“New one,” he confirms. “Kaleb collected our notes on anything that seemed useful in helping Felix, so I put back the last haul while you were asleep. Grabbed a bunch of new ones and put them in my truck. Hopefully, Mildred won’t notice.”
“She won’t. It’s been slow going cataloguing everything. I doubt she’ll miss them,” I promise, while losing the battle against fidgeting. “Thank you, by the way. I know you aren’t as enthusiastic about this plan. It means a lot that you’re helping us research anyway.”
He looks up at me with a serious expression. “I want Felix back. I’ve always wanted him back.” Haunted shadows shift across his vivid blue-green eyes, and the gravel in his voice runs heavy. “But it needs to be right. I can’t let…he has to be…” He releases a frustrated grunt as he tries to find the right words, since discussing heartfelt things is not his strong suit. “Look, if all this research means that everything works out like it’s supposed to, then I’m in.” Returning to his normal self, he flippantly adds, “Besides, you have the hard job. Figuring out how to do the spell without passing out.”
I groan and tug on the sleeves of my red hoodie. “I plan to talk about the fainting with my aunt tonight. It doesn’t make sense,” I mumble with a frown. “I’m supposed to be goddess level power, but I’m betting the old spirit witches weren’t passing out when using their magic. At least I haven’t collapsed during magic lessons. It’s embarrassing enough how far behind I am compared to everyone else.”
“When have you cared what anyone thinks?” Donovan counters, his gaze so intense goosebumps ripple down my skin. “Fuck them. It’s bad enough you’re stuck with the coven every Sunday. Don’t let them get into your head. They’re not good enough for you. Not the other way around.”
I nod, shaken by his conviction. My heart does a familiar, painful thump. As embarrassing as his teasing was earlier, it’s moments like this that make it hard for me to ignore my feelings for him. He’s brazen, temperamental, and sometimes obnoxious, but it comes from a place of certainty within himself. He doesn’t apologize for who and what he is. Good or bad. That same certainty shines in his eyes when he looks at me, and I want to be the person he sees. I want to be fearless. He makes me want to keep fighting, even when I feel like I’m constantly failing.
Needing to tell him what he means to me, but unsure how to articulate it, I fumble awkwardly when I say, “Thank you for…I don’t know. What I mean is…” I stare down at the blue comforter on my bed, hoping the lack of eye contact will help me express full sentences. “It’s just…I feel like I’m freaking out constantly, and you…you keep believing in me. You don’t treat me like some colossal head case that requires kid gloves—and possibly padded walls.”
“You give me way too much credit, Angel,” he murmurs. Underneath my lashes, I watch as he sits up and drops his feet to the floor. “All of us are fucked up in our own ways. Difference is when we lose our shit, nothing explodes.”
“So what you’re saying is, all that stands between you and wiping a small mansion off the face of the earth is spirit witch powers?” I question sarcastically, picking at the blanket.
Donovan gets up and moves around the bed so he can sit next to me. He waits for me to look up at him before he answers, “What I’m saying is that less than a month ago, I faced some of my own demons—”
“Literally,” I interject, and immediately regret interrupting.
He laughs without humor. “Yeah, literally. And I… Let’s leave it at more got fucked up than my wing and the cut across my stomach.”
I realize that because of all the insanity around this quest to bring Felix back to life, I never followed up with what happened here that night while I was off vaporizing a load of trees—and Connor’s father. They told me the basics, but I now understand there are some specifics that have deeply wounded the people I love.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly, my fingers less than an inch from the hand he has gripping the side of the bed.
“No, I don’t,” he answers, his hand flexing.
My fingers slowly move closer until their tips brush over his pinkie. “Should you talk about it?”
“Probably,” he murmurs, his gaze focused at the small spots where we touch. Somehow, this barely there connection feels more intimate than when I was spread across his chest. After a moment, he pulls away and stands up. Clearing his throat, he states, “You’re going to have to wait for another day—and a lot more alcohol—for me to spill my guts.”
“Legal drinking age is twenty-one,” I counter, crossing my arms and trying to appear unaffected.
“And what the cops don’t know won’t hurt me,” he replies, shifting his weight to one side in his own unaffected stance. Taking in my unimpressed stare, he adds, “Come on. How about I give you something else you want?”
Despite my best efforts, I feel my eyes widen and my stomach does a nosedive off of sanity cliff. It spirals into a free fall, while my mind tries not to conjure any of the more illicit details of my dreams.
That irritating smirk spreads across his lips. “I was thinking more in line with allowing you a little revenge by training out in the yard, but if you have other ideas…”
“Nope. Punching you repeatedly sounds exactly like what I want to do right now,” I announce with a glare, annoyed with how flustered his flirting is making me.
He’s always joked about how irresistibly attractive he is, but this blatant suggestion of us becoming more physical is new, even if it’s under the guise that I’m really the one initiating it.Is this more teasing or, under his smarminess, is he being serious?
The devil that sits on my shoulder wants me to call his bluff, change my mind, and accept his offer, wanting to see if he backpedals or doubles down. Since I have enough boy troubles and I’m not prepared if he calls my bluff right back, I ignore it.
Instead, I do a shooing motion with my hand and command, “Out. I need to change.”
“Don’t forget your gloves,” Donovan reminds me.
His smirk doesn’t go away when he turns to leave. As he walks away, I try not to acknowledge how good his ass looks in his jeans.
I’m so freakin’ screwed. And not in a fun way!
∞∞∞
It’s another exceptionally grey day outside, making it difficult to know what time it is other than ‘not night.’ Everything is a little on the wet side, the grass giving under my tennis shoes as I walk around the house to meet Donovan in the yard.
