by A. K. Koonce
We take slow steps as instructed, walking at a slight angle. The weight of the river pushes against my knees and I feel my mother tighten her hold on me. Asher is impossibly close to me and I feel how tightly strung the muscles in his arm are against my side. All I hear, smell, and taste is the river. It threatens to consume my senses. The water is pulling at my limbs before I’m even halfway across.
I focus on my steps against the slick rocks. I look down at the white water that slams into my hips and stomach. The sight of the water makes my steps uneasy, and my heavy footsteps falter against a jagged rock.
Asher’s grip tightens against my side. His body leans toward me, his chin brushes against my hair. “Don’t look down,” he yells over the crashing current.
I obey immediately, my heart thrashing in my chest, my arms shivering from my nerves and the cold water, but they stay locked around my partners. I look up at the forest a few yards ahead of us. The limbs of trees tangle around each other in the thick woods. Almost there.
I take deep breaths through my nose, my chest heaving. Small steps. Don’t look down. Almost there. Something slams against my leg in the water and I scream in pain as my leg gives out and I release my hold on my mother and Asher.
I regret my mistake as soon as it’s made. My fingers slip against the leather of their belts to find my safety again, but it’s no use. My fingers flail through cool water, and my arms are pushed back away from them both. My mother doesn’t release me, but the weight of the river and me nearly pull her down. Her thin body is half submerged in the water. Her long blonde hair is wet and sticks to her terrified face. Water chokes down my throat and burns my nose as I fight for small breaths.
Ky holds strong to a thin tree that’s growing into the river from the side of the grassy bank. He holds himself up against the weight of my mother and me. His muscles strain against the pull of us. It only takes a few terrifying seconds to pass before I’m being pulled into Asher’s chest.
“Let go,” he yells to my mother. She’s failing to keep herself up; her neck is angled to keep above the water. I see pain and fear flash in her eyes as she looks from me to Asher. Her round eyes study my face quickly like it’s the last time she might ever see her only daughter. She takes a gasping breath.
Then she lets go of my hand.
The cool current washes over my body pulling me farther into the rapids, then my fingers dig instinctively into Asher’s shoulders as he pulls me tightly to him with one arm around my waist.
We’re unsteady. He tries to regain his footing, and Ky’s words echo like thunder through my mind, it’ll only drag you down. It slowly occurs to me that he needs to ditch me before I drown us both. As if reading my mind, his fingers dig into my hip. My hair clings to my face, and my clothes are drenched, only adding more weight to his task. I breathe in, moisture clinging to the air and filling my lungs.
It only takes a second for him to find his footing again, and I press the side of my face against his chest, wanting to hide my face, but afraid to look away from everything. Asher takes bigger steps now than we did as a group, his face set in determination.
I see Ky pulling my mother to the bank. She stumbles out onto the muddy ground, and he climbs out of the water behind her. It takes me a moment to realize we’re trailing farther downstream, away from them. My heart sinks deeper in my chest with every tree we pass. Ky runs along the bank, keeping pace with us. Asher’s feet never stumble; he doesn’t look down. His eyes stay focused on the bank ahead of us.
We’re only a few feet away now. Ky leans out to us, his hand held out for Asher. Asher visibly swallows, his jaw set tight. Then he lurches forward, extending his arm in front of himself. The river sweeps us up in an instant, carrying us like fish in a current, but Ky grabs Asher’s arm at the last second.
Ky groans against our weight, his teeth clenched as he hangs onto Asher’s wet hand. He pulls us from the rapids, the water fighting to release us. He sinks his boots into the thick mud and pulls us into the bank. Asher pushes me up out of the water. My fingers claw at the dirt as I crawl up the grass. My left leg shoots pain through my body with every move. My mother helps me up and hugs me into her cold, drenched side. Ky pulls Asher up from the water, and he instantly finds his balance. I watch as Asher takes deep breaths, his chest rising and falling under his clinging shirt, the hard lines of his stomach accentuated beneath the translucent fabric.
