“Care to explain what’s going on?” I ask. I fold my arms over my chest, noticing the cut up dress that’s barely clinging to me and the myriad of wires hanging off my skin. I rip them away, hating their familiar feel. I’ve spent so much of my life under similar circumstances and I need them off of me.
“Don’t,” Aamon starts, then stops.
“Why? What was all of this for?” I gesture to the machine beside me, then look down to see the IV in my arm, and rip that out too.
“Would you just fucking stop for a minute?” His lips are tight, his words forced. As if he’s trying to control his anger.
“Why don’t you worry a little less about what I’m doing and a little more about giving me some answers,” I shoot back. And despite how grateful I am to him for saving me, I can’t help the annoyance working its way into my tone.
There’s a fire between us, always burning, always igniting that urge to fight. And it feels wrong to try and suppress it.
He sighs, walking over to the dresser beside the bed and leaning against it so his back is to me. “You had Sterling worried sick, you know. Quinn too.”
I hum, amused that he’s not including himself on that list. Judging by how tense his body is, he wasn’t any better off than the rest of them.
“I’m serious,” he barks, as if he can read my thoughts. “You exploded in the garage, your power was so strong. Your hands shifted into black claws, your eyes shone brighter. You were pure animal instinct, Evangeline. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And you didn’t think to tell us something like that may happen?”
“I was trying to hold it back,” I say cautiously. “And I was doing a pretty good job, considering I’d gone so long without any treatment. The last thingI expected was to see . . . that wraith again.” I wince at the memory. “Who I thought was dead. I didn’t foresee it being an issue.”
He lets out a deep sigh, dropping his head into his hand leaning against the dresser. “I’m sorry,” he says at last. “I’d meant it to be a kind gesture. After all the trouble that fucking wraith had caused, I figured you’d want your revenge.” He pauses for a minute, chewing on his words. “I should have been more delicate about how I handled it.”
I mull over my response. “He deserved what he got,” I say at last. The last thing I saw was one of them ripping the wraith’s head from his shoulders. “But as you now know, it wasn’t just his actions that brought me here. My father banished me for exposing my power to those in the city. I attacked the wraith in self-defense, blacking out as I made my way home through the city and revealing my true form to anyone who saw me.” I shake my head, letting it fall into my hands.
All of this felt so heavy a few days ago, so impossibly monumental that I couldn’t share it with any of them. Now though, I can’t find the energy to care. My head feels fuzzy and full, and I’m having a hard time even thinking straight.
“But I’ve come to understand it was simply an excuse to get rid of me. To not have to deal with me or my power, or the stain I’ve left on his reputation.”
Aamon turns, brow furrowed. “Evangeline, you are not a stain.”
I laugh, the sound all wrong as it echoes through the room. “You don’t know my father, Aamon. The High Quarter Alpha having an Arcane-touched as a daughter? Let alone one that has no interest in the Watchers’ agenda and disagrees with nearly everything they stand for?” I lift my head, quirking an eyebrow towards him. “That is most definitely a stain.”
Aamon’s jaw hardens. He takes a tentative step forward, then another. And before I know it, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed. “You are not a stain,” he repeats, dropping his voice lower. “You didn’t choose this life, Evangeline. None of us did. We cannot help that the Arcane chose us. And while there’s little I can do to restore things between you and your father, I will ensure you never spend another day considering yourself so lowly.”
“Aamon, I—” But he cuts me off.
“I owe you a great debt.” His lips purse. “You must understand, we had no idea how to save you, no instruction manual for what to do when a Watcher becomes overpowered by the Arcane inside herself.”
I nod, sitting up a little straighter. “Aamon, you did nothing wrong.”
He scoffs, standing again and pacing the room. “You cannot speak on what you don’t know. Let me confess my sins and then you may condemn me.”
I shake my head, ready to argue, but he continues on:
“We had a theory. That Angel’s Trumpet would be the key to helping you heal. That if we could suppress the Arcane long enough for you to fight it, you’d be able to do what you’ve been doing and continue on as normal.”
My heart drops. Because aside from the fact that I know Angel’s Trumpet would be impossible for them to get their hands on, I also know that would never have worked.
“Aamon, Tamiel had me on so many different experimental treatments to suppress that magic. Treatments that took years to formulate. You never would have been able to mimic what she did perfectly. And even on my best week, the formula still wasn’t perfect.”
“But we had to try,” he bites out. “You were lost to us. You weren’t getting better. And we didn’t know what would happen if . . . if we did nothing.”
I reach out for him when he paces close enough for me to touch him. “Again, you did nothing wrong.”
He pulls his hand away, laughing through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand. The Angel’s Trumpet, it didn’t work.”
How they’d been able to find some within the ungoverned district, I couldn’t comprehend. I shake my head, a question on the tip of my tongue.
“But you got worse.A lotworse. There was no time to think of something else. We were losing you.” He’s pacing faster now, his voice rising as he runs his hands through his hair. “I promised myself, Angel. I promised myself I’d letyou die rather than making that decision for you. Because it’s not a matter of just turning you—but of binding you to me.” He stops, facing me at last. “But I’mweak. And when I saw you slipping away I just couldn’t . . .”
