in and the one where Gregor is can be no coincidence.
More than ever, the Summits are going to think I'm in league with Gregor. And if they're concentrating on me, well. Fewer Mediators available to find his sorry ass and stick a sword in it.
"He fucking planned this," I mutter.
Jax, Evis, and Carrick all look at me. We all know what it's like to be used by Gregor Gaskin. All three of us have been puppets in his schemes. And me, he's used me from the very beginning. Manipulated me when I was trying to find my mother, held the unspoken threat of Summit censure over my head. He didn't stand up for me when Gryfflet came for me, then pulled me into his plans with Carrick. Who he also lied to.
And Evis, he made into a murderer with his lies.
Hot tears sting at my eyes, and I'm out the back door, barefoot in my pajamas. There's an archery target a hundred feet from the house. It smells like leaf mold and rotting paper. I don't care.
My fists find it, leaving deep indents into the woven twine covering. The sound of thuds from my knuckles' impact fills my ears with the angry rushing of blood. I can hear my heart, but even though it's racing it's too slow of a beat to pace my punches to. Even as my fingers smart from smacking up against the archery target, it doesn't help. The sting of pain from the twine leaving tiny cuts in my skin only reminds me of the futility of this not-a-fight. This will save no lives. My fury sears through me, pumping into my bloodstream with every frantic beat of my heart.
I have never in my life felt so fucking useless. The weight I've felt my whole life, the pressure in my chest when the cosmic scales are unbalanced, it's grown so heavy and ponderous in the past few months that I almost never notice it, but now, now it fills me. Chokes me. Freezes my lungs in my chest.
I collapse to my knees in the autumn-mulched loam, gasping for air.
And then Carrick is there, at my side. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest.
"Breathe, Ayala. You're having a panic attack." His breath puffs at the still-sleep-tousled hair around my ears.
Dimly, I'm aware of Evis and Jax standing off to the side, of the trickles of blood that have dried on my hands, the thin cuts that have already healed.
Someone, somewhere is going to get lucky and be the one to end my life.
The thought comes into my head so suddenly that it fills my vision, hanging in perfect clarity for me to see.
It blazes like the sun, and like the sun it burns.
Carrick's breathing is deep and slow, and mine melds to his, my back against his chest. It reminds me of what I did for Ripper, and the heavy choking rises again.
"Easy," Carrick says. He pulls me backward, rolls us onto our sides and curls around me, spooning me. Jax and Evis join us on the ground. Jax reaches out his hand and holds my knee gently. Evis strokes my hair back from my face.
Aside from the shoulder touches and a couple terse hugs, no one has touched me in months. I remember waking up next to Mason, going to sleep beside him. His hand in mine every night. It's not the empty bed I've missed so much, but the reassurance of a person's touch reminding me that I'm here, a tangible representation of real connection. A reminder that I'm not in this alone. I remember Mira leaning her shoulder against mine at the rest stop, how subconsciously I clung to that simple contact.
Slowly, like the waning of the moon, my breath returns to me, matching Carrick's.
The morning chill cools tears on my cheeks that I didn't feel falling in the first place. In my peripheral vision, I can see the archery target, obliterated.
The dampness of the ground seeps through my thin cotton pajamas and the cotton camisole shirt. I don't care.
I let these three people I love hold me.
When we finally go back inside, an hour has passed and a cool clarity has filled me. I can't keep sitting here, doing nothing and hiding. Not while people are
More than ever, the Summits are going to think I'm in league with Gregor. And if they're concentrating on me, well. Fewer Mediators available to find his sorry ass and stick a sword in it.
"He fucking planned this," I mutter.
Jax, Evis, and Carrick all look at me. We all know what it's like to be used by Gregor Gaskin. All three of us have been puppets in his schemes. And me, he's used me from the very beginning. Manipulated me when I was trying to find my mother, held the unspoken threat of Summit censure over my head. He didn't stand up for me when Gryfflet came for me, then pulled me into his plans with Carrick. Who he also lied to.
And Evis, he made into a murderer with his lies.
Hot tears sting at my eyes, and I'm out the back door, barefoot in my pajamas. There's an archery target a hundred feet from the house. It smells like leaf mold and rotting paper. I don't care.
My fists find it, leaving deep indents into the woven twine covering. The sound of thuds from my knuckles' impact fills my ears with the angry rushing of blood. I can hear my heart, but even though it's racing it's too slow of a beat to pace my punches to. Even as my fingers smart from smacking up against the archery target, it doesn't help. The sting of pain from the twine leaving tiny cuts in my skin only reminds me of the futility of this not-a-fight. This will save no lives. My fury sears through me, pumping into my bloodstream with every frantic beat of my heart.
I have never in my life felt so fucking useless. The weight I've felt my whole life, the pressure in my chest when the cosmic scales are unbalanced, it's grown so heavy and ponderous in the past few months that I almost never notice it, but now, now it fills me. Chokes me. Freezes my lungs in my chest.
I collapse to my knees in the autumn-mulched loam, gasping for air.
And then Carrick is there, at my side. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest.
"Breathe, Ayala. You're having a panic attack." His breath puffs at the still-sleep-tousled hair around my ears.
Dimly, I'm aware of Evis and Jax standing off to the side, of the trickles of blood that have dried on my hands, the thin cuts that have already healed.
Someone, somewhere is going to get lucky and be the one to end my life.
The thought comes into my head so suddenly that it fills my vision, hanging in perfect clarity for me to see.
It blazes like the sun, and like the sun it burns.
Carrick's breathing is deep and slow, and mine melds to his, my back against his chest. It reminds me of what I did for Ripper, and the heavy choking rises again.
"Easy," Carrick says. He pulls me backward, rolls us onto our sides and curls around me, spooning me. Jax and Evis join us on the ground. Jax reaches out his hand and holds my knee gently. Evis strokes my hair back from my face.
Aside from the shoulder touches and a couple terse hugs, no one has touched me in months. I remember waking up next to Mason, going to sleep beside him. His hand in mine every night. It's not the empty bed I've missed so much, but the reassurance of a person's touch reminding me that I'm here, a tangible representation of real connection. A reminder that I'm not in this alone. I remember Mira leaning her shoulder against mine at the rest stop, how subconsciously I clung to that simple contact.
Slowly, like the waning of the moon, my breath returns to me, matching Carrick's.
The morning chill cools tears on my cheeks that I didn't feel falling in the first place. In my peripheral vision, I can see the archery target, obliterated.
The dampness of the ground seeps through my thin cotton pajamas and the cotton camisole shirt. I don't care.
I let these three people I love hold me.
When we finally go back inside, an hour has passed and a cool clarity has filled me. I can't keep sitting here, doing nothing and hiding. Not while people are
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