“How much power do you sense from me?” I ask.
David beams. “Little to none. If you walked past me on the street, I’d assume you just came out of shadow form.”
That’s music to my ears.
“The tonic has essentially locked your power up inside you, but it’s still there,” Valeria explains. “You should be able to experience almost your full range of emotion without issue, but any extreme peaks will burst the dam.”
David and I take three laps of the room before I’m so tired that I need to sit and rest.
“And there are no long-term side effects?” I ask. I should’ve asked this beforehand.
David shakes his head. “No.”
“Wonderful,” I say. “I’ll need a few days to practice moving around and existing without my power.”
“We assumed as much.” Valeria checks the time, then turns toward David. “I need to leave. Can you handle making Cassia angry?”
What the fuck does that mean? Valeria’s gone before I get the opportunity to ask.
David stalks toward me, a shit-eating grin taking over his features. “We need to peak your anger so you burn through the tonic. I have a few ideas, little sister.”
Chapter Four
CASSIA
THE NEXT SEVERAL days are some of the most exhausting ones I’ve ever experienced.
I meet with David or Valeria every morning, drink the ungodly toxic sludge, then spend the next several hours waddling around the cabin like a newborn fawn. I don’t know how to operate without power fueling my body. It’s humiliating and degrading, and I hate every second of it.
I’m doing this for Luca, though. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him—for revenge.
“Look at you go,” David taunts.
He’s lounging on a sun chair in a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses, and I fantasize about slitting his throat as I restart my exercises. I’ve learned to do all the basic movements: running, jumping, and even skipping. Now I’m working on combining them.
It’s so much more complicated than I ever imagined.
David’s observing with a wide grin, happy to watch me learn how to do a running jump. I got about three inches off the ground in my last attempt, which I’m going to consider a victory. My toes didn’t leave the ground the first time I tried.
I make another attempt, my muscles burning with the effort.
David whistles. “That was a good one.”
“Shut up.”
I wipe the sweat off my forehead and try again. And again. And again.
It’s no wonder that human children are considered so useless. My siblings and I were already up and running around by the age at which most humans are learning to crawl. Mom tells stories about how overwhelming it was, how terrifying the sheer speed of our physical development was.
After experiencing firsthand how hard it is to live life with a human’s strength, I understand. This shit is hard.
“You should drink some of the tonic,” I tell David.
He frowns, peering at me over the rim of his glasses. “No, thanks.”
That’s probably for the best. I may be physically stronger than my siblings, but they each have their own strengths. David is sneaky and hard to catch. If he took the tonic, I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t take advantage of his weakness.
I’d shave off all his precious hair or run his fingernails over cement until the shiny surface is scratched up and dull. David’s vain—it comes with being an incubus—and I’ll destroy every part of him he loves most.
