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“You think Cove was an asshole for not taking me?”
Shit.
“I think that there’s more to this story than you’ve told me so far.”
She nods. “You’re right. There is. I got mad all of a sudden. My emotions have been all over the place lately, and I decided that I would go downstairs andmakehim take me along. Well, actually, I planned to confront you and tell you that I was going with or without your consent.”
A smile tugs at my lips at that because I love it when she shows a little fire. It doesn’t happen often enough for my liking, the others pander to her too easily and keeping her cocooned in her own meekness and docility. The boys like her happy, her family want her submissive. I prefer her challenging me, strong and defiant.
“But you didn’t get that far?”
“No. I heard them laughing and stopped on the stairs to listen.”
“I see and what did you hear?”
“They were laughing about the fliers. About the party. It made me feel stupid.”
“So you ran,” I finish flatly. She always runs away from difficult conversations with them, but always meets me head on in defiance.
“Yeah. It’s silly that it upset me, but their comments made me realise how sheltered I’ve been.”
“Because of us.” I don’t phrase it as a question, because I know the answer. My heart sinks and I’m left with a bad taste in my mouth.
“No. My whole life,” she corrects me. “At first it was my parents, but then it just became my personality I guess. It was easier to stay home and avoid trouble, or go out but remain in the shadows. I still do it now.”
“Were you like that before?”
“Before what?”
“Before your parents made you stay home and things?”
“I guess not. I remember loving to sing and dance. In my first year of school I’d talk to anyone. I used to compete in talent shows my friends and I would put on at lunchtimes and after school.”
“What changed?”
“I had an accident. We were in a car crash – my parents and me I mean – and after I recovered and was well enough to go back to school, I didn’t want people to look at me any more. Everyone knew what had happened and whispered about me behind my back. Pity mostly. But there were unkind words too. And then the voices started.”
And then the voices started.So the trauma of the accident likely activated her magic. I mentally try to work out when that would have been if she was at school. She’d have been, what? Four, maybe five? With time working so differently here compared to our world it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when that would have been for me, but I’d be willing to bet it was around the time our queen disappeared and the Shikari increased their efforts to hunt us.
“We’re here,” I tell her softly, pulling into a small car park and cutting the engine. I climb out of the car and walk round to open Malia’s door for her before she can, and she blinks up at me in surprise.
I don’t offer her my hand to get out of the car though – I’m not that foolish. Or maybe I am, because when she brushes past me and her ocean scent with a hint of jasmine and blackcurrant hits me hard, I find myself crowding her space, coaxing her back against the car and pressing my nose dangerously close to the long column of her throat.
Fuck! Get it together, Vance!
I cough. Then wordlessly I pull away and take a deep breath to flush her from my system as her cheeks heat in that captivating way of hers. I hesitate before holding out my arm for her to take. When she takes it, I lead us to the small restaurant that I hope Malia will like.
Why do you care if she likes it? She needs to eat, you’re feeding her. It’s as simple as that.
Instead of feeling relieved when she drops my arm to walk through the narrow door, I’m disappointed.
This isn’t a fucking date. Pull yourself together.
I shake off the momentary lapse of control and step inside after her. The place is cosy, with dim lighting and a light buzz of chatter coming from the five other tables inside this tiny space. All couples. All on dates. Fuck. I nod to the hostess who leads us to the only remaining small table in the corner, and I pull out a chair for Malia to sit.
As we wait in silence, I take a moment to observe her and fully take in the weight of her words from the drive over. It’s clear that something inside her is breaking, and I know I’m to blame. I’ve been so consumed with protecting her that I’ve kept her from fully living. I’ve shielded her from the world and inadvertently kept her voice from being heard.
Impulsively, I reach for her hand. “I’m sorry.”
