Page 153 of Bound By Fury

“Yeah?” He frowns.

“I think I have a plan. But… I’m going to need your help.”

“Anything,” he murmurs. “Always.”

The single word is filled with passion, and for the first time, something truly dangerous blooms across his face. My cheeks heat at the openness of his gaze. The way his eyes prowl over me. Dissect me. Like he can see all the darkest parts of me. And he likes them.

Finally, I think. Something kindred.

By the time Lucas and I hang up, the numbness in my core has spread to my whole body.

An emptiness that sings of a deficit of humanity.

My mind lingers on the likeness I saw in him. The hunger. The need that’s filling him up so much, it’s boiling over.

The strange, twisted shame of having been wrong about everything.

How had it taken me so long to see that he and I are the same?

Now my fingers hover over my phone.

My entire plan is dependent on the fact that I know there’s a part of Malachi that still cares. It doesn’t matter that he’s a hunter and I’m a witch, that we both have suffered at the hands of our ancestors, of the twist of fate that’s led us here.

I tap out the message with deliberate strokes.

meet me at hanging rock tomorrow before the ceremony. one more goodbye, then im gone for good

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to; the message is marked as Read just the same.

He’ll be there. Even if he can’t admit it.

I know I’m right, because although I may have been wrong about a lot of things, I can’t be wrong about this.

Not if I want to survive.

FIFTY-TWO

THE WALK TO THE HALF-MOON clearing of Hanging Rock is preternaturally quiet. Campus is eerily empty besides the path lighting the way to the chapel, of course. I tug my hood down, shielding my face as I enter the trail.

A black hoodie to match my black leggings. Black Docs and thick black socks that peek out from the tops of my boots. Black clothes in mourning. In retribution. In resistance. For my ancestors. For Gigi. For Kai and Lucas and summers in Earnest. For the version of myself that was left in Pine Grove months ago.

For this version of myself if she dies tonight.

I trudge through the gloomy forest, the November chill seeping through my clothes and stinging my cheeks. My hands are tucked under my armpits, my breath turning to clouds in front of my face. I take care not to stumble over the craggy roots and rocks, long-dead leaves crunching beneath my feet.

As I approach the clearing, the past floods in. Interlocked fingers and hidden smiles beneath a crimson moon. Music and hands all over me, sharp eyes following the way my mouth crested his skin. A night that ended with a plunge into the eternal abyss. I push away the thoughts of malevolent raven masks and the hedge maze. Of the ancestors who refused to help me, despite knowing the role I’m destined to play.

I ignore the parts of this that still don’t quite make sense.

I feel his presence before he breaks through the trees. My heart racing in my chest, sparks at the back of my neck. I don’t think about how I’ve missed them. I press my hands against my thighs until my wrists ache, begging the tremors to stop. Instead my shoulders tense.

Killhimkillhimkillhim, the whispers croon.

I think I might.

The pendant at my throat grows warm in his presence, and I wrap my fingers around it in response. It’s a warning that I fight to not find comfort in. When he comes into view, I take a step back. He’s wearing navy shorts, his legs of flesh and metal exposed to the elements. A gray BMA Mountain Wolves hoodie covers his torso, the hood draped between his shoulder blades, the hunter’s mark hidden beneath his sleeves. When he sees me, his arms cross his chest.

I force a watery smile to my lips.