Darksoul (21 page)

“Actually—” She turned
to me. “What do you think of Hawaii? We might go there for both the legal ceremony and our honeymoon.”

That called for a second squealing-slash-jumping session. I flipped out with excitement and she laughed, trying to hold on to the
blankets when I got to my feet and started hopping on the bed. I swooped down and pulled her up and we went at it again, singing,
We’re going to get married! We’re going to get married!

“I’m
…I’m really glad that you’re not freaked out,” she said once we’d calmed down. “That you’re…supporting me.”

I laughed
, still high from the Hawaii news. “Oh, Mom, come on. What was I going to do? Divorce you?”

Despite my p
layful tone, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “There’s a reason your grandparents don’t visit, honey. Why your aunts and uncles don’t come by. Why it always seems like it’s just the two of us.”

Before I could respond, she smoothed down my hair and kissed me on the forehead. Then she rose to do her nightly cream fest, ponytail swinging behind her.

Chapter 20

School resume
d in the
second week of January and, of course, training continued. It got easier and easier. There was a lull in the demon attacks, and for the most part, I was left alone.

On the Saturday right before the first of February,
Hunter and I went to our secret clearing. Io hadn’t come; in fact, she never came. I didn’t have to wonder why. She was a gentle, angelic soul: adorable, forever smiling, easily affected by anything. I didn’t want her to see me going at it with a sword. She’d probably be afraid of me from then on.

Like we’d had for the last couple of months,
we eased into our usual routine. There wasn’t much of a warm-up anymore. He simply threw me a feather-sword and unsheathed one for himself. As always, we held them out before sparring, blades clinking at the center. Sunlight slinked along the silvery contours of our crossed weapons.

He flashed forward, and
I rose to meet him.

It was easy to fall into a haze. His movements were smooth and practiced, and I tried to echo him as
I blockaded each of his blows. He wasn’t merciful. Each clang was more jarring and forceful than the last. The tip of his blade nipped my cheek, brushed my shoulder. Good God. The guy was going to kill me.

But ever since we’d starte
d sparring, it’d been like this. I couldn’t bring myself to complain. It was nice to have a challenge, to have him believe I could fight back. My arms ached and my footwork was less than perfect. And still he came at me, not daring to slow down. It forced me to focus. To not look at anything other than him. I’d never tell him, but I was grateful for his faith in me.

We didn’t stay on the ground anymore.
Now that I knew how much my body could take, I always jumped up and flashed along the branches, leaves trembling in my wake. He did the same as me and, to make it fair, retracted his wings so we would be on the same level. At least when it came to the physical side of things.

On a
nd on we went, clashing again and again, the recoil thrusting us back before we darted forward. I catapulted myself off the branch, and we met mid-air. Our blades clashed, the clang echoing off the trees. To a viewer I imagined we’d look like blurs of movement, streaks of light. Of course, there were no viewers. A
vaehn
mark was curled across my shoulder, edging halfway down my arm.

“Fuck,” I breathed, falling
to the ground and landing in a barely-there crouch.

Hunter landed on his
feet with a slight crunch of snow. The side of his mouth tilted up when he saw how hard I was breathing. “Break?”

After taking a
second to calm my pounding heartbeat, I said, “No.”

And up we went again.

After an eternity, he and I rolled to a stop. I settled on a massive branch and leaned on the rough bark of the trunk, struggling to breathe. A bead of sweat dripped down my temple. Hunter stood on the tree opposite mine, clearly unruffled by the whole shebang.

“
You’ve turned into quite the formidable opponent,” he said, though he looked as untouched as ever.

“Only because I’ve learned from the bes
t,” I said, bending over with exhaustion. Wisps of my hair stuck to my damp face, my neck, and my grip on the sword hurt. Even then, I didn’t dare let go of it.

He ran his palm up
the blade of his weapon, and it once again turned into a feather. He flung it up into the air and it dissolved into the sky.

“I have something f
or you,” he said, releasing the deadly span of his wings and gliding toward me.

