Relief washes through me so fast, I feel a little lightheaded-- or that could partially be because I’m hungry.
Donovan runs one hand through his black, sleep tousled hair. “Witches rely too much on their magic anyway. There’s something to be said for being able to throw a good punch, and...” He releases a harsh breath. “And I’ve heard that learning self-defense helps some people feel more in control after they’ve been attacked. I know it isn’t the same thing you went through, but if it could help...”
“I’d like that,” I blurt, touched by his offer to help.
“Yeah?” he asks with a small twitch of his full lips.
“Yeah.” I smile back, then motion for us to start walking, dumping my now cold coffee onto the grass.
“We can start today, if you want. I do most of my training on the weekends,” he tells me as we walk side by side, close but not touching.
Our physical interactions are very different than the others. He doesn’t pat me on the head like Connor, offer comforting touches like Kaleb, or hang all over me like Nolan. Until last night, there was always purpose in every gesture. A hand guiding me through the halls to keep me from getting lost. A quick grab to keep me from falling on my face if I tripped. Maybe, the occasional brush of fingers when handing each other something. But nothing like last night, when I snapped out of the flashback, and he was holding my hand. Then there’s this morning, when I woke up half on top of him. I don’t know what to think. Was last night a fluke because he was worried or has our relationship evolved like the others?Ugh.Sometimes I feel like I’m starting to understand how this is all supposed to work, and other times, like now, I feel like I’m back to square one.
“Today’s fine,” I answer, working my mind back to the conversation at hand, and not how close we are but aren’t touching. “What kind of training do you do?”
“Pretty much you name it, and I probably do some form of it,” he answers with a shrug. “Weapons training. Hand-to-hand in a shit ton of different styles, both offensive and defensive. I do all of my endurance and strength training during the week since I can do that on my own.”
“On your own? Who do you do all the other stuff with?” I inquire. It didn’t occur to me that he’d need help.
He gives me an odd look. “All of the guys. Well, except for Felix because-- ghost. Nolan helps sometimes, but he’s pretty useless. He can fight and his quick reflexes can be a challenge, but he doesn’t take it too seriously. Figures his charm abilities will get him out of most things. Dumbass.”
“Even Kaleb?” I gasp. “He seems so anti-violence that I’m surprised he’d want to learn.”
Donovan doubles over and laughs. And laughs. And laughs some more. I’m about ready to stomp inside, when he finally gets ahold of himself.
“I’m sorry, it’s just...” he snorts, then wipes at his face. “Kaleb is against violence with humans and generally with other supes, but we’re training to fight and kill demons. He’s nephilim first. Yeah, his purpose is helping souls but demons don’t give a shit.” He shakes his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes. “Just wait, you’ll see. Man is a fucking beast with a longsword.”
“Swords?” I squeak.
He flashes me a look of concern. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah, swords are fine,” I reassure in kind of a blinking stupor, then shake myself out of it. “I mean, I’ve never dealt with swords in the past, so I’m good on that front. It’s more surprising, like I’ve somehow wandered into the middle ages.”
This earns me an amused grin. “Bullets don’t kill demons. It hurts and can slow them down, but what is always guaranteed is decapitation and...” he stutters to a stop.
“Fire. You can say it,” I finish sternly, crossing my arms, my coffee mug dangling from my fingertips. “Donovan, one of the things I like about you is that you’re blunt and don’t sugar-coat things for me. Please, don’t start now. I’m the same girl I was before you learned about all of my crap.”
Releasing a pent up breath, I look up at him-- which is another neck crick in the making. I’m used to being short, but this is ridiculous. “I need you to treat me the same as before. Don’t treat me like I’m broken... even if I am.”
Heavy grey clouds slowly roll across the sky, turning his bright blue-green eyes the color of a tropical pool tucked away in the depths of lush foliage on some forgotten island. The color all the more breathtaking in contrast to his rich olive complexion. He searches for the truth in my face before nodding in agreement.
“I get that,” he murmurs, the gravel in his voice making the words sound like a harsh declaration. “I’d be fucking pissed if people started treating me different because they found out about my past shit.”
He places one hand on my shoulder, the heat of his skin felt through my hoodie, and leans forward so that our gazes are even.Weareat the casual touching stage? Or does this count as purpose because he has his serious face on?
With sharp intensity, he draws me into his eyes and promises, “For the record, I think you’re the exact opposite of broken. Surviving leaves scars, and whether you can see them or not, you’ll feel them. Doesn’t make you broken.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience. Is it your family?” I whisper, both soothed and aching, because he’s put words to how I feel and quelled my fears.
He stands up straight and looks over at the blackened grass behind us. I feel colder when he stuffs his hands back into his jacket pockets.
“You know I’m an orphan,” he admits, pursing his lips and shifting his weight to one side, “and that my family died in a fire when I was eight. It wasn’t an accident. My parents, my older sister, and my older brother were tricked by the demons they were hunting and trapped inside an abandoned house. Fire is effective against demons but is pretty fucking deadly to nephilim too.”
Donovan glances over at me, then back to the spot. He sighs. “When I say orphan, I mean no extended family either. It’s literally just me; I’m the last of my line. If it weren’t for Kaleb’s family taking me in, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”
“Damn, fire has really screwed us all over,” I mutter with bitter sarcasm.
He grunts his agreement, his gaze looking like it’s lost in the past.
