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“They were both the same demon. In other forms, it can occupy many vessels, appear as many different forms. But in its real form, it can only be one. We call them a Splitter Demon. I didn’t know that one’s name. But it wasn’t Legion.”
“Legion?”
He nods, looking down at his hands. “Legion is notorious. Has been since the dawn of time. You remember the Bible?” I give him a look that says, are you kidding me? He ignores it. “Jesus came across a possessed man and was set to exorcise him. He can only do this when he knows the demon’s name—names have true power. And the demon said ‘My name is Legion. And we are many.’”
I can’t help but shudder. “And did he exorcise them? Sorry, my Bible studies are a bit weak—there’s a lot to remember in that book.” My dad would legit cry if he could hear me right now.
“He drove the demons out into a herd of pigs nearby that ran into the lake and drowned. But that was never the end of Legion. The demons come back. They always do. It might take centuries. But they always come back. And Legion, being composed of an army of them, is one of the worst.”
I swallow uneasily. “How can there be worse than what I saw today?”
He flashes me a sour smile. “There is always worse. Today, I did what I can do. But if that were Legion, it wouldn’t be so easy. An army of evil, an army of many, has far more strength than I do.”
“So let me get this straight,” I tell him. “You the other day said that I had to fight these demons. Do you mean, fight them like you? Because, I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’m doing hand-to-hand combat with them. I don’t even know how to throw a proper punch without hurting myself and I hate breaking my nails.”
“There are different ways to fight against them,” he says. “And freezing them, dispelling them, banishing them, is one. No one expects you to wrestle. Though I can’t promise you won’t break a nail, princess.”
His lips twist into a small smile at that. Oh my god, is he actually making fun of me?
I give him a dry look. “Sorry if I’m not laughing. I nearly fucking died . . .” I trail off, suddenly overwhelmed by throat-pinching panic. I suck in a breath, trying to get it in my lungs, the room starting to spin.
Jay is suddenly beside me on the bed, his large mass squeezed between me and the edge, taking my hands in his. “Ada, Ada. Deep breaths.” His voice is so calming, so commanding, I have no choice but to obey. It’s like my body wants to respond to him without my permission.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder and the warmth from his thermal shirt floods through to mine. It should be awkward, maybe even a bit uncomfortable, being in such close proximity to him. But honestly, it’s anything but. Even though he’s just holding my hand, it feels like it’s something he should do. Like it’s right.
I try not to turn my head even an inch to look at him, far too conscious of how close his face is to mine. I know he’s studying me, as he does, trying to figure me out. He may be my Jacob, but he’s still a rookie, still doesn’t know me no matter how long he’s been watching. I get this feeling that he wants to know, that I’m some puzzle for him to solve, as well as a student to teach and a girl to protect.
The thing is, I want him to solve me. Give me answers to who I am and why I’m this way. Anything other than the fact that it just is what it is.
“Feel better?” he murmurs, giving my hand a firm squeeze.
And I do. My breathing has returned to normal. The room has stopped tilting on its axis. But it doesn’t bury the fear, nor the pain. I’m not sure how far I’d have to shove that shit down to never feel it.
He lets go of my hand and mine feels cold without his skin.
“You’re going to be all right,” he says, his voice low and rough and reaching deep within.
“How?” I manage to ask. “After everything, how?” I swallow, licking my lips and finally have the nerve to turn my head toward his.
His eyes peer into mine, searching, his full lips terribly close. He doesn’t move back—I’m pretty sure he has no notion of personal space.
“You told your friend, didn’t you?” he asks softly.
My eyes drop to his lips. I quickly whisk them upwards. “Amy?”
He waits for me to go on.
I bite my lip and look away, the pain too fresh. “Yeah. How could you tell?”
“Because you’re not just scared. You’re sad.”
