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But as my shoes pound the springy grass, still wet with dew, and my lungs draw in huge gulps of fragrant air, the nightmare falls away. The pixie punk band The Wailing Shadows helps. Valerian introduced me to them three weeks ago, and I haven’t tired of their playlist yet.
The pixie wails build up to the crescendo, and I align my rhythm with their haunting voices. I focus on my breathing. The smooth, mechanical movements of my limbs.
My mind begins to wander . . .
And runs straight to Valerian. He’s like the awful pop single you swear you hate yet play over and over. I keep waiting for the day my mind gets tired of him, but so far, that hasn’t happened.
Stupid how much I miss seeing him. The last text he sent said he’d be back in a few days, by Friday morning.
Which sucks major orc balls.
I desperately need to train with Valerian so we can smooth out any issues before the first gauntlet. We haven’t physically been around each other. At least, not closely. Not in the way protecting him demands.
What if the tension from not solidifying our bond hinders my focus somehow?
Just the thought of Valerian in tight sweatpants and no shirt—because of course my imagination insists he be half-naked and glinting with sweat—lights the smoldering ember of desire in my belly I can never quite extinguish.
A sudden, terrifyingly powerful ache shivers through my core— Dammit, Summer! Control your inner thirsty-ass self.
I push into a hard sprint, punishing my flesh for being so weak. The silver glimmer of the lake streaks by to my left. Colorful wooden rowboats dot the shore, turned upside down, the weathered paint flaking from their hulls.
Maybe Mack is right. I need to somehow get that boy out of my system without doing the deed, if that’s even possible.
Is it? Oh, boy . . . I can think of several ways . . . several creative, wonderful ways . . .
Groaning, I drag myself from my lurid fantasy and focus on the burn in my lungs, my thighs as I push harder than ever before.
Zen. Find your zen.
It’s here. Somewhere.
I drag my focus to the imposing forest beyond. The giant, gnarled trees stretch to the horizon, their branches weighted down with hand-sized reddish-violet and pewter leaves that appear nearly gold in the breaking dawn.
Dawn. The Fae won’t drag their lazy butts from bed for another six hours, but shadows will be up soon. Deciding to trade the beauty of the lake for the solitude of the trees, I break for the forest. The soft thud of thick grass beneath my shoes becomes the dull swish of rotting leaves.
If there’s zen anywhere to be found, surely it’s inside an ancient, magical Fae forest?
I’m nearly five songs deep into the woods when I spy the glint of iron through the trees. A gamey scent rides along the breeze, mingling with the dank smells of moldy undergrowth, rich soil, and mushrooms.
That smell—
It takes my mind a second to identify what the scent is, but my body reacts instinctively. My loose muscles tighten painfully, cramps threatening in my calves, and sweat slicks my palms.
Any scrap of zen I might have found is ripped cruelly away.
Professor Balefire’s menagerie. I’d nearly forgotten the outdoor cages from the enormous housing facility the school uses in the warmer seasons stretches into the woods. In the Mythological Creatures class yesterday, the teacher said the most dangerous of the beasts were housed deep in the forest.
Something about being near the forest calms them. When housed too close to the campus, the mortal scents drive the predatory animals into a frenzy.
Mortal scents. I glance over my very mortal body, dripping with sweat. My gaze falls on the painted red signs that line the path.
Danger. Wild creatures. Do not enter. Turn back.
I hit pause on The Wailing Shadows and frown. When did those get there?
A screech erupts from the other side of the cage.
My throat spasms shut.
