by Bella Jacobs
Chapter 8
Wren
This time, I’m not punched into unconsciousness.
This time, I’m lulled into rest, safe in the arms of the gentle animal that cradles me close. I sleep, and I dream for the first time in longer than I can remember. I dream of the fox in my sister’s painting, and kind eyes, and a voice promising it’s not too late, it’s never too late, as long as there is hope.
Hope…
It’s been the only thing that’s kept me going for so long, the wind in the sails of my ship shot full of holes and held together with a string and prayer. I excel at hope. I’ve medaled in the Hope Olympics, taking gold though there was never any reason to believe I would survive to compete.
But when I wake up much later, just as dawn is smearing the sky above the evergreen trees grayish gold, I’m not sure what to hope for.
To escape my captors and get home to my parents?
To somehow make it to Dr. Highborn’s clinic before my appointment is taken by someone else?
Or is there something else, something more?
I sit up, brushing damp leaves from my cheek and shivering in the early morning chill. God, my dreams were crazy last night—foxes and bears and monsters in the dark, hungry for my blood. All I needed was a lion and a tiger and I’d have had my own journey to Oz.
But now, I’m back on earth, my dream protector is gone, and I’m alone with nothing but the sound of the river rushing softly in the distance and the first bright chirps of morning birdsong to keep me company.
Drawing my now mostly dry pajama-pant-clad legs into my chest, I wrap my arms around my knees and wish I’d worn something warmer to bed. I have no idea how far downstream I was swept last night, but the absence of any rush or rumble noise of the city makes me think it was probably quite a ways.
It’s going to be a long walk back to civilization, a walk I’m not sure I have the energy for.
“You have to at least try,” I mumble, my voice rough from the adventures of the night before, “before someone tries to stop you.”
I have no idea how I made it to shore or where Kite and Sierra are—I haven’t seen them since we went off the bridge, and a terrified voice in my head whispers that they could be dead—but I don’t have time to worry about that now. On the chance they are still alive, I need to be gone before they find me. Once I’m safe, I can call the police and tell them the entire story, ask them to send out a search party to look for two people who might have been swept farther downstream.
Yes, Kite and Sierra took me away from my family against my will, but I don’t want either of them dead.
Especially Kite…
It’s so hard to accept that I was wrong about him. A part of me is still certain that he’s the good man I thought he was, a kind, strong, determined person who loves nature, his family, and his friends. I desperately want to believe that kiss we shared and the feeling of rightness when we touched was real, even if everything else Kite told me was a lie.
I hope he’s alive. I do.
Even though I doubt I’ll ever see him again.
I stand on shaky legs, bracing myself against a nearby tree as I take a few tentative steps away from the river, closer to the hill rising to my left. My socks don’t offer much protection against the rocks and sticks on the forest floor, but it doesn’t hurt that much. Pain is relative after the agony of last night. Bruised feet are child’s play.
With one last glance at my surroundings, trying to memorize the slice of forest so I can describe it to the police—a circle of elms, a tangle of blackberry vines with tiny puckered white fruit concealing most of a fallen tree, and a boulder that resembles a giant’s thumb poking up from the ground—I start up the hill.
I’m tired and weak, but I’m surprised to find the climb is easier than I expect it to be. My blood moves through my veins with an ease that’s unfamiliar, and for the first time in months, I didn’t wake up in the grips of gut-wrenching nausea. In fact, I’m actually…hungry.
Starving, in fact.
My belly mutters behind my ribs, a grumble of discontent that becomes a growl by the time I reach the first rise and a small clearing that offers a view of the city far away. Much farther than I thought. The Space Needle is barely the size of my pinkie finger from this distance, and Mount Rainier is a bump on the horizon.
“Shit,” I curse, the sentiment echoed by another snarl from my stomach.
“Cussing so early in the morning? Didn’t think you had it in you, Bird Girl.” The voice comes from behind me, making me jump and yip softly in surprise.
I turn to see Kite cresting the hill, wearing nothing but some sort of leaf apron draped low on his hips and a tired smile. He holds out a hand, filled with a mound of tiny golden things that are roughly rice-shaped, though larger than any grains I’ve seen before. “I figured you would wake up hungry, so I went forest shopping. Your stomach was growling in your sleep.”
“Wh-what’s that?” I ask, instead of the hundred other questions running in circles around my brain.
“Why did you kidnap me and drive off a bridge” seems heavy for first thing in the morning. And then there’s the fact that I can’t seem to stop staring at his body, at his golden, nearly hairless skin that glows with health. And then there are the muscles… powerful muscles on his chest, and abdominal muscles more defined than I would have given him credit for seeing him in baggy sweatshirts and flannels, and equally powerful tree-trunk-sized-legs emerging from his leaf loincloth.
I have no idea what happened to his clothes, but he certainly looks good out of them. So good, I would probably be drooling if my mouth weren’t so dry.
And if he weren’t insane.
And dangerous.
And probably going to try to take me captive again as soon as we finish whatever he’s dug up for breakfast.
“Termites.” He pops one into his mouth, chewing with apparent satisfaction. “They’re less likely to carry parasites than other edible insects around here. Until we find out how compromised your immune system is, I figure it’s best to be careful.”
