Search (SEEK book 1)

The Hunt

"Martin just acts like that because she's threatened by you. Don't let her rattle you." Cord elbows me, pressing against my shoulder.

"I don't. Every time little Miss tramp-stamp puckers her bitch-face at me, I consider it a compliment."

Cord howls with a laugh so loud he's going to draw in every Khayal in the preserve.

"Thomas Corduroy." I smack his arm, straightening up to my full five-foot six-inches. The trees rustle at our backs. Electricity shoots through my veins, uncoiling my tightly wound nerves. I whirl, following the bend and sway of the leaves, there's a slight change in color. It's a blur, like looking through foggy glass, as the concentration of muted greens shift from one branch to the next. Not just anyone would notice, at least not without training. And as a SEEK Agent, this is my job. I've been taught to hunt Khayal by an agency that isn't even supposed to exist, just like the parasites we're charged with destroying.

"On your right!" I growl, letting two arrows loose. Time slows to that of a dream. Cord draws his monstrosity of a gun, firing blindly to the woods as he whirls. "Gragh!" I fall sideways to the ground, rolling and stringing another arrow. It flies from my bow with a quiet thwap. I fire arrow after arrow before I'm even back on my feet.

Two. Five. Seven charred and deformed figures fall to the ground.

And that's why Martin hates me. She just can't stand that a tomboy like me – my face always smeared with dirt and hair littered with twigs – could be more popular at SEEK than someone like her – a curvy blonde whose peachy pink lip-gloss she chose to enhance her canned tan. It goes against the societal norm. But it's not my fault Martin hasn't got any friends. She's managed that all on her own because she's rude. Maybe if she'd stop spreading lies about me, people would give her a chance.

The forest grows quiet, with the exception of an angry squirrel barking in the long-off distance, the sweet smell of a tropical bouquet fills the air as the shadows dissolve.

Cord holsters his Glock.

"Next time, why not just get a loudspeaker?" I guess I should be used to his lack of protocol. Cord's never been one to follow rules.

"Please, I was never in any danger. You had my back. How can something so ugly smell so girly?" Cord runs a finger under his nose.

"I don't know. I've never seen a live specimen. Dead they look more like petrified charcoal than shadows."

"I hear live Khayal are even more hideous. Team Six in the Mess said the Khayal have the face of a demon, breath like ice, and teeth as sharp as slivered razors," Cord says with a deep eerie voice trying to spook me.

"You gossip like my mom." I push him away from the pile of burnt twisted limbs.

"Yeah? I'll whoop you like your mama should've!"

I tear into the trees dodging his too-slow grabs for me. "Maybe if you lay off the steroids you could catch me!"

Here in the forest with Cord, under a canopy of dense leaves, woody vines and Spanish moss, I feel free. Free of my past, free of my guilt, and free of my memories. Tracking is my therapy. For me running comes easily, as does jumping logs and ducking under low-hanging branches, but for Cord...not so much.

"Okay, stop. Hold up. Wait a minute. Or I'll tell Martin you have a thing for Jackson!" Cord threatens when I don't stop.

Before I even have time to slow my momentum, I draw an arrow and whirl on him.

"Kidding! Kidding, put that thing away, Keira."

The sound of my name, my real name, sends a current of joy and fear simultaneously through me. "Shut up! Someone might hear you." I hiss.