The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Thirteen

“Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence.” -George Washington

[ C H A P T E R   T H I R T E E N ]

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The object moves and I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun. My face breaks out in a cold sweat. Tempest sits bolt upright and I have to nip my lip to bite back a scream. Tempest, don’t! I warn, pleading with her to remain still. Please. She backs down a little, but her body is as taut as a bowstring.

“Who are you?” asks my assailant. The voice is female, but her features are difficult to make out. “Don’t even think about giving fake names, either.”

“I’m Aislinn. Aislinn Blake.” My lips tremble as I speak but somehow I manage to keep my tone steady. “Over there is Tempest Haverford.”

“Are you Winged?”

“Wh–”

“Are. You. Winged?” the woman repeats. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes! Yes, we’re Winged!” Tempest blurts out, unable to watch me go through such an ordeal by myself. “What do you want?!”

I take advantage of the distraction and focus my powers on the gun. It flies out of the woman’s grasp and smashes against a tree trunk. Then I buck her off and pin her arms to the ground with my mind. “Well, isn’t this ironic,” I sneer, clambering out of my sleeping bag and drilling her with my infamous icy gaze. I still can’t see her clearly, which is very peculiar. “I think you have some explaining to do as well.”

The girl smirks and blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You’re really something, kid.”

“I know.” I unsheathe my knife and tower over her. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

She doesn’t appear to be the least bit intimidated. “My name is Logan Wilde. This is my turf and… well, you were trespassing. I had to make sure you weren’t bad people.” A faint buzzing noise fills the air for several seconds before I can finally discern her appearance. Her scarlet hair is the same length as mine. Strands of dark red and orange are scattered around like tongues of flame, fading to greenish-brown at the tips. A clump of aberrant tresses partially covers her caramel-colored eyes. Tanned olive skin stretches over beautifully toned muscles. Her outfit consists of a black thermal V-neck and yoga pants, as well as a pair of dangerous-looking combat boots. Intricate henna adorns her hands.

This girl could quite possibly kick my ass.

“How old are you?” Tempest inquires.

“Seventeen,” Logan replies. “You?”

“Fourteen. Aislinn is fifteen.”

Logan’s lips peel back in a lopsided grin. “Well, I guess we’re on the same side. Respect your elders and let me up, will you?”

I shrug my shoulders and release my hold on her. But the second I do, POW! She springs to her feet and pops me in the jaw, sending me sprawling back into a tree. Then she lunges and wraps her fingers around my throat before I can defend myself.

“Tempest,” I croak, attempting to force Logan away. Tempest blitzes forward and swings her fist at the girl, but she’s gone before the attack connects. We scan our surroundings on high alert for several seconds before I spot Logan’s fiery mane blazing above me. She waves down from her branch and scoffs at our foolishness.

“Runaway rule number one!” she hollers. “Never trust anyone until you are absolutely certain they aren’t going to hurt you!”

“How did you get up there so fast?” I ask.