Wings and Shadowthief by May Sage

The Shape of Fury

She took a deep, calming breath, inhaling and holding it in for a moment before releasing it, just like Greer had taught her in their yoga sessions.

Nope, that wasn’t working. She still wanted to rip Jack’s balls off.

He studied her carefully, like he might have looked at a feral cat poised to pounce. “Gwen.”

Without a sign of acknowledgment, she walked past him, head held high.

“Too bad you didn’t show up a minute ago. I was on the phone with Tris.”

So that was who he’d talked to, his cousin. Not that Gwen cared. He could profess his undying devotion to just about anyone. Jack was no one to her.

Her heartbeat slowed down a tad, though, and her fury receded. A little.

“She would have liked to hear from you.”

Now, she turned back to him, eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the accusation. Gwen wasn’t one to ignore her friends. “I talk to her all the time, but thanks.”

Tris was perhaps Gwen's closest friend in Oldcrest. They both stood slightly apart from their respective peers. Gwen got along with Chloe and the rest, but she was a witch, not a vampire. Among witches, she didn’t quite fit in because her magic was so volatile. She rarely joined their recreational spells, afraid to cause damage when she was unsupervised.

Tris was respected and loved by her fellow huntsmen, but she was a born fledgling, fated to become a vampire, and therefore not quite a huntsman.

They'd spent countless nights in each other's rooms, with a bottle of tequila, bitching about classes, boys, and magic. And commiserating about being different.

Annoyed with herself for falling for the obvious trap and speaking to the asshole, Gwen kept walking toward the dorms.

“Wait, I meant to talk to you.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Oh, now you want to talk?”

Jack seemed honestly taken aback, as though he didn’t understand her ire. Which was so very typical of a man.

Last Halloween, they'd spent the entire night getting to know each and every crevice of each other's bodies, screaming each other's names, whispering sweet nothings. The day after, she’d smiled and waved at him. She wasn’t stupid—she didn’t think their night signaled the start of a budding romance. They’d had sex because their emotions had been high after the battle. Fighting for your life could have that effect on you. Still, she’d assumed they’d remain friends after that.

Jack had ignored her. He’d seemed to look through her, walking right past her.

The guy couldn't even say hi back?

And now he didn’t even get why she had a problem with him. Unbelievable.

“Look, it’s obvious I’ve done something to piss you off. I’d just like to know what, so I can do something about it. And, I don’t know, apologize.”

Gwen could only laugh in disbelief. “No, thank you. You’re about five months too late for that.”

“You don’t understand. I genuinely have no idea what I did wrong.” He dragged a hand through his wavy blond hair, sighing in frustration. “I get blackouts and forget what I do. The only reason I’m not caged is because I don’t seem to hurt people when I’m out of it.”

Was he for real? “How convenient.”

“You can ask around—several witches are looking into it. Blair’s clan in Salem, for one. They’ll back me up.”

That made her hesitate. Seconds ago, she would have called major bullshit, but if he invited her to check his story out, there might have some truth to it.

Not that it made any difference. If he’d forgotten fucking her—and fucking her over—it was his problem, not hers. Her feelings were valid, no matter his.

“I don’t care, Hunter.” She started to move away, eager to put as much distance as possible between them.

He made her uneasy, always had. There was something in the depths of his cold gray eyes that made it impossible to look at him without repressing a shiver. She didn’t like to smell him, or feel him. To witches such as her, sups had a specific aura, a distinctive presence. His used to thrill her. Now, when she was near him, she wanted to lash out, scream, hit something.

She’d only taken one step when his fingers circled her wrist, pulling her back.

Oh, hell no.

She didn’t even think. Power gathered in her palm and pushed back at him with a virulence she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of. Not against feral vampires, not against an army of werewolves, not against anything. He turned her into something she wasn’t.

A threat.

Jack was at least five yards away, and dozens of sharp ice spikes separated them.

Usually, Gwen wasn’t even winded when she used her power, regardless of what her teachers asked her to do. Make it snow? No problem. Call the rain? Piece of cake. Gather water in her palm? The only issue was that she summoned too much of it.

She’d never materialized anything like those spikes, though. They looked like blades, each one as dangerous as a sword. And for the very first time, she could feel it.

Her magic. Its shape, its desires, its bounds. It was like a cocoon enveloping her, moving along her skin like a silk dress.

This was what it was meant to do.

Attack.

Hurt her enemies.

Protect her.

She blinked, at a loss for words.

As far as she knew, her family had only included water witches—weather witches—for the last several centuries. This was something else entirely.

Yet she couldn’t deny it. Those strange weapons, those spikes? They were hers. The kind of conjuring that her soul craved.

Right now, Gwen’s fingers trembled under the effort they’d taken, but at the same time, she could have sung and broken into a dance. For the first time ever, she could do the assignment she’d always failed, the one thing that made her the worst water witch in her class.

Define her magic.

Part of her felt a little bad. Just because she didn’t want anything to do with Jack didn’t mean that she wanted to kill the guy, and the gods knew that these sharp, dark spikes were made to cause serious damage. Thankfully, killing Jack Hunter wasn’t an easy feat. He’d leaped back far enough in plenty of time and was clear of the weapons.

As though the spikes didn’t speak for themselves, Gwen translated what they meant. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to speak to me. You don’t get to say my name. Understood?”

Jack was looking at her in a way he never had before. Like she was dangerous. Something he had to watch. Something he had to respect.

Good. About time.

She turned on her heel.

By the gods, she needed a nap.

But it looked like she had to write her essence of magic essay instead. Better late than never.