CHAPTER THREE

 

STANDING AT THE door of our tiny cottage, I stretched to ease away some of the near constant ache in my muscles—a side effect of my combat training and the basic drills Clay had us both running. I leaned against the railing of the tiny porch around our little shack and took a moment to absorb the beautiful scenery that surrounded us.

The view was always the same, regardless of which direction I shifted my gaze, pristine and sparse, but utterly breathtaking and serene. Evergreens that stretched endlessly to the sky, reaching so high that it was easy to believe they’d been on the Earth before dinosaurs had ever roamed the land. As far as my gaze could reach, a blanket of white covered everything, coating the ground and tops of the trees with thick, cold snow. Only the occasional limestone formation, clawing through the frost as though desperate to be noticed, intruded upon the white and green landscape.

While I admired the absolute stillness, Clay emerged behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You know the best thing about this place?” he asked, as he squeezed me lightly.

“What’s that?” I rested my head against his chest as a hundred great things about our tiny shack came to mind—top of my list was that we were alone and hadn’t encountered any threats since we moved in. Even our increased vigilance after the scare from the fireworks on New Year’s Eve a little more than a month earlier had already diminished.

“That you don’t have to hide here,” he said before running his fingers through my hair, brushing it off my face. The dull, winter sun, left the shades slightly muted, but in the light, it still mimicked strands of spun gold, ruby, and copper resting side by side. He kissed the side of my head. “I’ve always loved your hair. It’s like jewels.”

I flinched away from his words. My hair was a result of the part of me that had caused so much grief in my life. “You know you’ve got me, right? You don’t need to suck-up anymore.”

“It’s not called sucking up. It’s a compliment. And most people accept them graciously.”

“I thought you’d know by now that I’m not most people,” I teased. “But I’ll try. So, thank you.”

“How much longer do you think we should stay here anyway?” he asked, picking up the conversation we’d had on and off over the last few weeks. It never progressed too far because neither of us wanted to become complacent by staying in one place too long and risk being tracked down, but if we moved on, there was no guarantee that we’d stay off the radar.

I considered once more how fortunate I’d been to find him when I’d thought all hope was lost. If I hadn’t taken the risk in agreeing to meet with him after he’d left a trail of breadcrumbs scattered across the States, I had no idea where I’d be now. Certainly, I wouldn't be in a picturesque corner of the world experiencing the love and happiness I’d never dreamed possible.

Memories thick with blood from the trail of death that had followed me through my life—danger that hadn’t yet touched us in Sweden—crossed my mind. Regret flooded through me, all of those people who had died for me or because of me.

“We’ve been safe here awhile now,” I said.

There have been no deaths for eight months, my mind added. I could never say that out loud because it was an admission of guilt. Even though they hadn’t been by my hand, each death was because of me—of what I was. Part of me knew it was probably better to move on before the Rain caught up with us, but I was reluctant. Maybe we can hide here until we’re old and gray.

“So how does forever sound to you?” I asked. The question was wistful and filled with optimism, two emotions I was only now learning to feel without the accompanying feelings of doubt and mistrust.

Moving the material of my coat aside, he kissed his way along my shoulder before nestling his nose into my hair. He inhaled deeply and moaned softly against the skin at the nape of my neck. The way he touched me made the coat almost unnecessary, and I considered shedding it.

“Not long enough,” he whispered to answer my question.

After nuzzling my neck for a moment more, Clay rested his chin on my shoulder from behind me and gazed out over the view as well. “What’s the plan for today?” he asked.

Leaning back into his embrace, I rested my head against his shoulder.

“We could go hunting,” I suggested.

“We could stay in,” he countered.

Turning in his hold, I wrapped my arms around his neck and touched his lips with a soft kiss. “We need to go hunting so that I can practice with the bow.”

Since the night the fireworks had scared us into remembering the danger that did still lurk around, he was determined to impart all of his self-defense knowledge to me. Each time I thought I’d learned everything I could possibly need to know, he found something else to show me. He wanted me to have all the knowledge he had about methods of defending myself in a range of different situations. Unlike when Dad tried to train me years earlier, I paid close attention to Clay’s lessons. I wouldn’t make the mistake of waiting for “one day” ever again.

It was surprisingly easy to take on all of Clay’s guidance, despite the fact that it seemed contradictory to the instructions Dad had always drilled into me—to be mindful of suspicious behavior and, if in doubt, run. I’d taken to the training so well that I was confident I had a sustainable knowledge to rely on, something more than my unique ability to start fires to defend myself.

The fact that the day when the sunbird in me would sleep was drawing ever closer made me train that much harder. When that happened, I would no longer be able to rely on the heat she provided for warmth or self-defense. Clay constantly reminded me that the biggest threat to me, the Rain, wouldn’t stop hunting me just because the sunbird was sleeping. If anything, they’d try to attack harder because I would be an easier target.

In addition to our hand-to-hand combat training, Clay had slowly been demonstrating different weapons and their uses, going over even the most ancient of weaponry. He’d shown me how to fashion rudimentary pieces—spears, knives, and bola—out of debris readily available in nature. After guiding me through the process of constructing and using the items, he’d turned them on me in order to teach me how to defend myself against them in the event of an attack.