“Um, yeah, thanks but no thanks,” I say, taking a step back.
Kite arches a dark brow. “Why? Lots of cultures around the world eat insects. They’re high in protein, low in fat, and better for your body than a greasy cow burger.” He holds out his hand, his lips curving on one side as he adds, “And you’re a bird girl, Bird Girl. Bugs should definitely be a part of your diet.”
“I’m not eating termites,” I insist, even as my stomach moans sadly, protesting the decision.
“Well, I could try to find some crickets, but we can’t toast them, so you’d have to eat them raw. A fire is too risky. We gave the KB the slip last night, but once they realize they must have missed us somewhere along the river, they’ll be back.”
I cross my arms, fear sparking in my chest. “The KB… What is that?”
“The Kin Born. Their goons are the ones who ran us off the road last night. I’m not sure how they knew we were coming for you, since the Church of Humanity hates them as much as any other group of shifters, but having both bands of crazies on our ass is going to make things tricky. We’d better make tracks, which means you’d better eat.”
“What?” I exhale sharply through my nose. “As far as I can recall, you ran yourself off the road and—”
“We can debate the finer points of our escape later, after we’re safe. Now eat.”
“Ugh,” I mutter, my mouth watering despite the level of gross inherent in a pile of decapitated termites. “I can’t believe I’m even considering it, but I’m so hungry.”
Kite nods, his expression sobering. “Good. That means your systems are coming back online, kicking off the drugs. How are you feeling this morning? Any better?”
“Some,” I admit cautiously, watching him through narrowed eyes as he moves closer, walking with a slow, easy gait, as if he isn’t bothered in the slightest by the rough ground on his bare feet. “Where are your clothes
?”
“They didn’t survive the shift.” He pauses a few feet away, as if he can sense exactly how close I’ll allow him before I retreat. “They never do. Which means I’ve got spare clothes stashed all over the city. It’s just a matter of getting to one of my lockers before someone sees me and starts asking me where I got my kick-ass leaf diaper and wanting to place an order with my designer.”
I huff in surprise, and Kite smiles again—thin, but hopeful. “Not a laugh, but I’ll take it.”
“I’d rather you take me seriously and stop talking in riddles.” I turn my head, studying him. “What is the shift? You said that last night, right before—”
“As soon as we’re safe, I’ll explain everything,” he cuts in. “But first we need to move, and before we can move, we need to get something in your belly.” He extends his insect offering again, his long arm bringing the mound of termites within easy reach. “Your body will be going through some serious shit for the next few days. You’re going to need all the strength you can get.”
“Serious shit, huh?” I echo as I shake my head. “Why do I feel like I’m never going to get any answers from you?”
“You will,” he promises, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes me dizzy all over again. “I swear on my mother’s life, and you know how much I love that woman.”
“I don’t know anything about you, Kite.” The backs of my eyes begin to sting. “How can I trust that anything you said was real? You’ve been lying to me from the moment we met. I have no idea who you really are. All I know is that you kidnapped me and put my life in danger and probably…” I choke on the words rising in my throat as I turn, scanning the forest around us. But aside from a squirrel racing up a nearby tree, the woods are still. “Where’s Sierra?” I ask softly.
Kite sighs sadly. “I don’t know. The current was too fast. It took longer than I thought to get you out of the back seat. She was swept away before I could get to her.”
“So it’s my fault.” I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting tears.
“Of course it’s not your fault. Not even a little bit.” He steps closer, warming me with his heat as the hand full of bugs drops to his side. I can feel how much he wants to wrap me up in his arms, and a part of me wants that, too—so freaking much—but I don’t deserve comfort, and he can’t be trusted.
“She’s dead because you helped me first.” I lift my chin, pinning him with a hard look. “You should have helped her. She’s your friend.”
“You’re my friend, too,” Kite says, pain tightening his features. “I care about you, Wren, every bit as much as I care about Sierra. But Sierra was a member of the resistance in peak physical condition who had agreed to risk her life for the cause, if necessary. You’re a rescue who’s had a steady dose of poison dumped into your body every day of your life. You needed my help more, so I went for you first, and I would do it again.” He pauses, jaw clenching as he nods. “Sierra would have made the same call if she were big enough to carry you out of the river in her kin form. We both did what we had to do, and I for one believe she’s still alive somewhere down stream. And maybe, if we stop talking and start walking, we’ll find her.” He lifts his hand, bringing the termite-rice-filled palm to hover beneath my nose. “But first you need to eat.”
Lips pursed, I’m considering another flat refusal to eat insects or a demand to know what the hell he’s talking about—I haven’t been poisoned, and I didn’t need to be rescued, and what the heck is a kin form—but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s done talking. He’s entered stubborn mode, and I know from watching him with the kids at the shelter that there’s no swaying him when he gets like this.
“Fine, I’ll eat,” I snap. “But when I’m done eating, you start talking. Last time I checked, you can walk and talk at the same time.”
Kite’s eyes narrow on mine. “All right. But only if you eat fast and keep up so I don’t have to carry you. You’re light, but I’ll still be out of breath if I’m walking for two.”
