Seven
Gray
The only warning I had was a tingling at the base of my neck and a gentle whisper inside my mind.
Duck.
Instinctively I dropped into a crouch, feeling the whoosh of air over my head as Jonathan swung his fist.
No way was I giving him another shot—I rocketed back up to my feet, simultaneously driving the heel of my hand into his nose.
The bone snapped. Blood gushed down his face.
Jonathan wailed and cradled his busted nose, but within seconds, he was coming at me again, his eyes crazed, his voice pitched high.
“You’re nothing but a demon slut!” he shouted, taking another awkward swing. I dodged, easily pivoting away from him. He coughed and sputtered as the blood ran into his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from hurling more insults. “You knocked me out so you could let him have his way with you, didn’t you?”
He was talking about Asher, but I didn’t respond—just let him keep shouting, tiring himself out.
“Just like he’s having his way with all the other witches now that you’re out of the picture,” he ranted. “That’s what incubuses do. How does that make you feel, whore?”
His comment didn’t even register. I hoped Asherhadfound the others—if so, he was already working on a plan to rescue them, with Haley and Reva at his side. That was the picture that kept me going. The one that would carry me through my eternal sentence in this realm.
My friends would be safe, because Asher had made a promise. After all the fighting, the making up, the things that had and hadn’t happened between us, I knew without a doubt he’d keep it.
That’s what it meant to be a true friend. Looking out for each other. Keeping promises. Making sacrifices.
Jonathan didn’t know anything about that.
He continued his endless babbling, but I refused to take the bait—just continued to duck and weave as we circled each other. For all his tough talk, he was rapidly deteriorating, panting heavily, sweat gleaming on his forehead, blood covering his face.
“It’s me you want, Sunshine,” he said. “Me you’ve always wanted.”
At this, I finally spoke up. “It’s you I wantdead, Jonathan. There’s a difference.”
He continued on as if I hadn’t said a thing. “I’m willing to forgive your trickery back in the caves. You were upset. Confused. The demon had just sapped your energy, and you weren’t in control of your own mind when you attacked me. Of course, witches are deceitful by nature, and curious too—a bad combination.” He hobbled closer, more unsteady on his feet than he’d been even a minute ago. “All the more reason we mages must reclaim our birthright. The righteous among us will always rise above the wicked and depraved.”
“Mages?” I rolled my eyes. “Save your hunter propaganda. Your preaching days are over.”
“Not over,” he spat. “Not by a long shot.”
“Hunters are going extinct and you know it,” I goaded. “That’s why you’re so desperate. You’re the last generation of a dying breed that should’ve been put out of its misery long ago.”
I had no intention of letting him get under my skin again, but Jonathan tookmybait—hook, line, and sinker.
“We’re evolving, witch,” he snapped. “The old ways are dying, sure. But for those of us willing to embrace change? We’ll survive. Just like we’ve always done. And we’ll come out of this even stronger.”
“You’re not evolving. You’re playing Dr. Frankenstein with a bunch of supers, hoping for a miracle. It won’t work, Jonathan.”
“Oh, but I’ve already seen results.” He stopped circling me and grinned like a total psycho, revealing the blackened holes where most of his teeth used to be.
Though he’d manifested here physically just like I had, his body seemed to be breaking down at a rapid pace. In addition to the nose job I’d given him, the wounds and imperfections I’d noticed back in the caves were even more pronounced now. Pieces of flesh had torn away from his face, revealing melon-colored wounds crusted with black blood. His hair was thin and patchy, and one of his eyes kept rolling to the side.
“Results, huh?” I let my gaze roam down to his feet, then back up again, locking on his deteriorating face. What the hell had he done to himself, anyway? “How’s that working out for you?”
His eyes widened, glazing over as if he were dreaming of some great, golden laboratory in the sky where all of his dreams would one day come true, and his father would march in there and give him a trophy and a big, manly hug, and together they’d toss back a few beers, light some torches, and go burn down a village.
“It’s not about me, Sunshine,” he proclaimed. “Nope, nope, nope!”