“Are you okay?” he asks, taking my cold hand in his, his fingers loosely holding mine.
His eyes trace my body, looking for the source of my pain. He leans down to my torn and bloody jeans. Just below my knee, the fabric is ripped away and I gasp when I see the shredded flesh underneath. A shaking breath escapes my lips in a half cry as he pushes the material away from the wound.
Without a second’s hesitation, he unsheathes his blade and slices open his palm in one quick movement. His blood pools in his palm. He brushes his hand gently over my leg where the flesh is torn and bone can be seen.
The light pressure he puts on the wound is enough to make me see spots. My weight gives out; my mother holds me up like a child at bedtime. I bite my lip to muffle my pain, my fingers clinging to her shoulders.
It feels like hours pass, but the pain is gone as quickly as it came. Asher releases a heavy breath and lowers his hand. I swallow hard, blinking back the unshed tears. I breathe out short spurts, trying to calm my racing heart. I take a small nervous step, putting a bit of weight on my left leg.
I wait for the shooting agony, but it never comes. I bend down next to Asher. His palm has already healed under the smear of blood on his hands. I touch my bloody skin under the ripped fabric. Just like Asher, my wound is healed. My fingers run over the smooth unblemished skin. My shin tingles under the touch of my fingers. A warmth spreads through the limb. It feels a bit restless like the blood flow is a current beneath the skin.
“Are you alright?” he asks again, his silver eyes searching mine.
I give a small confused but grateful nod as I try to process what just happened. Ky’s bag rustles. The small opening between the zipper reveals Ripper’s curious little nose. A part of me is even more thankful Ky didn’t throw out his pack at the first sign of trouble.
Chapter Ten
An Explanation
After crossing the river, we set up camp. Everyone is wet and tired from the excursion. Everyone except Ripper who, once released from the bag, ran around in circles like he’d just been released from a ten-year stint on the inside.
The sun sets, and we fall into our strange but normal routine. Asher found dinner—rabbits. I’ve come to notice he never kills more than we can eat, and I can’t help the warm comfort I find in his unnatural kindness.
Ky sets up a fire as my mother and I collect water at the river for the next day. We all eat with little talking. Part of me is thankful to avoid speaking of the incident at the river.
It’s cooler tonight. The breeze isn’t stiflingly warm against my skin like normal but actually cool and soothing. Ky volunteers to take watch. Asher argues, but I think it bothers Ky that he isn’t taking watch over us. My mother and I have been his family for as long as I can remember. They were childhood friends and now lifelong friends.
Asher seems to understand Ky’s need to protect us, letting his protests quiet against his lips and conceding to Ky’s demand to keep look out. Asher sets up his pallet of light blankets, and I wait to see if he’ll actually sleep.
It only takes about half an hour before my mother joins Ky on the river bank. Their whispered voices can be heard in the silence. I can also hear my mother’s laugh. After everything that’s happened, Ky can still make her laugh.
I smile to myself as I look into the fire that has warmed and dried my now crisp clothing. Asher plays with the shiny tabs at the top of the instrument he’s carried with him since we left the house. He had to dump river water out of it, but it seems to work fine, I guess.
He twists six metal nobs back and forth, strummin
g quickly on each string before returning back to the nobs at the top. He does this relentless strumming and turning for nearly fifteen minutes. The repetitive noise is harsh and grating on my nerves, but then he stops and his fingers begin moving seamlessly along the thin board lined with strings. He simultaneously strums individual chords with his other hand. The noise is shaky at first, then he finds the rhythm and moves swiftly from note to note.
It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard. It’s nothing like the drumming and singing people do during the few parties I’ve been to outside of our camp. The light vibration in the quiet air fills my chest and makes a happiness radiate strangely though my core as if it is competing to replace my own beating heart.
