Stolen Sign

Chapter 5

~ Sylas ~

Jaxon Spellwright stands in my doorway with a knife in his hand. I take a step back, but my body isn't responding to my brain's commands, and my legs feel like jelly. Demonstrating my excellent survival abilities, I trip and fall.

"I guess you know why I'm here," he says, looking down at me.

He enters my room and shuts the door at his back. I scramble away across the floor, but my room is tiny and there's nowhere to go. The wall stops my progress and I end up trapped between my desk and a chest of drawers. Dead end—literally.

Jaxon advances, knife held loosely in his left hand and a cold, mask-like expression—the look of a killer, I think—on his face. At least he's handsome, as his face is the last thing I'm likely to see.

As he nears, my thoughts swirl and collide like terror-stricken birds in a small cage, and then flee, leaving only one thought behind.

Lyssa.

I can't do this to her.

"Wait, wait—please," I hold up my hands, palms out, my voice almost soundless with fear and strain. "Please—my sister."

Jaxon stops, a pace away from me, and looks down from beneath thick, even brows. His features are strong but well-balanced, regular enough to be almost pretty, in a masculine way.

"Your sister?"

His voice is deep and a bit rough—not like his brother's slimy, suave accents at all.

I take as deep a breath as I can past the fear constricting my lungs and force my lips to form coherent sounds.

"Please—don't let my sister find me. I'll go with you—anywhere you want—and I won't fight you. Just...not here." 

He squints and rubs the back of his head with one hand. "Your sister... did she put you up to this?"

"What?" My eyes go wide and my heart nearly stops. "No! Lyssa has nothing to do with anything!"

"Then why don't you want her to find you?"

"Because she's just a kid!" I gasp. "And she's been through enough shit in her life. The last thing she needs is to find me dead!"

He stares at me, and then his tense features relax with understanding.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he says. "This knife is my Sign, and it led me to you. Give me the Relic, and I'm gone."

He tucks the little knife into the wide, military-style belt he wears at his hips and takes a step back, holding out his hand.

Somehow, this is worse.

Of course he doesn't know the Relic is now my Sign—how could he? It's supposed to be impossible. Once he does, he'll understand my fear, and that the only way he's getting it back is if I'm dead.

A shaky laugh escapes my lips, a sort of high-pitched, unhealthy sound, and I rest my head against the wall at my back, giving up.

"I can't give it back," I say wearily, feeling suddenly drained of strength.

"Why?" Jaxon asks, crossing thickly muscled arms over his broad chest as a frown dips the corners of his mouth. "You can't have sold it already. My Sign led me here. That means the Relic's here."

I shake my head. "I didn't mean to take it," I whisper, pulling the pen from where I'd tucked it in my sleeve. "It was an accident."

I hold it out to show him, and confusion once more clouds his face.