“It would never work. You understand that, right? Not long-term. I’m just trying to make it easier for all of us,” I confess. “What do you see happening with all of us living here like one big family?” I snort, even though I secretly would love something like that. I wouldn’t have to give up my friends, wouldn’t have to worry about one of them finding Uncle or Aeson visiting me.
“It might be a little early to discuss the future now, but eventually, something like that,” Calix hedges.
“This is ridiculous.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m listening to you.”
Grim reaches for my arm when I turn to walk away from them. I look down at his hand, then up at him. He releases his hold immediately. “No one said it was going to be easy, but it’s got to be better than not even trying.” His eyes beseech me.
My forced resolve wavers, but then I look up at Gunnar and see his angry scowl. “Don’t you see? This only ends in heartache. And I’m not sure I could survive it.
I do walk away then. I need to make building my proverbial walls my number one priority. They seem to crash through them like they’re crumbling a sandcastle. “We’re not going anywhere, Dami, so get used to it.”
“Shut up,” Gunnar growls at Calix. I sense a shift and I slow my steps. “You can put that away, Death, it doesn’t scare me.”
“It should, Berserker. I’m older than the sands of time, yet you try my patience.” Grim’s voice is layered with many others. “Make her doubt us again, and I will seek her forgiveness after slaying you, rather than ask her permission.”
That shouldn’t send a tingle of heat and excitement through me, but I’ll be damned because it does. I don’t want him to kill Gunnar; that would actually make me mad—sad? I’m not sure, but I like that Grim is willing to do it for me. Good thing I’ve accepted I’m a twisted bitch; otherwise, that thought might just bother me if I hadn’t.
* * *
I’ve been mopingin my room for the last hour, and I’m not sure how I can come out without looking like an asshole. They’re still here, I can hear them moving around the house. It’s so stupid, but a big part of me is happy they didn’t leave. Maybe I’m the one with the emotional maturity of a thirteen-year-old.
This is probably the first time in my life I wish I needed to take a shit. It’s not like I have the excuse to go out there because I’m hungry. I stand up, but sit right back down on my bed again. If I go out there, I’ll seem weak.
I stand up again. Sitting in here makes me seem like I’m hiding, and that seems weak, too. I’m no closer to a decision now than I was a half hour ago.
Pounding on my door interrupts my warring thoughts. “What?” I shout through the closed door, angry I was startled, and still kind of pissy from earlier.
A throat clears and Gunnar’s smooth voice comes through the door clearly. “We’re going to discuss the witches. Would you care to join us?”
Now there’s an idea: a safe, neutral topic. I take a few steps closer to the door. “Shut up,” Gunnar hisses to one of the other guys. “Damiana?” he calls louder.
I feel as if this is a trick to get me out of my room, but that’s exactly what I want, too, so I’ll pretend to fall for it.
“Yeah…I’ll be down in a minute,” I yell back.
“See, was that so hard?” Calix goads Gunnar.
“It would be a lot easier if you would leave me the hell alone,” Gunnar grates. I snicker at their bickering. I wonder where Grim is and what happened after hearing him threaten Gunnar.
When I walk into the hall, I almost hiss like a cat. All the drapes are still open, and the sun is blaring through the windows. “Stupid ball of fire,” I curse, covering my eyes with my hand and dragging the heavy curtains closed as I pass them.
I make my way to the TV room. The guys are so damn loud that they’re easy enough to find. I plop down on one of the chairs, pretending we didn’t have a heavy argument a little while ago. If I ignore it, maybe they will too.
Grim is on the couch, and he looks slightly out of place, as if he doesn’t really know how to relax. He’s holding his back stiffly instead of leaning into the cushion. Calix comes in from the kitchen with a big bowl of something in his hands. I take a whiff of the air, and yummy, buttery goodness hits my nose, except I never think that butter smells like yummy goodness.
“What have you got?” I push myself up in the chair, trying to see inside the bowl.
“Popcorn.” Calix tips the bowl toward me, letting me see, and a fluffy, yellow kernel slips over the edge of the bowl. He reaches out with his other hand and snags it right out of the air before popping it into his mouth. I eye him and his catlike reflexes.
“Do you want some?” he asks, sounding curious. Popcorn has always been on my list of temptations, but just thinking about how violently ill I get when I eat has always been enough of a deterrent. Plus, I never kept it in the house.
“What’s it taste like?” I lick my lips.
“You’ve never tried it?” I shake my head in denial. Why is my mouth watering?
“Do you want to?” Calix comes a little closer. He digs into the bowl, searching, and then he brings out one kernel, pinched between his fingers.
“I don’t want to get sick.” I eye him and the popcorn. One bite probably wouldn’t hurt, right?
