Darksoul (22 page)

I didn’t let him finish.

I flashed forward and threw my arms around him, crushing him to me. He let out a soft sound of surprise but didn’t push me away. I didn’t dare let go. Making sure that the blades didn’t touch his wings, I gave him a hard, long squeeze.

“You’
re the absolute best,” I said, rubbing my cheek against his shirt as if he were a living and breathing teddy bear. “You know that?”

“Your naivety amuses me. You think this is for free?”

And of course. I pushed him away as fast as I’d pulled him to me. “Fine, then. What is it that you want”—and I gave him a stiff curtsy—“your highness?”

He held back a smile
. “That’s more like it. For now, go ahead and put them away. See how it feels.”

I did as he said. As if they were magnets, the hilts stuck
to each other, perfectly aligned. A moment later the swords burst away and the bracelets materialized once again.

For the rest of the day, I sat there,
brushing my wrists once, sheathing, morphing, unsheathing, and clamping the hilts together. Repeat. I discovered that I preferred two weapons to one, and so I focused on that: one quick caress of wrist against wrist, cupped hands, sliding palms, gleaming swords. Unsheathe, clamp, repeat.

To help me get used to using two instead of one, Hunter suggested we spar again. At first, it felt as though I were holding one sword too many, but soon found the pressure of the two h
ilts comforting. The weapons balanced each other out and felt sturdy in my hands, despite their fine, delicate looks. The blades glimmered against the white-brown background of the clearing. When I held them up to the sky, I saw that they blended in with the snowy clouds, so bright and reflective was the metal.

O
nce we were home, I flopped down on my bed and examined the twin bracelets, the scintillating rings. To my surprise, Hunter slid in beside me, propping his boots up on the low footboard. I didn’t shove him off. Despite the spiky fluff of his wings, we fit well in the mattress.

“Hey, I was wondering.” I showed him my left hand and tapped my ring finger. “Why is that one different than the rest?”

He stared at the ceiling, eyes hooded and cool. “There’s nothing different about it.”

“Are you blind? It’s in a whole other league compared to the other four.” And it was true. It wasn’t as thick as the ones on my thumbs, but was rather a delicate curl topped with a glimmering gem the color of midnight. No—darker than midnight. It was black, and it was so strikingly beautiful. But that wasn’t all; there was another ring on top of it, too, considerably simpler but just as silver. A glittering band of chrome.

“It’s the most important one,” he said. “The one that actually enables you to turn the feathers. Don’t take it off.”

“As if. It’s gorgeous.” Studying it, I cocked my head to the side. “But it sure looks like a wedding ring, doesn’t it?”

Hunter said nothing.

Fine. “I have another question for you.”

Nothing.

“There must be something I can do,” I said. “Other t
han just…attending high school and training and then killing the demons that come after me.”

“You
mean purposefully seeking them out. Hunting them full time.”

Yes, yes, yes. “That would be
ama—”

“No.”

My chest deflated. “Why not?”

He
remained silent.

“I’m sure there are more Nephilim in the wo
rld,” I said. “And they probably know what their blood can do. Isn’t there an organized group of them getting the deed done? Or something? It would only be natural.”

A pause. “There is.”

“Well?”

“You want to join them?”

“No, no. Nothing of the sort. I’m just asking stupid questions because I want to waste your time.”

He didn’t bat an eye at my sarcasm. “I suppose I don’t have the right to
hide anything from you. At least when it comes to your own race.” Sparing me a sidelong glance, he said, “The Nephilim who go out there to hunt demons work under the name ‘Amelia.’ They’re very secretive about their whole…whatever they do.”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on. Amelia? The
y’re called Amelia?”

He said
nothing.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “They don’t have a cool name? Like…Demon Killers, or something?”

“No. They didn’t and still don’t fuck around. Especially with such a petty thing like a name.”

Huh. “Amelia, though?”

“That was the name of their…” He faltered a little. “Their founder.”

“She must’ve been awesome.”

He didn’t respond to that. “In a way, they do a good thing,” he said. “Angels don’t protect Nephilim, and Amelia, at least, gives them a home, tells them who they are. And eventually turns them into ruthless soldiers.”

I
turned on my side, getting a direct view of the infuriatingly perfect planes of his face. “But how do they know which ones are Nephilim? Do they just ask around—”

There was no visible response to my sudden proximity.
“That’d be ineffective as fuck. They just train themselves to sense one of their own from a mile away.”

