Page 8 of Hunted By Fae
Dread spills through me, ice trailing down my insides.
My reluctance is betrayed in the long, choppy breath I suck in and the swerve of my gaze aside to the dirt.
I can’t bring myself to get up.
Tesni wears that same unwillingness in the hunch of her shoulders, curving inwards, as though if she tries hard enough, she can sink into the door of the truck and disappear.
I speak the truth neither of us are ready for. “We need to find them.”
Tesni grimaces, pressing her cheek against the chipped paint of the truck door. Her lashes snag on tears. The dull stare she gives me is nothing short of dread.
Thing about Tesni is, to others, she comes across as a cold, heartless bitch. Like right now, that stare can be misread by so many as reluctant, or hollow, or even an unspoken, ‘Do we really need to find them? We could just get outta here.’
I see it for what it really is.
Fear.
Horror.
Absolute desolation.
Tesni isn’t ready to leave the safety we’ve tucked ourselves into, and she’s nowhere near prepared to see the damage beyond.
And there is damage.
We both know it.
The moans of the wounded reach us both.
So as she turns her cheek to me and drops her gaze to the dirt on the toes of her boots, I know she isn’t going to be the first to move. Her courage fails her—so we lean on mine.
The breath I loosen comes with a renewed stir of dread in my belly.
My boots slide over the hard ground. Hand splayed on the side of the truck, I lean forward and peer around Tess to the dirt field.
Not long ago, it was packed full of people swinging around, kicking, jumping, hollering, smiling and laughing and dancing.
Now, the dirt is a fog clinging to the earth. Beneath it, there is litter: smartphones, handbags, plastic cups, scrunched paper bags.
The debris of the chaos.
I shift forward.
The wobble of my legs is instant.
My hand, flattened on the curve of the truck, doesn’t tremble, but the anxiety is a pit of worms slithering from my belly all the way to my toes.
My breath comes out shuddering as I step around the hood of the truck.
Tesni shifts on the dirt behind me.
The rustle of her jeans comes before the gentle touch of her hand on my back.
I don’t look over my shoulder at her.
I look only at that lump on the ground, shrouded in a dirt mist.
My lashes flutter, and I realise I am staring at a mangled man, sprawled on the dirt, just some feet away from the truck.
