Seeker (Riders #2)(65)

"Can you just slow down for a second?" Once again, he doesn't answer me. It's like he doesn't even hear me. "Wait." I grab his arm. "Gideon, what's-?"

When his blue eyes finally come to me, my legs lock and fear shoots down my spine.

They're the first things I fell for, his eyes. They're honest, soulful eyes. And they're beautiful. I've kissed his eyes. So the change I see in them now jars me.

I'm not looking at Gideon. I'm looking at someone, or something, with no soul.

I snatch my hand away.

"Go back," he repeats. "I have to find Marcus. He needs to learn a lesson."



       
         
       
        

A lesson?

He turns sharply, staring off into the dense trees for an instant, then he breaks into a run.

Behind me, toward the lake, comes a crackling noise. Shockingly loud.

Jode is probably back there, but something is horribly wrong. I make a split-second decision and follow Gideon-the thing that looks like him-chasing after him through the woods.

"Marcus!" he roars, his pace blistering, his prosthetic flashing in the morning light. "Where are you?"

The voice is different. Gritty and bent on violence. I don't know why I didn't catch that before.

He's running upslope. My thighs start to burn, but terror propels me. I stay right with him as we dodge branches and weave through trees. My gaze falls on the sword sheathed at his back. If I can take it away from him, he'll have no weapon. Less chance of hurting Marcus. I make a push, pulling out all the speed I have, and reach for it.

He whirls around and grabs my wrist so fast I nearly smash into him. His grip is like a vise, and I hear myself cry out.

"You can't stop us," he says.

Us?

Oh no.

Movement to my right draws my attention. Someone else is running through the trees. I recognize the deep red armor and sandy blond hair. The easy athleticism of his movements.

Gideon?

As he draws nearer, I see that it is him.

Another one of him.

"Marcus! Where are you?" His eyes pan the woods intently. Every bit as much on the hunt. He runs right past me and Gideon-no, the impostor holding my wrist-without a glance or a trace of recognition.

I whirl to the pounding of footsteps behind me.

Another figure. Gideon again. Also moving swiftly, hungrily.

"Look, Seeker." The Gideon in front of me smiles-a smile full of cruel intentions. "More than me."

A chill races down my spine at the words-words the Harrow spoke to me the first time I entered the Rift.

"Who are you? What are you?"

"A torment. A haunting." He releases my arm and turns to the sound of Marcus's voice.

Marcus is close, and he's heard the calls for him.

"I'm here!" he calls back. "Gideon! I'm here!"

"Marcus, no!" I yell, and instantly realize my mistake. Marcus will only come faster if he thinks I'm in trouble.

With single-minded focus, the impostor in front of me shoots off. I chase after him again, launching over twisting roots, the forest blurring by me.

This can't be real, can it? What are they going to do?

Moments later, with my lungs and legs burning, I arrive at a clearing.

Marcus stands at the center with the scythe planted at his side. All around him are doubles of Gideon. 

I count a dozen.

If he's stunned by the sight, Marcus doesn't show it. He casts a steady look around, seeming almost disinterested. Then his gaze stops on me and comprehension flares in his eyes. He knows that I'm real, at least.

"You think we're brothers, Marcus?" says one of the doubles. "Is that what you think? Well, we're not. You're not my blood. You're nothing like me. You're worthless."

Marcus doesn't move. Not a muscle. But the words inflict a blow that even I feel.

They step closer to Marcus like a pack of wolves, working together. Flames kindle on the swords, running along the blades and up over their arms.

I've never seen Gideon like this. Burning, without Riot.

"Stop!" I yell. They don't. Why did I even try?

As they draw close, ten feet away from Marcus, I bolt forward, pushing my legs to sprint hard. I don't know how to help, but I can't let this happen.

They see me coming. Two swords shoot out, crossing in front of me.

Much lower than hurdles.

I leap over them. As I land, my momentum sends me into Marcus, who catches me with his free arm.

"Marcus," I say, trying to catch my breath. "It's not Gideon."

"You gonna believe her?" asks one of them. "She doesn't care about you, either. No one does, Marcus. No one. Your parents didn't-that's for damn sure. None of your foster families did. Your coaches didn't care. I definitely don't care. You think I want you living at my house? You think I like seeing you freeloading off my mom? Looking at my sister? I've got plenty of friends, Marcus. I don't need you. And we sure as hell aren't family. You're a charity case. That's all you are. What's it going to take before you get it through your skull? You're worth nothing. You aren't worth the air you breathe."