“Could I…learn?”

He stopped staring at the ceiling long enough to give me an unreadable sideways glance. “I don’t know how to help you hone that skill.”

“I know.”

His facial expression barely shifted. No realization, no surprise. But he knew what I was saying. He knew that I wanted to search them out and join them and help in whatever way I could. Even if he didn’t seem thrilled about me joining them, he didn’t try to change my mind.

“They’re very secretive,” was the only thing he said.

“And?”

“They’re hard to find.”

Okay. “And?”

“I’m not going to help you. You’re on your own.”

After a pause, I said, “I see.”

He sat up and
rose to his feet. His sharp silver feathers became my world, cascading around me, creating a canopy over my head. “I won’t help you,” he repeated, staring down at me. “But I knew you’d ask eventually. So I took the freedom to bring you this.” He reached into his back pocket and threw a sleek shape toward me.

I scrambled to catch the black thing
, and then, realizing what it was, nearly dropped it. “What in the—are you serious? What in hell is this?”

He turned
away. The edges of his wings flicked up, as if something had ruffled them. “It’s a gun. The standard weapon used by Amelian Nephilim.” His feathers stirred again as he went over to my desk. “They have special bullets with hollows inside them, and that’s where they put their blood. When the shot enters a demon’s body, the metal melts away and lets the blood run free.” Brushing his fingertips against the cover of his awesome book of paintings, he murmured, “It’s clever. I won’t deny it.”

I stared down at the gun. Now that I looked closely, I realized it wasn’t black; it was dark gray, its barrel inlaid with a c
ryptic, elaborate pattern that resembled overlapped…runes? Or were they hieroglyphs? It was a fine thing, not sturdy or ugly, its overall design more organic than that of human guns. There was something about the curve of the weapon that made it feline, even beautiful.

“The markings you see on it,”
said Hunter. “It allows for it to be completely silent. You won’t hear the pop of the bullet leaving the chamber, as you would if it only had a suppressor on it.”

“Is it loaded?” I asked,
looking up at him. He was now examining my things: the closed laptop, my camera, the three Butterfinger wrappers poking out of a drawer.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

He shot me a glance over his shoulder.
“It is, and it can wound me fatally. Don’t shoot.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Can I keep it?”

“That question worries me.”

“I won’t do anything
. Promise.”

He turned back to his book of paintings, flipped it open and l
eafed through the pages. “Hmm.”

I jumped up from
the bed and darted to my closet, keeping a tight grip on the barrel of the gun as I retrieved an empty shoe box. “Look,” I said, coming back out. “See? I’ll put it in here, and it’ll be as if it never existed. Eh? Good, right?”

“I’m no one to stop you. You can keep it.”
He leaned against the desk. “But in one condition.”

I froze. “What?”

The side of his mouth twitched. “I’ll pick you up on Monday. To go to school.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Cool,” I said, tucking the gun inside the box and bending down to put it under my bed. I’d examine it later. “Sounds good.”

“And you have to kiss me good morning.”

For the second time in
ten seconds, I froze. Then, slowly, I stood and turned to look at him. “How—how funny,” I said, letting out a nervous laugh. “A kiss. Ha-ha. On the cheek. Right? I could do that. Um. With, like, my eyes closed.”

Hunter watched me.
Then he turned his face and bared his cheek to me.

Um. “What?”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “With your eyes closed, right?”

“I can—”
Suddenly, I realized what he wanted, and I felt myself blanch. I forced myself not to. Friends pecked each other on the cheek all the time. So—“T-Totally,” I said. He had his legs crossed in front of him, and I had to skirt around them to get close. “In fact, let me just—”

Before I chicken
ed out, I swooped in and kissed him. It was a quick thing, and I tried not to scramble back and throw myself under my covers until the lingering coolness was gone from my mouth. After what seemed like a long while, Hunter turned toward me, meeting my gaze but not saying anything. As always.

“S-See?” I said
. Was this another stupid test? “It was cool. It…it was fine. So—”

“You like him, don’t you?”

I didn’t ask who he was talking about. “I thought we…” A swallow. “I thought we were clear on the fact that I don’t have a lick of sense in me. Not when it comes to that shit.”

His tone was as even and
inscrutable as it’d ever been. “What do you see in him, Hazel?”