I gave him my best wary look. “Should I be scared?”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

“Okay. Yep. I’m scared.” But I obliged,
anyway, sliding down the trunk like a wilted leaf. Splinters caught in the back of my tank top, entangled themselves in my ponytail, pricked my skin. He grabbed my borrowed sword and turned it into a feather. Then he crouched in front of me, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning back on his heels.

For a
second, he remained silent. Simply stared at me.

Um? “What is it?” I swiped at my face, then reached up to smooth down my hair. A thousand flyaway
strands curled under my fingertips, having escaped my ponytail, and I patted them back in place. “Eugh. That feels pretty bad. Next time I’ll use a brush. Promise.”

After a moment, he said, “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“All the tests have yielded negative results,” he murmured to himself, dragging a thoughtful thumb across his bottom lip. “What is it about him that appalls her so much?”

“Uh…” What the hell was he talking about? “What?”

“
I don’t…” A slight crease appeared between his brows. Finally, he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’re acting weird as fuck, so—”

“What would you do if I asked you out?”

I stopped. H
e stared at me, gaze steady and cool.

“What?” I blurted.

After an eternity, he murmured, “Hmm.” Then he reached into his back pocket, and I already knew what he’d take out. A piece of paper. A pen. He jotted something down, lashes lowered, lips pursed.

“That was just one of your stupid tests?” I asked, not sure if I felt relieved or not.

His pen didn’t stop moving. “Yes.”

“What the hell are they for?”

“I’m just collecting data,” he said evenly, his eyes flicking up and meeting mine. “So? What’s your answer?”

“Um…” Feeling strangely nervous, I scratched the side of my neck. “Well, if you popped the question, I’d—first of all, I’d wonder if you were high. Or if I was dreaming.”

“Dreaming,” he murmured, writing something down. “That certainly has a positive connotation.”

“Because the Hunter Slade
I know would never ask me out. Not even as a joke.” Or a test.

His pen paused. Then he looked up at me, eyes gray flints in the light. “Why do you say that?”

“Because—” My voice faltered, and I tried to push past the rock in my throat. “The—you know—um. Uh. This whole thing is just weird, so could we d-drop—”

“No, please.” He regarded me with mocking interest. “Continue.”

Letting out a jittery half-laugh, I scratched the back of my head. “You just—you know. You—you wouldn’t ask me out. It’s just—it’s not a thing. Not with you. So could we just—”

He watched me for a moment. Then, imperceptibly, the edges of his eyes softened. “
So this is the product of his hard work,” he said, and I blinked. Keeping a tiny smile to himself, he tucked the testing materials back into his pocket and took out a black pouch, its contents clinking as he eased it open. “Impressive.”

“Should I ask, or…?”

“Let me see your hands,” he said.

The sudden change in topics was jarring, but I obliged, even if warily.

His voice was quiet. “Turn them palm-up for me.”

Done. Calluses has spread alo
ng my fingertips and the inside of my knuckles, where the hilt of the sword pressed. They were not fine, delicate hands. Not pretty by any stretch of the word.

He took out two bracelets and
clasped them around my wrists. The bands were thick and the color of chrome, etched with elaborate curls and swirls, beautiful despite their initial heavy looks. They were cool and light. They didn’t weigh me down at all.

“What’s this?” I said, watching as he reached to
ward his wing and plucked two feathers off. “A gift? Or…”

He
reached down and pressed the quills into the insides of the bracelets. The metal softened, rose, and pierced through them before gripping the feathers in place.

“Oh, my God, no,” I said
excitedly. “Oh, my God, no. No, no, no, no—”

But he wasn’t finished
. He grabbed my right hand and reached into the pouch, taking out two thick rings of dark silver. The shinier inner strip glinted in the light.

“Oh, my God,” I said, fanning myself. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing but this is way better than someone ask
ing me to marry them. Oh, my God. Oh my God oh my God oh my God—”

He laughed quietly, slipping one on my thumb and the other on my index finger. Next came my left, though three rings went on this one—on my thumb, index finger, and ring f
inger. Before I could examine them, he sandwiched my hands between his and held them up.

