Page 61 of Her Wicked Knights
"You're fucking sick." I snarl. "And if you don't stop, you'll never get what you want from us."
The smirk on Whit's face deepens as Colton presses himself against Tripp's ass, and I lose all sense of rationality. I throw myself at them, knowing I don't stand a chance at fighting Colton off, knowing that Whit can halt me in my tracks before I even make it there. But he does nothing as I blow a right hook across Colton's jaw.
Whit's control shatters as Tripp scrambles away, pulling up his jeans and putting distance between him and Colton, who I help up from the ground.
"Maybe some other time." Whit sighs. "Anyway, are you all done questioning the reality of this, or do I need to show you the past?"
"Go to hell." Tripp snarls, and I look away from Colton, whose dazed look could be from the blow I just delivered or the mindfuck from Whit. Tripp's arms are crossed, and I expect him to look scared or shaken up. Instead, he just looks pissed.
"Maybe one day we can make that our next field trip." Whit shrugs. "Right now, I guess we're taking a different kind of trip."
31
Colton
Idon'tknowwhathappened. One minute, Whit was prattling, and in the next, I was coming back from a blackout, naked, my jaw fucking throbbing, and Tripp staring at me like I kicked his puppy. I don't ask for an explanation, and no one offers one. Instead, we watch as Whit moves around the room, gathering things before directing us to sit in different spots. We form a ring right there on the stage, cross-legged like a bunch of kids about to play duck-duck-goose. Everything feels fuzzy, like I'm drunk, and it's the only reason I don't bother trying to leave; I don't think I'd make it to my car before passing out.
Tripp glares at me when Whit tells us to link hands, and I take Whit's other hand, letting Rev be the bridge between Whit and Tripp.
"Why the fuck are we holding hands?" I ask after a moment, when the warmth from Tripp's hand starts to get sweaty.
"I have to show you to make you see." Whit answers, though his voice sounds far away and my head feels weird. That doesn't make any sense, but I suppose most of what he says never does.
There's a weird sensation like the ground is moving, and then it feels like we're falling. Tripp grips my hand tighter, and I don't free myself from him when it lets up.
"Don't break the connection," Whit warns. "I can only hold this because I'm harnessing our collective power. If anyone breaks the connection, we could get lost."
Lost?
I don't know what he means, or where we are.
Everything is on fire, but I'm not burning. I don't feel the heat, but I can see the flames devouring buildings, hear the crackle as it eats at everything in its path. Screams rend the air, but I don't see people, at first.
"What is this?" Rev demands, and I glance across at him to see his eyes bright with worry.
"This is the night of retribution. The night of our collective deaths."
I blink, wondering if this is a vision of the future. But once I see past some of the smoke curling from the orange flames before me, I realize this place looks nothing like anything I know. It's all distinctly familiar, and yet I can't place my finger on where I've seen this place before.
Through the fire, I'm able to latch onto a few figures, more shadow than men, until they morph before me into... us.
Tripp, Rev, me.
But it's not us, at the same time it is.
It's like a fun-house mirror, where you know you're looking at your reflection, but it's so different that you find yourself looking over your shoulder.
We're talking, and I can't hear the words, but I can see the body language, even hidden in the ridiculous clothing they're wearing.
I watch Tripp take something, and a blade glints in the moonlight. Ashes fall around us, around them, and, I think, so does snow.
It feels like being in an alternate universe, watching Rev cringe away from alternate-Tripp. And then Tripp drags the blade across his throat, a weird sound escaping his throat as he does. He's still standing, swaying, when Rev takes the blade from him and I don't know what I expect him to do with it. I don't expect him to drag it across his own throat, to spill his blood and stagger toward me— the other me— as Tripp's body crumbles to the ground.
Watching myself drag the blade across my own throat feels like being trapped inside my mind... I think I am trapped inside my mind. Something feels weird... scrambled.
When my own body crumbles to the ground, I feel that weird tugging again. I may be getting peeled out of my current body, because it feels like I'm being pulled into the air, like my soul is leaving the vessel down beneath me.
And through it all, I'm somehow just sitting here, crisscross legs and holding hands with my friends. But I can also see what lies below us...