“What do y
ou mean, what do I see in him?” I asked, my voice tiny.

He said nothing.

“Hunter, I don’t think—” I put a hand on his arm. “This isn’t like you. Do you need a hug or something?”

Silence. Again.

“The look on your face screams yes.” After a jittery pause, I curled my arms around him and propped my chin on his shoulder. When he was slouching on my desk, he was almost my height. The silky tips of his hair brushed my temple. “There, there.”

His
arms rose and wrapped themselves around my waist. Before I could stop him, he heaved me up and over, putting me between his open legs. I was about to pull away when he leaned into me. Buried his face in the crook of my neck. I stayed stone still, barely breathing. Another fucking test? What the hell?

“Asher isn’t…” The warmth of his lips hovered over my collarbone. I’d felt them there countless times before; tens and tens of
vaehn
marks had slithered across my chest, having sprouted from a light kiss on my collar. It was nice and I hadn’t thought anything of it. Until now. “He doesn’t deserve you, Hazel.”

A rock lodged itself
inside my throat.

“He’ll use you,” he said softly. “He’ll use you and then throw you away. You’ve seen the way he treats women.
He’s complete trash.”

“The…
the Hunter I know would never say that.”

Quietly
, he said, “I know.”

I couldn’t move. He lifted his face to mine and
tilted his head, letting his lashes fall. Fuck. Not this. Not with him—
“H-Hunter—” I started.

But he didn’t close the distance between our lips. He turned his face as if he meant to do that all along, rising to his feet. “You owe me a kiss on Monday.”

He arched his wings and w
as gone before I could try to breathe again.

The gun felt like a toy
in my hands. I cocked it at the faraway tree, slid my finger over the trigger, winced before I ever made the shot. It’d be silent, I knew. But it still made me nervous. My breathing was heavy. The fine, undecipherable markings on its handle were like ridges under my sweaty palms.

I couldn’t do it.

Tiredly, I put the weapon down. Then, realizing that I was giving up, aimed it at the tree again. All I wanted was to focus on something else. To forget that tomorrow an impending fiasco was about to go down. Monday. The least favorable day of the week. So I’d come to our secret training place—the clearing—and tried to get something useful under my belt. Like shooting this damn gun.

I wish
ed I knew some Amelian Nephilim who could teach me how to use it. But Hunter had made it clear that he wasn’t going to help me, and I had no idea where I could start searching for them. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to teach myself. I was out in the woods in the middle of winter—not a living soul was around—so the only person I could hurt was me. Not that much of a loss.

Suddenly, a hard chest pressed
against the back of my head and two tan arms snaked over mine, grasping the gun with me. For a disconcerting moment, I felt like it was Hunter—his scent, his breathing, there was something Hunter-ish about it—but then Ash’s lip ring grazed my hair as he leaned down to speak into my ear.

“Keep your feet shoulder’s-width apart.”

Swallowing, I obeyed.

“Good,” murmured Ash, adjusting himself behind me.
From what I could feel, Panther wasn’t with him. Poor girl probably needed a break. “Shoulders straight. Don’t shy away from the weapon. You’re its master; it doesn’t own you. But before you pull the trigger…” He lifted it out of my grasp, and I swiveled around. Holding back a smile, he dangled it over my head. “Why don’t you try to learn the parts of a gun first?”

When I saw he had no intention of giving it
back, I crossed my arms. “I’m not jumping for it. I’m not. I’m so not. You’re going to give it to me. Right now.”

His
eyes flicked to my mouth. “I’d be more than glad to give it to you.”

“Jesus, you’re gross.”

“Jesus is actually not gross. The Bible is a wonderful, albeit gory, piece of literature. As is the Qur’an. And most religious pieces.”

“Literature? Are you calling it fiction?”

“Everything has an element of fiction. And everything has an element of truth.”

“So you’re a philosopher now? What next?
A stripper?”

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it
before.”

I held out my hand palm-up. “Come on. Please. Be nice to me this one time and give it back.”

“Be nice to you,” he echoed, as if considering the idea. “Nah.”

Eve
ntually, though, he gave in. He helped me get on a branch and sat beside me, and then—to my disbelief—patiently explained every part of the gun: the clip, the magazine, the safety mechanism…I almost fell asleep on him. All I wanted was to shoot a couple of demons.

