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“Use you for what?” He asked, his voice velvet and dangerous, “What is my motive? Please, enlighten me.” I didn’t appreciate being spoken down to, as if I knew nothing.
“If you’re not using me to take over the throne, then you’re just going to hand me over to Ash Nevra yourself.” I retorted. He cocked an eyebrow.
“You have me all figured out, don’t you?” He seemed to have caught himself and realized that he had let his mask slip. He schooled his features and slid his hands into his pockets before allowing himself to drift closer to me, that dangerous smile returning to his lips.
“Stay away from me,” I seethed, inching closer to my mother’s sleeping form. He ignored me and pressed closer, the scent of cinnamon wrapped around me as my aura bucked against the magick of the triquetra . It felt as if my power were straining against the stifling energy of the charm, trying to get to him.
“I am not here to attack you,” he said, though he continued moving toward me, forcing me to step further back. “You think that charm will protect you from your own kind? It won't. Was I not able to touch you the other night? Just to make a point?”
He had me there. I glanced down at the already healed cut on my arm where he had sliced me to prove that I was now bound to Rycon.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, looking up at him. He was so close I could almost feel his breath on my cheek.
“I want you to stop pretending you are something that you are not,” He was almost whispering now.
I could feel it. The press of memories that he was trying to show me. The triquetra . It was burning. Somewhere in the darkness, I could hear a baby crying.
I will teach you to move planets,
how to reorder the stars,
to become nighttime itself,
how to speak the language of the dead
I will lay your adversaries at your feet.
37
“Wake up.” Someone was shaking me. ‘Wake up for fucksakes, wake UP!” Coldness poured over my entire body, and I shot out of bed, drenched. Rycon stood over me in my bedroom, bellowing with laughter, holding an empty glass. I swung at him clumsily, gasping for air. He dodged and continued laughing.
“You should see your face!” He cried, doubling over and holding his stomach as he laughed.
I glowered at him, my hair dripping wet. My rage seething hot. I swear the water he had dumped on me was steaming off of my body. How did I get to bed? I had fallen asleep downstairs. I looked down at myself. Yup, still in my filthy clothes from the dirt fight with Clair. I shook my head. Why could I taste cinnamon? I couldn’t remember anything.
“Ok Kitten, get into your sorry excuse for workout clothes. We’re going for a run.”
I was still sputtering mad. “GET OUT!” I screamed at him and chased him out of my room, slamming the door behind him. I could hear him laughing downstairs as I tried to get my bearings. I sat on the bed, my hands on my knees and my head bowed until I heard the bubble and hiss of the coffee machine, followed by the lilting scent of heaven’s nectar brewing.
I felt like something important had happened. I just couldn't remember it. It danced in the periphery of my mind, slightly out of reach. I rolled my head back into my shoulders and inhaled. I would get it back, whatever it was.
I pulled on the same outfit as the day before and headed downstairs. Rycon handed me a coffee, and I eyed him suspiciously.
“You’re being...weird,” I said skeptically, glancing down at my cup. “Do I need to check this for poison?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be lewd. I would just slit your throat if I wanted you dead.”
I took a sip and watched him incredulously. We hadn’t separated on amazing terms the night before. I didn’t want to talk about it, and thankfully he seemed pretty into the idea of burying his feelings about it as well. He shrugged and sipped his own coffee. He was wearing black joggers, running shoes, and a white t-shirt.
“Nice shoes,” I said, eyeing the expensive-looking footwear, my own hand-me-down tennis shoes flashing in the back of my mind.
“About that. You can't wear those to run.” Rycon said, reading my thoughts. I quickly realized that the uncomfortable thought-sharing went both ways with him now.
“I bought you some new shoes.” I choked on my coffee at the sheer unexpectedness of the statement. Was this his weird attempt at an apology?
“Stop. That’s...nice...of you.”
“Running isn’t just pick up and go.” He stated, oblivious to the fact that buying me footwear was weirding me out. “People make that mistake all the time. You can’t just start running in the spring after doing nothing all winter and be shocked when you suddenly get shin splints. You need to take it slow and wear the proper footwear. I could sprint in combat boots and be fine, but your little human-ass legs will need some proper support. So here.”
