The Hidden (Shadowed Wings #1)(34)

I roll my shoulder, relieved to find that it’s only a little sore now, and I poke at my ribs and breathe in deeply when I discover that they’re at the same stage of healing. I should be all patched up by morning. Zeph shakes out some kind of fur and lays it on the ground next to the fire. He shakes out another one and then tosses it to me, and I mirror his actions on my side of the fire. I guess we’re back to trying to stay as far away from each other as we can. I ignore the irritation that surges through me with that thought.

I sit down on the soft fur and run my hands through it. I thought it was black at first, but now that I’m closer, I can see that it’s blue. I open my mouth to ask what kind of animal this came from and look up just in time to catch a waterskin that’s about to hit me in the face. I stop its punishing trajectory and snatch it out of the air.

“Watch it!” I chide with a glare aimed at Zeph’s back. Is there some invisible line now that he can’t cross to hand me things? He has to chuck them willy nilly at me without any fucking warning?

“What’s your fucking problem?” I ask as I set the waterskin down beside me.

Zeph turns a loathsome glare on me. “You are my fucking problem,” he snaps at me, his mouth stumbling over the word fucking, like he’s never said it before.

I stand up defensively and take a step toward him. “What the hell did I do?” I demand, fed up with all the unearned hostility that’s been rolling off of him since we stepped into this cave.

“We’re in this situation because of you. I’m at risk, which means my people are at risk, all because of you.” His words are coated in venom as he spits them out and steps toward me.

I close the distance between us, pressing my chest against his and rise up on my tiptoes. It only brings my eye level higher up on his chest, but it makes me feel more powerful all the same. “We’re here because one of your people threw me off a cliff. No one has told me where it’s safe to fly. My gryphon didn’t know any better. Maybe if you stopped treating me like the spy you know I’m not, I would have fucking known what’s safe and what’s off limits.”

“You have no business being here,” he shouts down into my face.

“Then let me fucking go home!” I scream back at him. “You think I want to be here with you? You think I like being looked at by everyone like I’m shit on their shoe, being ignored, ridiculed, made to feel responsible for something I didn’t even do? I have white fucking hair, but I am not Avowed. I know shit-all about your fucking war. You’re the asshole that brought me here. You’re the asshole not letting me leave!”

“I have no choice!” he bellows, his eyes filled with anger.

“Well, I fucking do,” I seethe at him, and then I head for the opening of the cave.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away! You don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here, problem solved,” I throw over my shoulder.

“They will find you,” Zeph threatens, the words ricocheting off the give no fucks armor I just wrapped myself in.

“Maybe.” I shrug, ignoring the twinge of pain it sets off in my shoulder. “If I get caught, I’ll deal with them; if not, I’ll find my own way home.”

I stomp toward the waning light at the entrance of the cave. It’s clear the sun is going down, and the rational side of me argues that setting off into strange and unfamiliar territory right before it gets dark might not be the best plan of action. I ignore the self-preservation instinct and opt to focus on my need to get the fuck out of here. I’ve had enough with all of this shit. It was fun to train and figure out what I was while it lasted, but I have a life to get back to, and Zeph is right, I have no business being here.

I’m pulled back suddenly and pushed against the red and black wall of the cave. Zeph cages me in with both of his arms on either side of my head and presses his mountain of a body into mine.

“You will stay right here,” he orders on a growl.

“Get the fuck off me, asshole, who the hell do you think you are?” I shout at him as I try my hardest to shove him off of me.

“They will catch you,” he repeats, like somehow it should explain everything.

“Why do you fucking care?” I challenge.

My lavender gaze, filled with fire and hurt, slams up against his melted honey stare that’s leaking frustration and fury.

“They would hurt you, force the mark on you,” he tells me, his voice smooth and even, his eyes suddenly begging mine to understand. “I can’t let that happen,” he confesses, and then he shocks the hell out of me by pressing even closer and leaning down to run the tip of his nose up the bridge of mine.

I breathe in, surprised, and my lungs fill with his scent. It taints my anger and indignation with something I don’t understand. I feel the need to soothe him. To fuck him. To fight him. I’m bewildered by the onslaught of conflicting needs and emotions. His lips are so close. Our breaths are ragged. His chest is pressing against mine, each lungful of air stroking my nipples and lighting up my body. I lift my hands, needing to touch him, but I force the traitorous limbs down and ball my fists at my side.

Zeph drops his face to the crook of my shoulder and inhales deeply. His muscles relax minutely and then tense again. The tip of his nose runs up the side of my neck, and he breathes me in, his lips barely skimming my heated skin.