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His heart fluttered in his throat as he weighed their escape. “Will you let the macharomancer go?” he asked, barely above a breath.
The Wild Hunt requires prey, dear finch.
“Then no.”
We shall continue our chase then, hm?
Grey’s head spun until his vision doubled, and his stomach threatened to heave.
The forest is our domain, remember? Surrendering will end this torment.
He buried his face in Noel’s jacket and squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came out in short, shallow gasps until the splash of water kicked up around them. The sudden mist lightened that weight pressing into his mind, triggering Reign’s echoey snarl before whatever claws they’d sank into him pulled free. Grey’s head whipped back, and he watched the pink-eyed fair folk scrambled to a stop at the edge of the creek between them. She screamed in rage, but Noel didn’t so much as flinch as he threw them further into the depths of the light-touched forest.
* * *
Grey’s body was stiff from how tightly he’d held on during the remainder of the ride. The clearings that’d once been a quiet reprieve no longer felt safe. When the bike engine cut, Grey shakily hauled himself off and collapsed into the tall grass and white wildflowers. Dewy blades caressed his face as he laid down on his side and drew in deep, even breaths to slow his panic.
“Grey? Grey, are you all?—”
“Spent,” Grey rasped.
He jolted from the gentle pressure against his back, and his head snapped up to Noel’s worried features. The moment his hand pulled away, all that surprised relief evaporated. Grey propped himself up on his elbows while Noel shifted to sit cross-legged in the grass.
“I might actually be able to eat in a few minutes now that the adrenaline’s finally fading,” Noel said with a nervous laugh. His hands trembled as he rubbed his palms against his knees.
Grey’s head dropped back into the grass with a sigh. The early morning sun started to pierce his ratty sweatshirt and tattered jeans. He curled into a ball and flinched away from the shadow pooling over his face.
“You’re not okay,” Noel said.
“I’m fine. I just need a moment.”
Fingers dug into his shoulder, and Grey’s eyes flew open again. “You’re not okay,” he repeated.
His heart ached from that simple gesture, imagining Uncle Atticus looking after him at this very second, rather than a macharomancer—a macharomancer that had done everything to keep him alive in all this. A macharomancer that wouldn’t have cut it so close or have been ruthlessly chased down if it hadn’t been for Grey’s existence. A macharomancer that would have a better chance without whatever strange curse hovered around Grey like a storm cloud. Grey’s throat constricted before he shoved himself up and swatted Noel’s arm away. “That girl back there was right,” he said. “We should probably spit up.”
Noel’s jaw dropped. “What? Grey, what are you?—”
He pushed himself up on wobbly legs. “I’m a liability, and I’m putting you in far more danger than if you travel alone.”
Noel scrambled to his feet, shaking his head. “That’s not tr?—”
“It is,” Grey snapped. “If it weren’t for whatever Doctor Cavan saw back before we were tied up in that basement, you might already have everything you need to free yourself from the Hunt.”
Noel’s face crinkled into a scowl. “And what about you?”
Grey threw up his hands. “I don’t know! I…” He rubbed at his eyes. “There’s something wrong with me. They tested me because they thought I was fair folk—part fae beast—a changeling—or whatever, but I’m not. I’m something cursed and just lingering around me is affecting you.”
“What? Grey, that’s ridiculous.” Noel reached for his arm.
He tore away from his grip and stumbled back. “Look at me! I’m nothing but bad luck. People hate hemomancers—They hated me so much they stole my eye. We’re just a step away from being fair folk in the minds of everyone else, so yeah, she’s right—” Grey’s next step away was met with a lunge and Noel squeezing his biceps, forcing them to stand face-to-face. His heart caught in his throat as he stared into those bright green irises.
“I don’t hate you.” Those four words were spoken with such conviction that Grey stood rooted to the spot. “And you’re not bad luck. I really do think we wouldn’t have made it this far if we hadn’t been looking out for each other. So, please don’t leave just yet.”
Pain blossomed in his chest between the pleading and the phantom echo of the fair folk continuing to haunt him. “What about them?” he forced out.
Noel’s grip tightened, his face darkening in a way Grey couldn’t determine whether it was anger aimed at him or Reign. “They want to split us up and hunt us. That’ll always be their end goal. That’s not your fault. So please stick with me?”
Grey’s head dipped to stare at the grass, catching sight of the iron key dangling between them. The thought of it being just as useless as he was flitted in and out with a single breath before he closed his eyes and forced himself to nod. Noel’s palms skimmed Grey’s sleeves while Grey reached for the key, praying for it to anchor him.
