Page 43 of Demon Touched

But the other thing I think Syrus was right about—and he’d hate this, which almost makes admitting it worthwhile—is that Rowan has a thing for me. There’s only so many times a guy can offer to partner with you or join you for extra training before a girl starts asking herself if something’s up.

Which is what I’m doing as we spar out on the training fields for the third time this week.

“Once your wings have properly grown in, you’ll be unstoppable,” Rowan says, wiping a hand over his flushed forehead.

“Yeah?” I reply, grinning as I swing Swiftwing round, letting the sword’s magical adjustments guide the motion so the blade moves smooth and sure. “Reckon I could give you a run for your money?”

He pulls a face. “Okay, maybe not totally unstoppable.”

When I laugh, his eyes light up, pleased with himself. I’m definitely not imagining it—this torch he’s carrying for me. But I’m also not sure how I feel about it either.

Rowan is undeniably attractive, and charming too. Even some of the cadets sit up and take notice when he passes them by. I should be right there with them, except something is missing.

There’s no draw. Nothing pulls me to him. No hunger or need. Even in my early days with Syrus, I knew I wanted him. It pissed me off to no end, but my desire wouldn’t be denied. It lurked there, just as the Lord of Malice often would, under the surface, waiting for the moment it could flare up and consume me. And yes, I could blame the possession bond, but that would be too easy. He got under my skin even when he wasn’t possessing me, and I liked it. Too much.

Goddess, I’m fucked up. There’s a genuine possibility that being with Syrus has fundamentally broken my ability to have a normal relationship. Maybe now I can’t be satisfied unless I’m hopelessly intertwined with someone, so tangled up in mind and body that the lines between me and him start to blur. Everything else feels like cold, empty absence. Because where else am I going to feel that same intensity and passion—every delicious, burning flame of it, searing me from the inside out?

“Want to go again?”

I look up into Rowan’s handsome, friendly face, and feel…nothing.

Yep, definitely broken.

“Maybe we can take a break?” I say, shifting my shoulders with only a slightly exaggerated grimace. “These growing pains are kicking my ass.”

“I can show you some stretches if you like?” he says. “My brother Roryn taught them to me, and they really helped me when my wings were coming in.”

“Um, sure, thanks,” I say, and then immediately regret it when I realize this entails me watching Rowan contort his body into various positions while we’re both sweaty and breathless. I quickly search for safe topics of conversation to fill the awkward silences and remember that I’m meant to be information gathering.

“So, Roryn and Rowan, huh? Is that a family tradition? The Rs?”

“Yes,” he smiles, leaning back and linking his arms together. I follow suit, trying to keep my groan to a minimum as the movement pops something satisfying in my shoulder just near the base of one of my wing ridges. “My younger sister is Ralery, just to keep things confusing. Do you have siblings? On your, um, human side, I mean?”

“A half sister,” I say, switching the stretch to the other side and switching the focus back on Rowan as I do so. “So your brother’s in the Brigade?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know we’re not supposed to know too much about the trials. But he must have given you some pointers, right?”

I half expect Rowan to clam up, suspicion clouding his expression, but he smiles sheepishly.

“Well, they change a bit every season, so it’s not like he could hand all the answers to me even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t!” he jumped to assure me. “But…he might sometimes drop a hint or two.”

“Makes sense. I’ve heard other fledglings basically say the same thing about their families.” It’s not a total lie. Garion did it for me, after all. “So, did Roryn ever mention anything about the oracle?”

Rowan shakes his head. “Now twist, yeah, like that. It’ll open up your trapezius. Um…the oracle? No, I don’t think he knows much about it. Or if he does, he can’t say.”

“What do you mean? What is it, anyway?” I ask, figuring from his reaction that it’s safe to push a little.

“It’s like this ancient force—connected to the ancestors. So maybe a kind of channel to the Everlight?”

“You don’t seem so sure,” I tease.

He flushes, perhaps not used to falling short of people’s expectations.

“Well, that’s the point. It’s managed to stay so mysterious all these millennia because if you meet with the oracle, it can sort of get inside you and make sure that you can’t share anything it doesn’t want you to.”

“And when might someone meet with it?” I ask, needing more context.