Page 83 of Lucifer's Mirror
Shit.
And he’s on me, straddling my body, his face close to mine, his hot breath heating my skin, his eyes glowing.
Part of my brain is screaming that I should be afraid. But fear isn’t what I’m feeling right now. Wonder, maybe. I know Khaosti won’t hurt me. Not like this anyway. There are so many ways to hurt people, but I don’t think he’d ever physically harm me. Not on purpose. Besides, he told me his wolf, Fury, likes me. A lot. I stare into those golden eyes, and deep in their depths, there’s a glint of humanity. I’m mesmerized. I reach up and touch the soft, dark fur. It’s like hot silk beneath my fingers.
We stare at each other. I don’t know for how long. I feel the beast rumble beneath my fingers, but it’s more a purr than a growl. I don’t want to break the contact.
“For fuck’s sake,” Zayne mutters, shattering the spell. “If you don’t quit the gooey-eyed stuff, I swear I’m going to fucking puke.” He sounds totally disgusted. And not at all scared.
Thanouq laughs, and I give myself a shake, coming back to myself.
“I don’t think it’s working,” I say to the wolf. “Nobody seems scared of you at all.”
“It’s pathetic,” Zayne mutters.
Khaosti snarls with a curl of his lip and a flash of huge gleaming fangs. But then he slowly backs away from me, and I sit up and watch what happens next. I could watch him all night, just the way he moves, the power, the beauty.
He pads slowly in a circle around Zayne, a growl rumbling in his throat. But if he’s still hoping to scare him into some sort of action, he’s failing. Zayne doesn’t look even vaguely scared. In fact, he looks bored.
I cast a glance over at Thanouq. He’s leaning against the silver bark of one of the tall trees, watching the show. Finally, Khaosti must also realize he’s wasting his time. He comes to a halt, shakes himself, the air shimmers, and he’s back, looking thoroughly disgusted with the lot of us.
“Well,” I say, “I thought you were very scary.”
Zayne just snorts again.
Khaosti shoves his hands into his pockets. “Same time tomorrow night,” he snarls, then turns and stalks away.
“Am I invited this time?” I call up to him.
“Why the fuck not?” he replies.
“Yay.”
I run faster than I’ve ever run before. The wind whips my hair back, pulling it free of the braid that bound it and streaming out behind me.
I know where I’m going; I’ve run this route every day for a week now as part of my training schedule. Running, weights, sword fighting, even some stuff with knives. And I feel fitter, stronger than I ever have in my life. I love running. If it weren’t for the fact that I haven’t actually remembered anything yet, I might be enjoying myself. Oh, and the fact that I know Zayne still can’t shift. Because once he can, he wants to leave. And Khaosti can’t be trusted. And Hecate won’t tell me who I am or who she was hiding me from or who I’m supposed to fight.
Agh!
I put in an extra spurt of energy and run faster, as though I can outrace my doubts and leave them far behind. Hecate tells me I must clear my mind and focus on one thing at a time. She says right now there’s no space in my head for my memories.
Running is easy. Focusing is impossible.
I’m near the end of my circuit, and I spot Hecate up ahead waiting at the base of the cliff. I halt in front of her, resting my hands on my thighs and breathing deeply.
Something strange has been happening to Hecate since we got here. The Crone is melting away. She’s rejuvenating. Each day, there are fewer lines on her face and more red in her hair. Like magic.
“Up,” she says.
Up? I straighten and glance at her. She’s pointing at the cliff face, and I think she means for me to climb it. That’s new. It’s sheer and vertical, and I’m pretty sure it’s unclimbable. Maybe she’s had enough of me and has decided to put me out of everyone’s misery.
“Believe, and you can do it,” she says.
It’s something she says a lot, and it irritates the hell out of me. She thinks my lack of self-belief is what’s holding me back. She might be right, but it’s not that easy to change. The only thing I remember is that I can’t remember. I’ve always felt that I’m missing a really important part of me, and it’s made me feel… less.
Less than everyone else.
“I don’t think I can,” I say.
