Page 47 of Trick Me
“Different but not better?—”
“Better,” Ash says firmly. “Not perfect. Noteven good some days. But better. I choose to be better every day, even when it costs everything, even when it earns nothing but grief. That’s not a weakness. That’s a strength my father never understood.”
His reflection shifts, normalizes, becomes just him, scarred and steady and absolutely certain.
The pool goes still again, perfectly mirror-still, and for a moment I think we’ve done it. Broken through whatever test this is, passed whatever cosmic final exam we’ve been taking all night.
Then the surface starts to bubble.
Not like boiling water, but like something massive is rising from depths that shouldn’t exist in a shallow pool. As though this isn’t really a pool at all but a window, and something on the other side has decided to come through.
“That’s not good,” I admit, backing up, pulling Ash with me. “That’s very much not good.”
The water explodes outward, but instead of getting us wet, it forms shapes in the air, shadows with weight. They swirl around us like a tornado of whispers, and I can hear words, phrases, accusations, each one in a different voice, some I recognize, others I don’t:
Failure— —freak— —unwanted— —weak— —abandoned— —killer— —monster— —alone— —always alone— —why did you let me die— —should have been you?—
The shadows press in, cold and invasive, trying to worm their way under my skin. It’s like being embraced by every doubt I’ve ever had, every fear made manifest, every 3:00 a.m. thought given form and malice.
“Don’t listen!” Ash shouts, pulling me against him, but the shadows are between us too, yanking at us to pry us apart with fingers made of ice.
He’ll leave— —she’ll run— —not enough— —never enough— —everyone leaves— —everyone dies?—
“No!” I press my face against Ash’s chest, his heartbeat hammering against my cheek. “Iamenough. Weareenough. I survived being alone, and I choose not to be. That’s strength, not weakness. That’s choice, not desperation.”
“I protect because I can’t not protect,” Ash adds into my hair, his arms tight around me like he can shield me from incorporeal threats through sheer will.
The shadows actually shriek and pull at us harder. Something fundamental is starting to shift within me, like tectonic plates moving in my soul. The wolf in my head howls in distress, but it’s not just being upset. There’s something else. Anticipation? Fear? Recognition?
The death-cold in my bones flares to ice, but it’s not leaving. It’s… changing. Merging with something else, something warm and wild and alive.
And then?—
Raw, unfiltered, impossible power flooding through me like someone opened a dam in my chest. This is hot and cold together, life and death wound into a double helix.
“Ash!” I gasp, and he’s breathless too, doubling over but not letting go of me, never letting go.
“I feel strange,” he hisses through gritted teeth. The shadows converge, slamming into us like a powerful force, being hit by a wall of frozen night. I hear myself screaming.
The darkness presses in from all sides.
Something is wrong.
The wolf howls in my ears, while Ash is bellowing something I can’t make out from all the sounds in my head.
Then silence.
Nothing at all.
Just the dark, and the sense of falling, and the certainty that when we wake—if we wake—nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter
Eight
ERYNN
“Erynn! Erynn, wake up! Please wake up!”
