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He was going to die. Oh, God, Martyn was going to die.
There were four vampires on his tail, none of them intent on letting up or letting him go free. Not even Shelby, arguably the most merciful, was holding back.
He could only suppose that it was fair, in the still-functional, still-rational corners of his mind. He'd done nothing but torment all four of them—in his defense, Scott and Owen are batshit fucking crazy.
The entire world, every bit of it that Martyn has experienced, all of his lies, cheats, and stealing tricks, shrunk to this single pinprick: run run run run one foot in front of the other. If the crickets were chirping, he couldn't hear them. If the fireflies were out, he hadn't noticed.
The vampires behind him were jeering and laughing, taunting him as they sprinted after him with frightening ease.
You can do this, something in the back of his mind urged, something that sounded so like him and yet so different. You've done it before. Safer ground, safer water.
Safer water. The phrase lodged itself in his head like a divine light.
The castle was not where he intended to go, but all that mattered was that he was further. He could gain ground here. Some part of him knew it for sure, knew it like he knew Ren's wide smiles, Pearl’s quick hands, and Cleo’s fierce eyes.
Instead of crossing the bridge, as the vampires were clearly expecting, Martyn darted down the steep hill, not a care in the world for the scuffing of his boots and the slight scrapes at the back of his legs. Safer water.
It was on instinct, almost, that the second he hit the muddy riverbank, he jumped into the water like a man possessed. The coven seemed quite prepared to follow, but Scott yelled something sharp that Martyn didn't quite process, and they stopped right at the edge of the water.
It was only then that Martyn realized he wasn't sinking.
The water did not pull down on his soaked clothes and heavy body, rather, pushed him up. It kept him afloat like a friend and not a force of nature. Coral, some distant, deep part of him sung, tugging at his gut. Water. This is our territory.
He had no idea what the Hell that meant or why it felt so correct, but he knew damn well it was right, and he would take what he could get.
The water around him swirled unnaturally, matching the building adrenaline that he could feel in his own twitching fingertips, circling like a predator around its prey. It brought to mind the color red, the dripping of blood and the color of rubies in a stolen crown.
That insane, red-soaked, coral-growing, water-loving corner of his brain insisted that despite his being vastly outnumbered, and his definite weakness in comparison to a coven of powerful vampires, he had the upper hand, and for whatever reason, be it confidence or stupidity, Martyn was inclined to believe it.
The coven, after few moments, seemed more ready to resume their business in attempting to tear Martyn's throat out. Just when Pyro lunged, their claws outstretched, the adrenaline continued to mount, the water following in its steps, and—
Pyro flew backward when he hit a wall of pure, rushing river water.
The backlash of the wave toppled the entire coven, sending them shivering and coughing as best as vampires could, on their knees in the muddy riverbank. Owen's incredulous, furious gaze flicked up from the mud and focused in on his original target with unadulterated rage.
Keep it up, Martyn urged himself, determined not to let his apparent new defense fall. The water, whether part of him or simply listening to him, happily obeyed, swishing around him in a violent whirlpool, tossing up new water to soak Shelby and Scott and keep Owen from even daring to attempt the same move that Pyro had.
It brought a smile to his face, how exhilarating it felt. Pyro stared at him like the expression was a mark of total insanity. Martyn stared back like the insanity made him more dangerous, which of course it did.
He almost wanted to taunt them, to get them while they're down, but his throat was too tired. Instead, he opted to let the water carry him to the other side of the bank. He'd have to take the long way around, but it would be worth it.
Martyn never strayed too far from the water.
The bloody, coral-crowned winner inside of him smiled at his brand-new victory.
Safer water, they thought together.
Shelby had absolutely no idea what just happened.
They had been chasing Martyn, because he was close to where they had been speaking and was already hugely antagonizing them, when he'd suddenly veered off of the predicted course.
The hunter's instinct in Shelby told her that that made sense. Martyn was prey trying to confuse the predator. It was a pity that he was too slow to outpace them—well, until he practically jumped down the cliff by the bridge and directly into the river.
What the hell, Shelby had thought, when they caught sight of his form in the murky water, not struggling at all. And then, Water doesn't move like that.
He was floating. Not just treading water, not swimming, Martyn was floating entirely freely, not an ounce of effort put in on his part. The smaller, gentler ripples and waves lapped at the shore as if hungry.
Shelby stopped when Scott held out a hand. She told herself it was just listening to her friend. They ignored that it might have been fear.
Martyn's hair was drier than it should have been, and the rushing water conveniently avoided him as if he were the eye of a storm and the rest of them were hopeless not to be swept up in it.
After a few moments, nothing happened. Shelby convinced themselves that it was a coincidence, the way the water acted, the way Martyn relaxed into it like a second skin, like a part of him. She was ready to follow when Pyro lunged, but then something impossible happened.
A wave lanced up in front of Martyn like a shield, forceful and harsh in its sharp warning. It didn't stop at throwing Pyro back onto the bank—it washed over the mud, too large for Shelby or Owen or even Scott to handle, and knocked all four of them over like bowling pins.
When they had her bearings, Shelby frantically looked up for any sight of Martyn.
She saw him—being carried by the river to the other side, pushing himself up onto the ground and walking away like nothing had ever happened, his clothes seemingly already dry. They were bewildered, caught off guard, confused. Nobody could break the silence, not until Scott dared to shatter it by somehow quietly saying,
"I haven't seen that side of Martyn's soul in a long, long time."