Page 36 of Demon Touched

“Well, they say the blade’s effectiveness varies depending on your natural skill with second sight.”

That’s worrying. Garion seemed convinced the sword would work for me, but what if it doesn’t? What if my ephilium blood is too diluted for that?

“But no matter how skilled you are,” Rowan continues, “you need an opponent. Otherwise, there’s nothing for it to predict, except your own movements.”

It’s a little embarrassing to put my mediocre sword fighting skills on display in front of Rowan, but he takes it easy on me. Plus, Syrus’s advice is fresh in my mind. When I use something he taught me just ten minutes ago, I feel a little wave of approval peek out beneath the demon lord’s silent irritation.

It also helps that Rowan is right. A minute or two into sparring with him, I start to feel Swiftwing responding to me. It materializes as a little tug in the right direction every now and again—subtle enough that you could mistake it for instinct in the moment—giving me some notion of where my opponent will strike next and pushing me to block it. It guides me into better positioning, helping me figure out how to angle my body, how to take a blow. It turns out that my knife fighting skills can help here too. Which all combined mean I might not be any match for Rowan if he was really putting his back into it, but I’m not a total disaster either.

“Wait, can you show me that again?” I say, stopping Rowan mid-spar. “That was some fancy footwork.”

He grins, flattered, and repeats the move. When I don’t quite get it the first time, he crouches by my feet and guides my legs into place.

This is a step too far for Syrus, his hackles rising.

“You’re doing this just to spite me, aren’t you?” he snaps, practically bouncing off the walls of my mind.

“Not everything is about you,” I shoot back, but I don’t encourage Rowan to touch me again. Not that I need Syrus’s permission—it just doesn’t feel right. Not with him there.

As we continue to spar, Syrus slips out of my mind, apparently deciding he doesn’t want to watch this.

Rowan and I practice until my muscles ache and my shoulders feel like they’re on fire. When I go to bed that evening, it takes me a while to fall asleep I’m so sore. Eventually I do, only to dream of Syrus and wake abruptly in the night.

But he’s not there with me—hasn’t snuck into my mind. I’m alone. I’m doing this to myself.

I meant what I said about not everything being about him though. Sometimes it’s about power. Sometimes it’s about freedom. And sometimes, okay, they’re both about being able to separate myself out from the man who haunts my dreams when I’m asleep and stalks my mind when I’m awake.

Except the next morning when I wake up, I find a very different kind of companion that shouldn’t be there. Two of them, in fact: a pair of hard, tender ridges, right between my shoulder blades.

Chapter 12

Leah

“Can we talk?” I corner Filippa outside after breakfast. I know she’s still upset with me, but I can’t keep this to myself.

Her shoulders drop. “I don’t want to talk about it, Leah.”

“Good,” I say. “Me either. This is about something else.”

In reality, I’d love to have a chance to apologize and explain that I didn’t intend for any of this to happen, but Filippa’s not as direct as a lot of other ephilium. She’s good at putting distance between herself and a problem. If I press too hard, she’ll just respond by putting distance between us.

“All right,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “What’s up?”

“These,” I say, turning around and pulling the back of my shirt up to show her the ridges.

She inhales sharply.

“Are they…” I’m suddenly nervous, worried I’m wrong. “Are they what I think they are?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice hard to read. “You’re getting your wings.”

I drop my shirt. “Well, thank the goddess for that. Or the ancestors. Or whoever. Maybe I should be thanking you—it’s probably hanging around you and everyone else that told my body to stop fucking around and start growing them.”

Her lips twitch. “Yes, well, at least now I won’t have to be afraid of you getting mauled or crushed or whatever they have in store for us in the trials because you can’t fly away.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say cheerfully. “One less thing for you to worry about.”

In reality it feels odd, knowing that my body is changing, becoming more ephilium. Just a month ago, I was worried about too much demon influence on it, and now…there’s no going back. Up until today I could pass for human, but once I have wings, there’ll be no denying what I am. It’s a good thing I need these wings so badly to survive, otherwise this might feel more like a door slamming permanently shut on a particular part of my life.