from my ghostly tresses and freeze when my gaze lands on light purple irises instead of the dark brown I’ve spent my life looking into. I poke at my cheek just to be sure that this is, in fact, me. The stranger in the mirror does the same. The tan skin tone I’ve always had is reflected back at me. My eyebrows are still dark, and long black lashes continue to frame my eyes, but my new white hair and lavender stare make me look so completely alien.
I turn to Loa. “What happened?” I ask, holding out a chunk of my now pigment challenged tresses. She looks at me like she doesn’t understand the question. “My hair and eyes used to be dark like yours,” I explain, but she just looks even more confused. A flash of my mother’s ring, cracked and crumbling on my hand, streaks through my mind, and a growl of frustration bubbles up in my chest.
A woman walks into the bathroom at that moment and goes still. Our eyes lock onto each other in the mirror, and she stares at me open-mouthed.
“Tysa, lift your jaw off the ground and bring me the tears of clarity, verity moss, and a bottle of crushed pietersite,” Loa commands.
Tysa gives a small curtsey and rushes out of the room. Loa turns back to me, and her dark judgmental gaze runs over my white hair.