He stops mid-note to glance up at me as though he feels me watching his work. I’ve been caught in the act. I was staring wide-eyed without blinking. I give a shy half smile and look away for a second, afraid he will stop the perfect noise he’s creating, but, when I turn back, he is still watching me, hand raised against the strings, a knowing look in his playful eyes that creates uncertainty in my lungs. The way his deep eyes are watching me makes my breath falter and my heart lose its rhythm.
“Sorry, I’ve just never seen anyone do that before. It was … perfect.” It is the only word I might ever find to completely describe everything about him.
He holds up the instrument and waves me over.
“No, I couldn’t do … what you just did,” I say in a nervous rush of words.
He continues to hold the wooden object in the air, brows raised impatiently as if he refuses my response. I stand up, brushing the dirt from my palms to sit closer to him. Our shoulders brush, his warmth spreading into me. I’m about a foot away, close enough to watch the strings of the instrument, but he glares at the space between us as if it is the enemy.
He turns, shifting in his spot on the ground until he’s behind me, his chest pressing against my back. His legs straddle around me on each side.
“You know, you are pretty demanding for someone who doesn’t speak that often,” I tell him.
He releases a quiet laugh, his breath fanning over my neck as he lifts the instrument over my head and into my nervous hands. His closeness halts my breath, my heart speeds through its beating motions. My body is at war against itself, seemingly unsure of its own natural process. I’m afraid he can hear the pounding noise trying to escape my chest. My heart has turned into a trembling bird trapped within its cage and it beats wildly to escape.
He wraps his arms around mine and holds each of my hands lightly in his own on the instrument as he had held it earlier. He’s literally wrapped around me. No one has ever been this close to me and it causes my mind to question every simple movement I make.
He positions my index finger along the thinner wires near the bottom of my palm, my palm that is sweating against the panes of the instrument. He pushes my fingers down as he instructs my other hand to strum the same wire. He moves my fingers slowly up and down the board of strings while strumming with the other hand. He is creating perfect notes by using my hands. It’s an amazing and accomplishing feeling I start to realize once I adjust to his closeness.
His breath wisps against the side of my neck over and over again. The feeling causes moments of distraction from the beautiful noise I’m creating with his guidance.
I steal an anxious glance at him over my shoulder, and he smiles back at me, but our fingers never miss a beat. Sure, it’s only three repetitive notes that I have managed to find a rhythm with, but it feels amazing that I am creating this sound.
After a few minutes, his hands fall away as I work the few notes on my own. I feel him wrap his arms around my waist and he leans his head against my back. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach tenses under his touch. It feels nerve wracking and comforting all at once and causes my fingers to fumble against the wire for a moment before hurriedly finding my pace again. My heart is doing its best attempt at functioning and my lungs are working to provide a substantial amount of oxygen, but they’re both failing miserably.
He raises his head over my shoulder to watch me play. I instantly feel his breath against my neck again. My fingers fumble once more, and I cringe at the painful sound I’ve made against the coarse wires. I chance a glance at him to see if he noticed the harsh noise as clearly as I did. I bite my lip nervously when I meet his eyes.
I smile awkwardly, but his hesitant smile portrays something different, something less friendly … almost intimate. He made playing this thing look so easy. I close my eyes in embarrassment, wishing I could dissolve into dust among the dirt rather than feel like I’ve failed at such a simple task.
“It was perfect,” he says in a quiet, husky voice.
I open my eyes at his compliment. He leans closer, his forehead tilting toward mine from over my shoulder. His hair touches my forehead as I turn in his arms and shift closer to him.
His pale eyes are low and hooded as he brushes his lips softly against mine, almost testing my reaction. Within me, a spark ignites, crackling through my body. For a moment, I’m frozen but flooded with heat all at once. His hand splays against my stomach, against the fluttering within.
He places another innocent kiss to my lips and my eyes slowly close, falling into the feel of his lips against mine.
I know I should pull away from Asher and find my voice. All my life I’ve been taught that his kind are monsters. Not something that should ever have their hands on a human. Especially like this. He’s my friend though. I should tell him we’re friends. I should definitely say that as soon as I pull away.
