CHAPTER 144— THE HUNTRESS AND THE ILLUSION
The Blackbird carved through the storm like a blade, thunder rolling on its tail. Storm, Jean, and Banshee sat in silence for most of the flight. The rain hammered the glass, lightning strobed over their faces.
Jean sat by the window, staring down at the Scottish highlands below. Grey mist. Green earth. The world looked fragile from here, like it could be swallowed whole.
Storm's voice broke the silence. Calm. Centered. "I can feel the air pressure shifting. The land is uneasy."
"Ororo, the land doesn't get uneasy," Banshee muttered, arms folded. "It's us that's uneasy."
Storm turned her head, one white brow lifting. "Then perhaps you should listen to the land more, Sean."
Jean almost smiled at their bickering, but it slipped too easily into the ache in her chest. Scott's face lingered in her mind. Except it wasn't always Scott's face anymore.
'Jason. Why do I keep seeing you?'
The thought came unbidden, like a thorn snagging her.
Then the world shifted.
One blink, and the rain was gone. The storm sky turned gold and blue, endless and warm. Her seat was no longer leather, but saddle. Her hands gripped reins, not harness. She gasped as a horse thundered beneath her.
Around her, others rode—hunters in medieval garb, lances gleaming, horns blowing. And beside her, smiling, steady, Jason Wyngarde. His eyes warm. His voice smooth as silk.
"There you are, my dear," he said, like he'd always been there. "Riding at my side, where you belong."
Jean's breath caught. Her heart stumbled in her chest. She knew this was wrong. She knew. But her body leaned toward him like it had been waiting years.
"I—Jason?"
His smile widened. "Who else, my love?"
The hunt pressed on. Hounds barked. The ground shook. Ahead, a deer bounded through the woods, eyes wide with fear. Jason leaned forward, urging his horse faster. "The kill is yours, Jean. Take it!"
Something in her rebelled. Her fingers trembled around the reins. "I… don't…"
Jason looked back at her, laughing. "Don't tell me you've grown soft? It was your idea, after all—putting horns on men to make the hunt more thrilling."
Her stomach lurched. The deer ahead faltered—and in a blink, it wasn't a deer. It was a man, staggering, antlers strapped to his skull, eyes wide with horror.
"No—!"
Her scream tore the illusion apart. The golden sky shattered, the thunder roared back in. She was in the Blackbird again, breath ragged, hands clutching at nothing.
"Jean!" Storm's hand gripped her shoulder. Concern deep and steady. "What happened?"
Jean's face was pale. Her hands shook. She forced herself to speak, but her voice was brittle. "I… saw him. Jason. And I almost—"
Her words cut off as her eyes dropped to the land below. Another body lay sprawled at the edge of a field, shriveled, mummified. A farmer, dead mid-step, tools still clutched in his hands.
Jean pressed a fist to her mouth, sick rising in her throat.
'God, what's happening to me? I was ready to kill. I wanted to.'
Banshee leaned forward, squinting through the window. "Storm, bring us down. Now."
Storm's jaw set as she angled the Blackbird toward the ground. But her eyes never left Jean's pale, trembling face.
And Jean… Jean couldn't shake the warmth in her chest when she thought of Jason's smile.
'Why does it feel more real than Scott's touch?'