Echo Soul Seekers

spring.
    Without hesitation, I leap away from the water and toward him. Enjoying Coyote’s fierce but ultimately ineffective growl, he’s still under my spell, but disappointed by Cade’s failure to even so much as flinch when I press the edge of my blade hard against his cheek. Removing a broad sheen of stubble as I slowly drag it across, taunting, “Dream on, Richter. I’ll never be that desperate.”
    I yank the blade down along the curve of his jaw, jerk it all the way to the hollow of his neck. Fascinated by the vein that throbs and pulses as I ready my hand. Anticipating the rush of seeing it forever stilled when his head drops to my feet.
    I jab the tip in, just enough to draw a small speck of blood. Eager to see it replaced by a solid, arcing gush, I press my lips together and push the blade harder. My gaze narrowed to this one single point on Cade’s flesh—mesmerized by the way the skin parts so easily—the blood flowing immediately. Caught between the thrill of the kill and the true horror of what I’m about to do next.
    It was different with his ancestors.
    The undead don’t bleed.
    When the body is pulsing with life, it feels much more like murder.
    I clear my mind of the thought. Replacing it with reminders of all the horrible things that he’s done … the fact that he’s not entirely human … that his soul is pure evil …
    His fingers catch at my wrist, clutching hard as he pulls the knife free of his neck, leaving behind a wound that’s superficial at best. His touch surprisingly cool as he forces my hand to my side.
    “Don’t toy with me, Seeker.” He shoves his face against mine, allowing his blood to trickle onto my chest as he inhales my scent slowly, deeply, as though wanting to savor it. “No one likes a tease. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t done it before. Though I promise, you will learn some new tricks.”
    His fingers tug at the waistband of my jeans, determined to rid me of them. While the other hand ensures the athame stays far from his flesh.
    He’s freakishly strong.
    Stronger than I remember him being.
    But that doesn’t stop me from curling my leg around his.
    Doesn’t stop me from clutching him hard at the crook of his knee, as I drag his thigh forward, bringing it to rest between mine.
    Equally sickened and spurred by his small groan of pleasure, the way he grinds his hips against me, I summon every ounce of my strength to butt my chest hard against his while I continue to tug on his leg. Watching as he slips out from under me, plummeting backward, face filled with shock and rage when his head smacks hard against the dirt.
    I’m quick to pounce, not wasting a second before I plant my foot on his chest and return my blade to his neck.
    “ What the— ” He bucks wildly, furious at finding himself beneath me. His eyes morphing from their usual icy-blue to a deep glowing red, as he fights to shake free, rid himself of my hold. Then, forfeiting that, he begins creeping backward, purposely edging toward the spring.
    But I can’t let him get there.
    Can’t run the risk that the water will empower him, strengthen him, in the way it did me.
    I drop to my knees and grab hold of his jeans, tugging hard on his legs, jerking him the opposite way, as he continues to wrestle against me. Fighting and kicking, he snarls and bites like the beast that he is. Grinning in triumph when he swings a knee up and shoves it into my gut with such force, my body collapses in pain.
    Vaguely aware of Raven’s frantic croaks—the way Wind whips all around me—I gasp and wheeze in an effort to draw some air back into my lungs. All the while trying to veer out of Cade’s reach, though it’s too late for that.
    He’s already taken me by the waist.
    Already locked his arms around me.
    Already heaved me down until I’m clinched prone against him.
    Leaving me with no other choice but to fight to break free. Fight to keep hold of the athame by swinging it wildly—stabbing at anything within reach. But Cade’s too limber. Too quick. Easily dodging the blade, until I’m left gouging at air.
    And before I can stop it, he’s rolling me over until I’m trapped underneath him. His body pressed flush against mine, his face mere inches away, gazing upon me with a malevolent gleam in his eye.
    His fingers inch toward the knife, as I frantically arc my arms overhead. Tendons strained beyond reason, I switch the knife from hand to hand, desperate to stay one step ahead. Still,