Definitely.
But I don’t, and he doesn’t either. His hand is spread wide over my hip and stomach, pushing me closer to him. Just when I think I can find the ability to pull away and find my voice, he parts my lips and slips his tongue slowly against my own.
My body reacts to his, and I become something I’ve never been before. Something I might never be on my own. Confident and complete. Feelings I’ve never experienced spread through my body and settle low in my core. His hands move lightly against my body, his fingers brushing under my shirt against the smooth skin of my abdomen. My nerves shiver under his fingertips. I’m out of breath, but can’t pull away from his touch. Instead of moving away, I turn, shifting my body to sit on my knees, chest to chest with him.
I tangle my fingers through his hair, pulling him lower to me, arching my spine as I bow into his chest. His hands push lower down my back, pulling me closer. The power in him rests cautiously against my body with every touch, thrumming through him and into me with every flick of his tongue against mine.
“Fallon, what the hell are you doing?” My mother’s voice is calm and enunciating. Even when she is furious and cursing, she still remains a lady, unlike myself.
Asher pulls away from me, leaning his arms on his knees and rubbing his face with his hands. I’m left blushing and out of breath—my equilibrium lost without his body supporting me.
I glance around to the instrument that has been forgotten in the dirt at our feet.
“Asher was showing me how to play this instrument,” I reply breathlessly, turning away from the fire to try and hide my humiliation.
Seconds pass in silence, but I don’t dare look back at her. Asher bites back a smirk that’s threatening to consume his beautiful face.
“It certainly looks like it. Asher, do you care to add anything to Fallon’s explanation?” She’s so angry I can see the crease between her thin brows in the firelight, but her voice remains even. A strange look pulls at her lips that are pursed. Is she … amused? I look closer, and the hint of a smile is gone. She’s all mom mode right now.
I steal another look at Asher to see if he can fix the mess we put ourselves in. He lifts his head from his hands and smiles a charming smile at my mother. I suddenly have faith he can explain the situation to her.
“You want me to confide in you. You want me to keep quiet.” He shrugs indifferently as he speaks. “You
demand I explain myself.” His eyes blaze against the dwindling fire, but his smile never falters. “You’ll have to make up your mind eventually, Char. Because I’m done playing your games. When you decide what I’m supposed to be feeling, what we’re all supposed to be feeling, just let me know.”
He stands, meeting my eyes for just a second before walking down to the river, his steps leisurely. My chest hurts from him leaving me here after how close we were just minutes ago. A pain splinters my ribs. I’m left sitting at my mother’s feet like a child. She glares past me at Asher’s wide back, her arms crossed tightly.
I rise to stand and walk quickly past my mother before she can lecture me any further. I settle into my blanket next to Ripper who has slept soundlessly through what should be my most embarrassing moment to date. But I’m not embarrassed. Not now anyway. I’m not ashamed of the way I kissed him. Instead of the guilty feeling I thought would settle in, a warm, elated happiness furls in my chest and washes into my dreams when I finally drift to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Hope
The following morning passes without any hint of last night’s events. Thankfully, no one mentions it, but Ky keeps looking from my mother to Asher. No one has mentioned last night because no one has spoken a single word since we packed up and left.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her this mad since you brought a yippy little dog home to camp, claiming he wouldn’t be any extra work,” Ky says in a hushed voice, bumping his arm playfully into mine.
Of course, he would have to mention it.
He lowers his dark gaze down at Ripper as he laps water from my palm. I can’t help but laugh at the memory. He’s right; she was furious. Me kissing a hybrid, probably a little worse by society’s terms. A lot worse. But just like when I was a child, I’m not going to apologize. It’s not like I’m going to ask if we can keep him like I did Ripper.
A weighted feeling presses into me as I realize it’s true. I can’t keep him. Just like with everything else in my life, he’ll have to leave.