“Fine.” I prop my hands on my hips.
“Fine, fine.” He casts a pointed glance down at his hand.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach up, gather every single firm, bulgy little body in my fist, and slam them into my mouth. I chew slowly, thoroughly, refusing to let how creepy I find the feel of thorax bursting on my tongue to show on my face. Kite watches me, respect blooming in his expression as I finish chewing and swallow the entire mess down without a flinch.
“How was that?” he asks, brows lifting.
“Crunchy,” I offer in a monotone. “Gross. A little nutty. More acidic than expected, and at the earliest convenience I would like a drink of water.”
Kite’s lips curve. “There’s a clear stream not far from here. I hit it this morning. Would have brought you some of that, too, but I didn’t have anything suitable for carrying a drink back to my lady.”
“I’m not your lady,” I say, but when Kite leans close, offering in a husky whisper—“Maybe not, but you’re a badass. Even more than I thought. Can’t wait to get to know who you’re going to be now that you’re out of your cage, Bird Girl.”—I blush and forget how to form words.
By the time I whip up a comeback, he’s already halfway across the clearing.
He pauses there, giving an impatient jerk of his head. “Come on, then, tough stuff. Gotta walk the walk if you want to talk the talk.”
For a split second, I debate making a break in the other direction.
But even though I’m feeling better than I have most mornings in recent memory, I’m still weak, dehydrated, suffering from a chronic illness, and entirely outmatched when it comes to speed and strength. If I run, Kite will catch me without breaking a sweat, and then I might never have answers.
At least now, I have a bargain in place and reasonable certainty that Kite will hold up his end of the deal if I hold up mine.
Ignoring the discomfort in my feet as I scramble over the rough terrain in my soggy socks, I hurry after him, silently hoping I won’t regret going deeper into the woods with this man.
Chapter 9
Kite
Take it slow, man. Take it slow and there’s a chance you can get her back under lock and key before she decides to make a run for it.
I cut a glance Wren’s way as she pulls even with me on the deer trail winding through the woods, headed southwest. She’s thin and frail and clearly still as weak as a newborn kitten, but that won’t last long.
She’s incredibly powerful, this girl.
So powerful it’s a miracle that she’s still alive.
The monsters who drug our kind into what they call “remission” have fine-tuned their medications over the years, but there still comes a point when they have to weigh risk vs. reward. The amount of meds it takes to suppress transformation in someone like Wren—a shifter from one of the most ancient bloodlines, dating all the way back to Mesopotamia and the cradle of civilization—often prove deadly. The line between “enough” and “too much” is razor thin, so sharp it leaves scars on those who do survive.
Even if Wren is as strong as she seems and is able to work through the mental and emotional anguish of learning everything she thought was true is a lie, she’s going to bear the marks of these meds for the rest of her life. She might never be able to shift without pain, might never escape the chronic fatigue that plagues so many former captives, or she might lose her fucking mind.
A lot of us do.
Even those who have never swallowed a pill in our lives. Living a secret life on the fringes of society takes its toll on the spirit.
“I don’t hear talking,” she pants, her voice breathy, but stronger than it was even a half mile back.
“Just a second.” I pretend to study the landscape ahead with a critical eye. “Just want to make sure we’re not getting off course.”
“One second, that’s it,” she says. She’s bouncing back strong. The skin-to-skin contact between us last night definite
ly helped. It would have been more therapeutic for her if she’d been in her kin form, but until she’s able to shift, fuzzy snuggles in her human skin will speed her healing.
And I will be happy to be the fuzzy in question.
I’m gone on this girl. Completely gone, crushing so hard that the fear in her eyes last night and the suspicion in them this morning are a knife stabbing into my chest.
She stops beside me with a frustrated huff and a stomp of her socked foot that is pretty adorable. She’s adorable, in these baggy pink pajama pants and fuzzy gray long-sleeved tee, making me wish we were on an alternate timeline somewhere, snuggling in bed after an amazing night out catching some music, or wandering through a street market, or just cruising the beach collecting sea glass.
“That’s it,” she says, propping her hands low on her hips. “Answers, Kite. Now. Or I don’t take another step and I don’t trust you ever again.”
Breath rasping in my throat, I turn to her, wishing we could put this off a little longer, but this girl is as stubborn as I am, and she’s clearly reached her threshold for stalling tactics. “When I first started rescuing captives, I always rushed in too fast with too much information, and inevitably ended up scaring the shit out of the people I wanted to save.” I rub a hand across my chest, not missing the way Wren’s eyes flick down to my fingers and back up again, or the pink that stains her cheeks. At least she still thinks I’m pretty. That’s something. If I can just convince her I’m not one of the bad guys, maybe she’ll even let me kiss her again someday. “I’d end up with a hysterical kid in denial, weeping uncontrollably, begging me to let him stay in the shithole where I found him, or a pissed-off kid determined to maim me before I could get her out of danger. Either way, the end result was the same, so I eventually stopped trying to explain things beforehand.”
“Kidnap first, explain later?” she asks, blue eyes icy.