“I think you know what this is.” He met my gaze over our pancaked
palms. “Yes?”

“No.” But I was still kind of freaking out, bouncing and dancing and squirming with excitement. “But I think you’re giving me two of your awesome feathers. Which is to say: t
wo swords. Am I right? Am I right am I right am I right?”

He looked amused.
“I’m not just giving you these feathers. I mean, yes. They’re yours. Permanently. But with these rings, I’m also giving you the power to turn them into swords—all by yourself.”

“No. Oh, my God, no!”
Grinning, I whacked him on the arm. “You—shut up! I know you’re fucking with me right now!”

He turned my hands palm up, baring my wrists. I thought I
saw him hide a smile. “Look down for a second.”

“Yeah?”

“As you can see, the feathers are now also part of the bracelet.”

Blinki
ng, I realized it was true; instead of hanging down, they were now flipped up, their hairs having melted into the smooth metal. Chrome curls were interlaced with the silvery strands, holding them in place. Their soft, cool tips brushed the inside of my forearms.

“It’s like this so they don’t hang over your
hands, get in the way of your everyday activities. Yes?”

“They’re beautiful,” I said, awed. And it was true.
Although they were there to be functional, the rings and bracelets were absolutely stunning.

“To release
a feather, slide your palm over the one you want to use.” He reached out and guided my hand for me, brushing it over the wrist of my right bracelet. The silvery chrome curled away, and the plume flipped down. It didn’t sag, but rather hovered there, suspended mid-air over my fingers. Hunter leaned back. “Try turning it.”

“Oh, my God, no. Are you—are you sure?”

“I had these things crafted specifically for you. Are you telling me I wasted my time?”

“No, no!”
Breathlessly, I whispered, “I think I love you. This is the best thing ever.”

I didn’t wait to see his reaction to
the nasty L-word. Trembling with anticipation, I slid my palm down the length of the feather, and—sweet baby Jesus and cows—it elongated under my touch, morphing into a graceful, feline blade. The hilt settled inside my grip and I curled my fingers around it. Prickly iciness tingled across my skin. The only discomfort. I held up the weapon, awed.

Then I noticed that the bracelet had disappeared. A thin line of light had replaced it, barely visible around my wrist.

“If you turn it back, the bracelet will appear again.” Hunter sounded as though he were trying not to smile. I must’ve looked like a little kid right now, opening her presents on Christmas Day. “Try it.”

Carefully, I slid my palm up the blade. It morphed back into a feather under my touch. No hesitation. It di
dn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t its owner, that I was someone alien and new. The bracelet materialized, and the quill joined with the metal. Then the feather flipped up and interlaced itself with fine, curling tufts of chrome.

“To release
both of them,” said Hunter, “brush the inside of your wrists together. Just once.” He leaned forward. “Here.”

He grabbed my hands and guided them f
or me. One slow caress of wrist against wrist, and the feathers were released, hovering over each of my palms. Gently, he cupped them with my fingertips facing the opposite direction, as if I were cradling something precious inside. The two plumes lay suspended in between, not succumbing to gravity, not sticking to my skin.

He helped me
slide my palms away from each other, unsheathing the weapons. I watched, awed, as twin swords glimmered into view, glinting silver-gold in the snowy light. As soon as they were done morphing, their hilts settled snugly into the curves of my hands.

Suddenly
, I jumped up, the branch rattling under my weight. Holding the swords out, I aimed them at the ground, as if they were balancing me. I swung them up and around, crossed them, clinked them, slid them against each other and relished the chilling sound that screeched forth. These were mine.
Mine
. And they were so beautiful. The hilts were exquisitely decorated. The blades emitted a light of their own, so smooth and sharp were they.

Hunter rose to his feet. “Now, to morph the feathers back, I’ve made it so that you only have to clamp the hilts to
gether. It would be hard to use the conventional way—”