(ON HOLD) Spellbound (BxB)

Chapter 18 | Possessive

Asher had never been so sure of death as the moment he dangled there, clutching at a root extruded from the ledge of the cliff. The sky was full of stars—fuller than he'd ever seen it before, and in a way it seemed to mock him. What a pretty night. What a magical night. Too bad you're dying.

The waters below were cruel. Hysterical. Homicidal. They washed in and out with furious spittle, each new thrust cracking against the bony rocks of the cove, regurgitating foamy wash over the sand and stone. Mist found its way into Asher's shoes, his socks icy and damp even though he dangled a hundred feet above the highest wave.

She was there, below. Clinging to the stony wall, waiting for him to fall. Waiting for his grip to give so he could crash into the sea. So she could take him away beneath the waters.

Red hair, wicked smile, thorny teeth white with moonlight.

The root slacked and he clutched desperately at the thicker bits of it. He was gonna die. He was gonna die and he hadn't spoken to his father in days. Or Aspen. Or Courtney. Or—

A hand wrapped his wrist. It caught his bracelet and snapped the string—the beads hurling into the waters. He saw not the shadowed face it belonged to. He only felt the strength in the large, clammy arm as it heaved him up, scraping him against abrasive stone.

Jack. He could sense him in an indescribable way. It was warmth—a strange, familiar Jack kind of feeling. He clutched at the arm until he could reach the ledge. Until he could shove himself up, claws in the grass and dirt. The arms pulled and pulled, dragging him up by the shirt, then the waist of his pants, then—

It wasn't Jack.

Ethan. Jessy? No, Ethan. His eyes were wide and round and his face peppered in pink from the struggle. He huffed a labored breath and looked back over his shoulder.

Ryan was on the ground, arms pinned beneath Jack's knees. He too, was looking exhausted and terrified, ensuring a glance in Asher's direction just long enough to make sure he was alive. Aspen was there too, drawing a large circle around his splayed body with a stick half her size. Beside her, Josephine read from a small book in her hands, her hair a billowing blanket of golden threads, cast wildly over a black button-up coat.

Ryan thrashed beneath Jackal's knees.

"Who are you?" Jackal was shouting at him, fists bunched at the collar of Ryan's shirt. "Answer me!"

No answer. Ryan smiled. Then Ryan convulsed. Josephine raised her voice and read on.

"Tell me who you are!" Jackal shouted again, and when Ryan gave no reply, he dropped the fists from his shirt and looked to Aspen who now held a lit candle in her hand. She knelt to the ground and placed the tiny tealight candle on his forehead. All at once, he stopped moving, Josephine stopped reading, and the flame on the candle went still. Still. Then it went out.

Ryan was asleep—or dead, or something in between. Everyone seemed to breathe, largely and collectively.

Asher hardly felt the large hand sitting on his shoulder until Ethan was giving him a shake. "You okay, man? He hurt you?"

"Ash," Aspen was calling.

Asher couldn't keep up with the sounds. The voices. The words.

His heart pulled. Jackal was standing in front of him, looking down. Beginning to crouch.

Asher's heart pulled the other way.

He shoved himself to his feet and staggered away from them all, his heart beating so wildly in his chest it was painful. What had just happened? Ryan—