When my head
drooped on his shoulder, he said, “You have to learn all these things if you’re to use guns in the future, Zel. You can’t do it without training.”

“I know,” I moaned.

“Once everything clears up, I’ll teach you.”

Once everything clears up? I had no idea what he was talking about, but it brought one thing to mind. “I think you’ll want to hear the latest.”

Ash waited.

“Hunter,” I said, dragging a hand down my face.

Something changed in his expression. Flickered behind his eyes. When I didn’t continue, he prodded, “Hunter…?”

“Okay, first of all—he’s been doing these stupid tests.”

“Tests?”

“Like, he’ll ask me weird shit or get too close or touch the back of my hand and then he’ll take out a piece of paper and start writing down notes. It’s freaking me out.”

Ash paused. “I see.”

“And yesterday he—” The memory tasted like rotten dog balls. “He
wondered what I’d do if he asked me out. I mean, you know—”

His gaze was steady
. “And what did you say?”

“I didn’t…” I spared him a sheepish glance. “I didn’t really answer.”

He said nothing.

Cringing, I continued,
“Also, he—God, I know you’ll be overjoyed. But he may or may not have asked for, like, a…a kiss? I mean—um.”

Ash didn’t say anything.
He lowered his eyes, and three silent seconds stretched between us. Then, quietly: “You really don’t like him, do you?”

I couldn’t read his tone. I didn’t try.
“It’s, um—it’s not that. I mean, come on. He’s hot. I get along with him. And he’s an artist, for crying out loud. Major plus. But…”

I realized I was venturing into dangerous territory.
He looked at me, gaze unreadable. Waiting. My voice curled up inside my throat. At last, he turned to stare straight ahead, shifting to take a cigarette out of his back pocket. “You don’t have to kiss him if you don’t want to, you know.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. “Wait, what in the—you? This, coming from you?
You’ve literally tried to send me on dates with him. You’ve literally told us to start ‘snogging’ or you’ll shove a lamp down our throats.”

The lighter’s flame cast a golden glow on his eyebrow piercing, his gauges,
the raven tips of his hair. After lighting up, he pocketed the little thing again and let out a hazy trail of smoke. “It took me a while to see it,” he said, his voice even. “But Hunter is a waste of your time. Do yourself a favor and go for someone else.”

“I don’t…” My head
shook out of its own accord. “What in the world is this about?”

“He’s not going to treat you well. He’ll act like you’re trash and throw you away.”

Oh, my God. “Are you fighting? Are the two of you fighting? Is that what’s going on?”

Ash said nothing.

“Because Hunter told me the same thing about you yesterday,” I said. “And if you’re on the outs, please just—do me a favor. Leave me out of it. I’m not enjoying the testosterone-fueled shit you’re throwing at me.”

“
He told you I’d treat you like trash,” he murmured, staring down at the cigarette, which lay cradled between two slim fingers. “Interesting.”

“
He”—and my voice faltered—“he said you’d use me.”

“Well, so
would he. Except he’s worse.” Ash turned to me, a startling icy edge to his expression. “Hunter is a piece of shit, Hazel, that doesn’t deserve a nickel of your time. He’s unemotional. Cold. He’s the type of person who’ll leave once he gets what he wants.”

Unable to believe my ears
, I opened my mouth and closed it again. What the hell was this? “If the two of you are fighting, please just…stop.” Massaging my temples, I muttered, “This is probably the biggest headache I’ve gotten since ever.”

“
The first time you talked to him, he called you unattractive, for fuck’s sake. Not worth your time.”

“Okay, I don’t get it. For months you’ve been trying to set me up with him, you’ve been acting as if that’s the only thing you could ever want—”

Ash met my eyes. “And for months I’ve been lying to you about what I actually want.”

I stopped on my tracks.
His gaze was steady and didn’t waver from mine. Here, amid the bare, snow-dusted branches, I felt as if I were miles away, watching this happen to someone else. A wave of stillness washed over me. The snow muffled everything around us.

Slowly
, he leaned closer, tilted his head until his lips came unnervingly close. The silky tips of his hair entangled themselves with my tousled bangs. I stayed statue still. “Can you guess,” he said softly, “or do I really need to unblock your memory?”

Startled, I reared back. “What?”

He didn’t look the least affected by my outburst. Lazily, he leaned away, regarding me through hooded eyes. “I’ll tell you,” he said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “If you spar me.”

