“Roan,” I said gently. He didn’t reply. I reached out my hand to touch his but the moment our skin touched my body twisted and burned, suddenly on fire. I let out a short cry before it was replaced with another, more unfamiliar pain. It took a few seconds to realise that Roan had his hand wrapped around my throat.
My lungs screamed for the air I couldn’t move past my tongue, and blood collected in my head while a rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum pulsed louder in my ears. I clawed at his hand, trying to get out the words I needed to beg him to stop but the darkness possessed him at that moment. The beautiful, green eyes that once stood out under his tattered brown hair were suddenly black like a bottomless well. Even as he stared at me he showed no signs of recognition and the world around me began to fade. I pulled my hand up and placed it carefully on his cheek, stroking it with my thumb. His breathing came in rasps and for a moment I saw my name on his lips. Then something crashed into him and the night swallowed me up.
The need to breathe pulled me above the surface as I coughed and drank in the air around me hungrily. I blinked the dots from my vision and focussed on the silhouettes of houses above me. The cold stone pressed into my back and I sat up, rubbing my throbbing elbow as I took in my surroundings. The dull pain of it meant I hadn’t been out for long and when the world finally came back to me I saw that the street was empty, still and dark. My fingers found the tender area where Roan had almost squeezed the life out of me and I knew it would bruise…and he would never forgive himself.
As the distant sounds of running faded to silence I was all too aware I was alone. I had to get up. I had to walk away, back home, before the real monsters of the night came out to play. Like a newly-birthed calf I found my feet clumsily and shook some feeling back into them, looking for any recognisable markers.
The clumsy, burnt-out houses and decaying road told me that I was on the border of Old Town – a place I really didn’t want to be. Once the oldest part of Wetherdon, now it held only condemned houses and lost souls. Something moved to the side of me but I didn’t wait to see what it was as I bolted in the direction of the street lamps. My shoes scraped and clacked on the cobblestones, and after stumbling for the third time I promised myself that I was never leaving home without my boots on again. When I entered the safety of the centre I doubled over, catching my breath under one of the cold, metal lamps.
“Not exactly graceful in those shoes, are you?” a familiar voice said. The light made it easy to make out his face this time. This Marcus. He was not obviously handsome, but the longer I looked the more I noticed. A small scar scraped across a strong jaw and his nose was a little bit bent, broken years ago probably. A dark mess of hair made his eyes, the features that fascinated me most of all, stand out that much more. Though they were not entirely silver as I’d originally believed, but instead were flecked with gold like fire opal. My head screamed at me to run; that this man was no good; that trouble followed wherever he went, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“What happened to my brother?” I spoke with a raspy, steady voice.
“I’m surprised you can still call him that,” he said, leaning against the lamppost beside me. He eyed the slowly-bruising mark on my throat and raised his eyebrows.
“He has somewhat of an explosive temper but he’s still family.” I cleared my throat, trying to pull moisture back into it.
“You don’t look much alike.” He crossed his arms.
“Not everyone needs to be related by blood.” I stood straight and faced him. “My question, however, is over these past couple of days, wherever there’s trouble why have you not been far behind?”
“I find that question to be quite suspect,” he started, “considering today is the first time we’ve met, Miss.” His emphasis on the last word reminded me that the last time we’d met I was posing as Cedar. My words were lost. I closed my mouth, turned, and walked away. Though I’d only managed to walk a street or two by the time I’d heard the clip-clop of hooves behind me.
“Alright, I won’t ask about it,” the man said. “However, as you’re not in such an appropriate disguise and your brother has had a bit of a tantrum I couldn’t call myself a gentleman if I let you walk home alone.” He pulled his horse up beside me and offered a hand.
I hesitated and considered him. “First tell me your name; your actual name. I’ll not travel with a complete stranger.”
The hint of a smile played on his lips. “Ethan. My real name is Ethan Tiviton.”
I hesitated a moment longer before raising my hand to meet his. “Alright then, Ethan.”
He pulled his hand back. “And you?”
“What?”
“I’ll not travel with a stranger either, Cedar.”
Cocky bastard. “Ava.” I fought back my own smile and placed my hand in his.
As soon as our skin touched something passed between us – a jolt of energy – and we recoiled sharply from each other.
“Sorry,” he said after a moment’s silence, “I – I must have charged up.”
His words were confident but the look on his face betrayed him. He was just as confused as I was. Ethan helped me onto the horse and started over the bridge towards the hill as I considered the tingle in my fingertips.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE WEIGHT OF my new skin was horrific, like my whole body was made of iron. Beneath me the ground shifted and I fell to my knees, crying out as I hit the grass. I felt raw, blistered and searing as a short breeze kissed my sores. My hoarse breathing came in rasps and I tried to catch my breath, though my body was fighting the urge to do so. It wanted me to die.
I was exhausted but my ears still managed to pick up the sound of something approaching. The moonlight caught two figures moving out of the tree line and slowly they walked toward me, their feet moving noiselessly across the open field. It didn’t take long to recognise them. They closed the distance between us, and Ethan and Roan refused to acknowledge each other like neither knew the other was there. When they reached me they both extended their hands and closed them around my wrists. Relief quickly turned to fear as the welcome sensation I’d anticipated turned into something vicious, reacting like salt rubbed into an open wound. My hands shook and my arms burned. I tried yelling; tried thrashing and crying and howling to let them know the pain I felt but only croaks moved past my lips.
“Please,” I finally managed.