The one weapon type he hadn’t trained me in yet was firearms. Aside from the risk of the noise of gunfire drawing attention to our little house—we didn’t want a repeat of the police visit in Germany—we didn’t want to risk making any purchases that might put us back on the grid. My frenzied attack on the shadow had ripped through most of Clay’s ammunition, and we didn’t want to risk needing to restock. We couldn’t be certain who knew we were in Europe, but if anyone had learned of our whereabouts, Clay believed they would watch for certain transactions. Purchasing weapons and ammunition was definitely at the top of that list. Clay explained that even trying to get something through less than legal means could possibly put us on the Rain’s radar because the Rain had never been concerned with the legality of their purchases; as such, they had significant connections with both legal and illegal arms dealers.

Even the dilapidated, secondhand 4WD Clay had bought was a risk. Which was why we’d found the cheapest thing we could and had purchased it with cash. For everything else, we traveled into town when we needed to. Even then, we restricted our shopping trips to once every few weeks and only to buy clothes or food.

“If we stay in, we can practice your one-on-one self-defense some more.” Trying to win me over to his salacious viewpoint, Clay kissed me again and tugged at the ends of my jacket, dragging me toward the still open door and the inviting warmth inside.

From my position, I could see the edge of the mattress that doubled as most of the furniture we needed. It seemed to beckon me silently, calling me inside even as my mind offered up images of Clay entwined so perfectly with me a few short hours earlier. I bit my lip as desire rushed through me.

We could always practice archery another day. It wasn’t as if my life depended on knowing it all right now.

I moved toward Clay and he grinned, knowing he’d won.

What if your life depends on it tomorrow?

I sighed as the truth behind the thought overtook my mind. We were on the run and as much as Clay had taught me, I still had so much to learn. I couldn’t make the mistake that I had with Dad, always assuming that there would be another day to learn what I needed to know.

What if not having that knowledge costs you your life?

Or Clay’s?

“As tempting as it sounds to throw you on your ass again,” I joked. “We’re running low on food. And I really should get some target practice in while it’s still light.”

It was still winter, and the February days, while lengthening, were still short. We had to make the most of the daylight hours. Every afternoon, almost too quickly, the dark and the cold made the already inhospitable land downright dangerous.

Clay pushed his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and tried coaxing me inside again with soft kisses against my throat.

“Besides,” I murmured with my eyes closed as I tilted my head to give him better access. He moved into the space between my legs, pressing me against the railing. “Last time I didn’t even get a chance to try against a moving target.”

We’d started on archery a little over a month ago, with Clay demonstrating the techniques to me. The forests around our little house were teeming with game, which provided both moving target practice and sustenance. Because he was such a good bowman—and the fact that right outside our doorstep was a makeshift freezer that kept the meat fresh for a long time—we hadn’t actually needed to go hunting very often.

“But—” he started.

“Uh, uh,” I interrupted. “No buts. We’re going hunting. Now go get ready,” I said, gently, pressing him to assemble and string the recurve bow and gather everything we needed.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave a mock salute before heading inside.

While I waited for him to get the hunting supplies, I turned back toward the breathtaking vista. Despite the cold and the long winter nights, I couldn’t imagine a better place for us to be. It was rugged but stunning. Untouched and perfect. And even though our tiny house consisted of only two rooms—the bathroom and everything else—it was exactly what we needed it to be.

We were lucky to have found the place, and the work we’d done since only improved our standard of living.

Scanning the scenery, I saw a flicker of darkness in my peripheral vision. At first, I was willing to ignore it, but something in me wouldn’t allow it.

My heart froze and refused to beat again as I glanced in the direction of the movement.

At first, I didn’t trust my eyes, but regardless, panic gripped me tightly and held me in its clutches. Even after another glance, the figure beneath the trees hadn’t changed. A tall man in a hooded cloak standing underneath the branches. The vision was exactly like the one the shadow who’d stalked me for so long had presented. The darkness that had lingered in the corner of my eye and tormented me had convinced me for so long that Clay had been hunting me.

The shadow couldn’t be there though. He was dead.

I’d killed him.

I was certain I had.

Even Clay had said there was too much blood left on the forest floor for the shadow to have survived.

We’d never found a body though.

The thought was enough to cause the panic to rise in my chest again. I swallowed, trying and failing to force down the thick emotion clogging my throat.

The image of the shrouded man flickered in my vision, disappearing and reappearing again as I stared at the patch of trees.

My skin flamed as panic raced through me. Was it possible? Could it be him?

It could have been a play of light. Couldn’t it?

Maybe the branches of the trees twisted in an odd way to make it appear that someone was standing there. Only, it was too similar to the way things had been before.

My mouth was dry and I held my breath. Every time I tried to focus on the movement, it would stop or the shape would disappear entirely.

Gripping the porch railing tightly, I tried to calm the reactions that racked my body after seeing that shadow. Nothing could calm the heat in my hands though. My breathing sped as I stared at the spot where the vision had appeared before disappearing again so quickly.

He can’t be here! He can’t have survived!

“Clay!” I called with as much volume as I could muster.