same.
Crouching high in the tree, I cock my head as my hearing sharpens. I know the moment before they break through the trees that they’re here, upon us — that I’ll have to be as quiet and still as I’ve ever been if I hope to keep them from swarming over us.
Chapter 17
They advance slowly, crawling really, over the forest floor like a slow-spreading infection. Once the armada of dirt bikes and various gleaming trucks and SUVs shatter into sight, I realize why they’re not moving faster.
Dread sinks through me as I see that they’re paying particularly close attention to the trees. The very trees where we hide.
Miram’s clutch on my arm intensifies, her talons digging into my flesh, and I know she understands this, too.
I wet my lips and ask Miram as quietly as possible if she can make herself invisible. Even as quiet as I am, I wince at the guttural rumble of my question.
I know she can. She’s a visiocrypter. That’s what she does. But can she now? When she most needs to? Can she do it and hold it under pressure?
She stares at me for a moment. Too long before giving a less-than-convincing nod. She takes a deep breath and her body shimmers before my eyes, the neutral tone of her draki flesh dimming until it appears as if she’s gone, vanished.
I still feel her beside me, clutching my arm. I stare down at the hunters far below. Several wear a contraption on their faces that resembles heavy goggles. I narrow my gaze, wondering at this device, when it dawns on me. I’ve seen my share of spy movies.
“No,” I whisper.
Miram tenses beside me. “What?”
I don’t have time to explain. A hunter shouts, pointing, “There! In that tree!”
A launcher pops and a net hisses as it flies through the air. I’m hit.
There are too many branches. The net can’t close around us properly. Instead it tangles us hopelessly together, stopping us from simply flying away. Miram freaks, flapping her wings fiercely, making it harder to fight free of the rope mesh.
She thrashes like a caught bird, whimpers like a wild animal. Faint color flashes, bursts of pale light, there one moment and gone the next.
“Get a grip,” I growl, “you’re… materializing… they can see you.”
Below us, they shout instructions at each other, strategizing, doing what they do best. What they’ve trained their whole lives to do. Hunt draki. There’s no time. They’ll have us down from this tree in a matter of seconds.
Instinct kicks in. Char and ash fill my mouth. Smoke shivers from my nostrils, puffs from my lips. The smolder rides high in my chest, hungry to defend and protect.
I part my lips and blow a thin ribbon of flame, just enough to burn through the mesh tangled near my face. Just enough for me to grasp the hot, seared edges and tear a hole large enough to squeeze through.
With half my body free, I turn back to haul a mostly invisible Miram out after me. She’s still flashing in and out, a light blinking on and off.
That’s when I’m hit. A harpoon grazes my thigh. Pain lances my body. I slap a hand over the torn, wet flesh.
Over their rapid-fire shouts, I fall. Just like in my nightmares. I’m plunging toward the ground. Tangled net and Miram, too.
We land in a winded, broken pile. My lungs heave, contracting with heat, the air around me thin and brittle, ice compared to the intense warmth frothing inside me.
Instantly, they surround us. Black-clad figures with their infrared goggles. Weapons point. They shout in their hard voices. And I see a face. One that I could never forget no matter how much I might want to block it from my memory.
Staring up into Xander’s relentless face, I know who these hunters are. As if there were ever a doubt. I know Will can’t be very far. Except this doesn’t fill me with relief. It’s closer to despair.
What can Will do? He can’t do anything to help me without risking himself, without exposing that I’m more than I appear.
Still, I search — long for a glimpse of him — as I shouldn’t.
More vehicles arrive, screeching to a halt, spraying dirt into the thick mist.
Miram speaks feverishly in my ear, her panic palpable, a hot wind I can taste, bitter and acrid on the air. “Jacinda, Jacinda! What do we do? What do we do?”
“Shut up, Miram,” I hiss, the draki-speech thick in my mouth.
The choppers circle like dark vultures, whipping the trees into a frenzy all around us. My hair blows wildly amid flying leaves.
One of the hunters rips off his goggles for a better look at me. He inches closer and prods me with the sharp tip of his gun. A growl swells up from my too-tight chest, dark and menacing. A sound I did not even know I was capable of. He prods at Miram’s blurring form beside me. “What in the hell…” His voice fades as another hunter barks at him.
“Carl, back off. We don’t know what we have here yet.”
The hunter obeys, edging back from us.
“Miram,” I plead, “stay invisible. Focus.”
Her eyes hold mine, the vertical pupils shuddering, vanishing and reappearing with the rest of her. She’s like rippling water, seemingly amorphous, constantly altering, there and then gone again.
Bodies clamber from the vehicles. I tear my attention back to these men with their merciless faces, search among them, looking for a chance, a hope.
Will’s not among them. Even as relief runs through me, I can’t help wondering why.
I recognize the man striding at the front of the group. Will’s father. Still handsome and well-groomed even in his hunting apparel. A hot trickle of terror shivers up from my core. Because I know what this man is capable of.
He looks different. Not the cordial man who welcomed me into his home when he thought I was a normal girl. His brutally cold eyes assess me, see me as a creature. Prey. And I see him. Truly see him. He’ll have no problem snuffing out my life.
“What do we have here, boys?”
“We’ve got two… well, we think.”
Mr. Rutledge stares hard at us for a moment. Miram’s out of control next to me, and I know it’s useless to tell her to hold it together anymore. She’s too afraid. Too panicked.
I scan the thick press of trees, each beat of my heart a loud, reverberating thump in my chest. My razor- sharp gaze skips over each hunter, hungry for the sight of one face. Against all sanity, I still hope.
Xander steps close to his uncle and motions to Miram. “That’s one of those invisible ones.” He points at me. “Know what type that one is?”
Mr. Rutledge studies me without answering, his head angled as though he can dissect me with his eyes. And I suppose he can. I have trouble meeting his gaze — this man who is Will’s father, who butchered my kind and infused their lives’ blood into his son. For that he is a monster.
