I spin around, lunge sideways, and attempt to sidestep Makon. I barely make it five steps before I’m immediately wrapped in shadows. The cold tendrils render any movement impossible. This is the first time I’ve actually felt a shadow—the frigidity comes as a surprise.
“That was dumb,” Makon says in a low, disappointed voice, shaking his head as he steps in front of me. He drags me back to the waiting upperclassmen, depositing me directly in front of the tallest. The shadows recede.
It’s now just me and a possible expiration date.
The Noctryn tilts his dark head slowly. A predator studying his unwilling prey.
I cross my arms and push my chin up. I won’t make it easy on him, and I certainly won’t beg. If I’m to go up against a handful of dark wielders, I’ll do it on my feet.
He doesn’t speak. It’s as if he’s purposely making this uncomfortable.
I feel like a rabbit caught in a snare. Silence surrounds me, and my instinct is telling me to run. Fast.
He stands unnervingly still, just staring at me.
I draw in a long breath and exhale. The angry slant of my eyes reflects me in his visor. I look pissed off. Iampissed off.
“So,” I say, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
He steps forward. Each movement is sudden and precise. The other three hang back. Well, that’s informative. Now I know who the leader of the group is. As if I had any doubt to begin with.
I throw the other three a mocking smile and a little wave. Unfortunately, I don’t get any reaction from the trio.
The leader places a gloved hand under my chin, tilting my head back and forcing me to look at him. His masked face hides whatever emotion lies underneath. Twin swords gleam at his back as they do with many of the dark wielders, as well as daggers tucked in various places along his armor. He looks as if his sole purpose is to destroy.
Kingston fucking Adair.
He drops his hand and adjusts his gloves. “Your survival skills are seriously lacking,” the dark voice says behind the helmet.
An undignified huff slips past my lips. Out of all the scenarios I played out in my head, this one’s the worst. I say absolutely nothing.
He continues to stare at me, in no apparent hurry to alleviate my discomfort.
“Evidently, my luck is too,” I finally admit, under my breath.
His cold laugh sends shivers down my spine and red flags in every direction. “Today, practice will be a little bit different from what you’re used to. We’re running a drill.” I can feel his eyes taking me in from head to toe. “Your ability to blend into your surroundings will be tested since you’re fighting skills are obviously not up to par,” he says dryly.
“Sounds fun,” I reply sarcastically. “And let me guess, you guys have to find me?”
“Not find you. Hunt you,” he delivers coldly.
Come again?
I cock my head to the side. “Hunt me?” I repeat.
“You’ll have a ten-minute head start.” He lifts a gloved hand, pointing toward the Witchwood. “And then we hunt.”
“And if I refuse?”
He fully faces me. “I would not recommend that, Heathen.”
I flick my eyes toward the woods. “What are the stakes?” I ask. There are always stakes.
“If you remain hidden for one hour, you get two weeks off field practice,” he says, keeping his head toward me.
“And if you find me?” The apprehension on my face is reflected in his visor.
“If we find you—” He steps closer, wrapping a loose strand of my hair around a gloved finger. “We fuck you.”
