Brooke (Under the Never Sky, #2.5)(9)

“No. It was great.” My voice comes out scratchy, like I’m going to cry.

Hyde rises to his feet. For a moment I think he’s going to leave, but he doesn’t. He steps closer. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I really like you. I know about you and Perry, and maybe this was too soon. Maybe it’s not the right time, with all that’s happening. But I don’t care. I’ll wait for you.”

“I like you too, Hyde.” It’s the truth. He is thoughtful and romantic, and I should appreciate him for who he is, instead of just seeing him as not like Perry. “It’s just that . . .” I bite my lip, not wanting to explain to him that he is amazing but I am the one who is a mess. “You shouldn’t wait for me.”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on, but I do know that having him wait for me isn’t going to help.

Hyde’s gaze darts past me suddenly. He lets out a curse, his posture tensing. In an instant he is all warrior again. A sentry who has just spotted danger.

Our waiting is over.





4

In the midst of a scrubby stand of birches roughly a mile away, I see what has alarmed him.

Three people. Too far for me to see their faces. Close enough that I can tell they are all men. We watch them for a few moments, taking in the practiced stealth of their movements. How their progress is careful and furtive, and runs parallel to the well-trod trail instead of on it. There is no doubt in my mind—they are attempting to stay concealed. The men in the distance aren’t weary travelers seeking asylum. They are hostile.

Hyde comes to the same conclusion. “That’s trouble.”

“Let’s run them off.”

Hyde pulls his bow and quiver over his shoulder. His eyes blaze with intensity, and his muscles are coiled and rigid, like he’s ready to spring forward. There’s not a trace of kindness or playfulness in him anymore.

He gives a tight nod, and we jog down the hill toward the trespassers.

With a hundred yards still to go, Hyde and I slow to a quiet prowl. We could shout at them to leave from here. We could engage them with our bows. Hyde is a brilliant archer, as accurate as I am. But I have a clear view of the three men now. They have stopped walking, and I can see their faces.

And I know them.

I freeze. Hyde reacts immediately, stopping with me.

“Is it Roar?” he murmurs, sensing the shock that’s swept over me.

I shake my head. Roar’s return would be a great thing. This is not.

Anger ignites inside me, and I surge forward. My strides are fast and long, fueled by an endless flow of rage.

Hyde is next to me as we break through the tree line and come into the open. The three men stand on a rise above us, and Hyde and I have no cover. I have put us in the worst position possible, but I don’t care.

“Wylan!” I slow to a jog and reach back, grabbing an arrow from my quiver and nocking it. “Don’t move!”

His head whips to me. His eyes flare with surprise; then his expression transforms into something venomous and hateful as he recognizes me.

I approach the rest of the way slowly so I can keep my aim steady, my arrow ready to fly if necessary. Hyde holds pace beside me, his bow also drawn and nocked. As I have Wylan in my sights, Hyde swings his arrow between the other two traitors, Gray and Norris.

Hyde was there the night Gray poisoned Aria. He was also there the morning Wylan took a third of the tribe and left, renouncing his loyalty to Perry and to us—the Tides. He knows as well as I do that these three were forbidden ever to come back.

I stop when we are forty paces away. Wylan stands with his hands raised in surrender, looking from me to Hyde.

The strength of my vision allows me to see him as clearly as most people see at five paces. Weeks in the borderlands have not been good to him. His brow is heavier and lower. His pointy jaw juts out farther. His grimy skin sags like a plant that has wilted in the midday sun. Clothes that are no more than rags drape on his bony, stooping form. He has always had a pinched face, like he’s just swallowed ash. In the time since he left us, he only appears to have become more bitter.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. There is a soullessness to his black eyes that chills me.

“I came to talk to Peregrine.”

“Perry would kill you.”

“Then I’m lucky to have come by you first.”

“I may kill you myself.”

Wylan’s nostrils flare, and his chin rises slightly in suppressed anger. He has never liked me. “I mean no harm, Brooke. I’ve come to ask forgiveness.” He glances at the two men at his sides. “We have.”

“You’re seeking forgiveness?” It seems impossible. It’s a word I’d never expect to hear from his mouth. But he nods.

“Yes. I want to come home.”

There is something in the way he lingers over the word home. Does he know we’ve abandoned the compound?

“Please, Brooke. We’re tired. We want to be back with our tribe. Take us home with you.”

“No chance,” Hyde growls. He stands motionless at my side, his legs firmly set, his form perfect. The picture of an archer at his most lethal position.

“Tell Peregrine, then,” Wylan says. “I beg you, Brooke. Take the message for me. Tell him I want to speak to him. He’ll forgive me. At least give me a chance.”