“
Okay?”

“And you
have to win.”

A task that would turn out to be quite the bitch.

I grabbed the gun and jumped to the ground after him, tucking the weapon into the waistband of my pants. By the time my feet crunched on the snow, Ash’s arms had gracefully elongated and morphed, shards of ice rippling down his skin and tapering to jagged, deadly points. Damn. I had to admit it. They were cool.

“
Syizhael,” he said, lifting his right one. Then he made a slow, mocking curtsy with his left. “And Syivhail.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You named your arms?”

“They’re not my arms. They’re my weapons.”

Couldn’t say I wasn’t impressed.
“Huh,” I said. “Well, check these out, asshole.” I brought my bracelets together. One light graze of wrist against wrist, and the feathers were released. I drew my palms away from each other. A surge of excitement trilled through me when the blades transformed and unsheathed, the hilts settling inside the curves of my hands. I lifted them and let the tips prick into his chest. “You’re not the only one with awesome weapons.”

“We’ll see how
awesome they are after I snap them in half.”

“Okay, who’s the one with two swords pointing straight at his heart? Oh, that’s right. Your gr
imy ass.” I pressed harder. “Better watch your mouth, England.”

“Can’t. I’m too busy watching yours.”

I stared at him, bored. “Should I blush or something, or…?”

Laughing a little, he eased
the blades aside. “Is this how you always treat him? No wonder he’s madly in love with you.”

“Who? Hunter?” Please. “No. I’m way nicer to him.”

“On the contrary, I’d say you’re quite cruel.”

What th
e hell was this about? “Are you going to keep yapping or are we going to get the show started? Come on, come on, come on—”

“Fine.”
Eyes twinkling, he tilted his head at me. “Let’s see how well he taught you.”

The match
began easily enough. I attacked. He blocked my advances as if they were nothing more than annoying disturbances in the air. If anything, that pissed me off more, and each of my thrusts got more forceful the more we went along. But he didn’t care. At one point, he even let Syizhael melt back into a normal arm, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a half-finished Milky Way. With his left, he kept blocking me.

“Oh, Ash, come on,” I said, pausing my attacks to catch my breath. “Seriously? Are you seriously going to make me look that bad?”

“You’re not terrible,” he said, taking a lazy bite of the chocolate bar. He gently tilted my chin up with Syivhail. “But you’re still no match for me.”

I tried not to shy away from the piercing tip of his weapon. Instead, I stared him down.
“Okay? So what is a match for you?”

“Hm.” Why the hell did he look so amused? It made me want to punch him.

I was about to give him one delicious piece of my thoughts when, suddenly, he cocked his head to the side, as if listening for something. Startled by the sudden change, I blinked. He dropped Syivhail and turned, looking at a tree that was impressive in width, but that was just as bare-branched and straggly as the rest. Without a word, he stepped toward it, tucking the chocolate into his pocket. Then he reached up with his human hand. Touched the bark.

“Hey,” I said, “what are you—”

He lifted Syivhail.

And then he
reared back and rammed it straight through the trunk.

There was a deafening crack
. The wood splintered and caved in, as if it had grown from him. I watched, stunned. He hadn’t even flinched. Another layer of ice shards rippled down Syivhail, doubled it in width, and the jagged hole widened with an earsplitting chorus of snaps.

“What the…” I
said, wide-eyed.

He
let the weapon melt back into a human arm and reached deeper into the hollow tree. “Shh, shh,” he whispered. After a moment I realized he wasn’t speaking to me. Carefully, he took out his arm.

I stopped
on my tracks when I saw what was cradled inside his palm.

A small bird. It was helpless and clearly wounded,
slight tremors rippling down its bluish feathers. He lifted his hand, gave a subtle wave. The ruined wood crackled back into place, closing the hole again. The trunk was just as it’d been before. Rough and snow-dusted and untouched. He was too busy handling the bird to notice his infuriatingly perfect handiwork.

When Ash
saw me staring at him as if he was a ghost risen from hell, he explained, “He’d been trapped in there. I’m guessing…” He glanced up at the bare branches of the tree. “He might’ve been wounded from before and fallen in through a hollow at the top. And because he couldn’t fly, he wasn’t able to get out—”

I stared incredulously at him. “Since when do you like animals so much?”