JACK-EYE
My left leg cramps for the fifth time in an hour. Fuck compact SUVs and their contempt for anyone over six feet tall. I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like my knees are pressed against my throat, but there’s no relief to be found in this rolling sardine can.
Dawn’s coming, with weak pink and gold fingers creeping across the lightening sky.
And we’re still on the highway.
No known destination, being driven by someone more likely to turn us into amphibians than answer questions.
We’ve been driving all night, and the mood in the car has settled from the aftermath of rage and deep sorrow into something fragile. Like if we breathe wrong, we might remember everything all over again.
In the back seat, the Blue Mountain kid’s snoring with his head pressed against the window. The sniveling wizard is asleep against his shoulder, twitching occasionally. Once he flinched so hard, his glasses flew off his face. It still didn’t wake him up, even when Owen shoved them back on.
The strange guy—an angel, or something related to one... apparently—has been awake this entire time, like he’s used to forgoing sleep for missions.
And then there’s Lyre.
One arm drapes across the steering wheel with casual confidence, the other resting against her door. Like she could drive this road with her eyes closed.
She hasn’t spoken in hours, but her lips have gone from a tight line to slightly pursed, and her eyes no longer crinkle at the corners, more relaxed as she stares ahead. There’s still the hint of simmering rage burning the air around her, but at least I’m reasonably sure she won’t set the car on fire.
I catch it again—a faint shimmer across her knuckles. A subtle glow pulsing beneath her skin when she thinks no one’s looking.
She’s powerful. Shifters aren’t exposed to her kind of magic, but even I can recognize it’s greater than anything I’ve seen before. And it’s barely contained by a slip of a girl with rainbow-colored hair and strange eyes which flash between human and cat-like.
Without warning, she takes an exit ramp, the SUV gliding smoothly off the highway onto a stretch of rural back road.
"We getting close?" I ask, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness.
"No." Her voice is flat. End of conversation.
Damn it.
Aside from one pit stop for gas and Thom’s desperate rush to the bathroom—both to rinse out his vomit-stale mouth and to use the more traditional facilities—we haven’t gotten a break from this damn tin can on wheels. She’s a woman on a mission.
Dangerous. Pretty, but full of mortal peril if you look at her wrong.
I study her profile, the sharp line of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose. Everything about her is a contradiction—she looks soft, yet she’s capable of things so arcane they feel just this side of illegal.
"So what are you, exactly?" The question’s been eating at me for a while now, only stronger after I watched her walk out of that place, hands clean but eyes haunted. "I’ve seen powerful before, but you’re something else."
No one’s been able to throw Caine around like she does, that’s for fucking sure. There’s a reason he has my loyalty.
From the back seat, Thom stirs. His eyes flutter open, landing on Lyre with an unsettling intensity. "She’s..." His voice drops to a reverent whisper. "She’s beyond powerful. I can feel it. Like we’re standing too close to the sun."
He sounds more poetic than usual, probably because he’s half-asleep.
Lyre’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. The silence stretches.
I should be annoyed by her refusal to answer. It’s the kind of shit I’d call Caine out on in a heartbeat. But with her, I’m... intrigued. The mystery of her sharpens something in me, a curiosity bordering on hunger.
She has freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. I hadn’t noticed them before, when we were knee-deep in blood and crisis. They’re unexpected on someone so intimidating—like finding wildflowers growing in a volcanic field.
Her posture radiates confidence, a bone-deep certainty that she belongs exactly where she is. Even when she’s angry.
Let’s be real, I noticed her curves the moment we met. I’m not dead. But this feeling crawling up my spine isn’t just attraction. It’s different. Thrilling. Staring at a beautiful predator and wondering if it would be worth it to get closer, just to see what happens—that kind of obsessive, ill-advised pull.
"Why are you staring?" she asks without taking her eyes off the road. Her tone is dry as dust, and I wonder if it would change if I told her I wanted to tear her clothes off and fuck her until she’s begging.
Someone as strong as her, demanding more of my cock? It twitches just thinking about it.
I let the corner of my mouth lift and aim for an answer less... explosive. "Trying to figure you out."
"Don’t bother." The words slice cold and clean between us. "You wouldn’t even know where to start."
From the back seat, Owen clears his throat. "It’s better not to meddle with the likes of an Echo Witch." He sounds reverent, but the kind of reverence where you’re scared you’ll be turned into ash for sinning.
Andrew stirs for the first time in hours. I guess the atmosphere of the car’s even woken the kid.
I turn, keen to know more. "Echo Witch? That a rank or a warning label?"
Lyre says nothing, of course.
The atmosphere in the car shifts, grows heavier. Andrew and Thom both shift in their seats before pretending to fall asleep again, but the rhythm of their breathing never changes.
It’s as if speaking those words aloud stirred something ancient, something better left sleeping. It makes my gut twitch, my ears perk. There’s a story there, information to dig out. Secrets hidden.
Or maybe I’m growing fanciful in my old age.
Owen meets my eyes in the dim light of dawn. "If you don’t know... you don’t need to."
Damn.
Foiled again.
I lean back in my seat, keeping Lyre in my sight. The rising sun catches in her hair, setting the wild colors ablaze. I should feel threatened by the heaviness that’s settled over us, by the clear warning in Owen’s voice.
Instead, I’m hooked.
Good thing I’ve never listened to warnings.