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"Easy, Rissa," he murmurs gently, holding the massive sword of light aloft. "I won't hurt you."
"It's…" I stare in fascination at the gleaming weapon in his hands. I know nothing about swords, but this one seems massive, reaching almost to the ceiling even though he holds it at waist level. The handle curves at the end, fitting his hand as if it were made just for him. It's not the first time I've seen the glowing weapon. "You had this at the bar."
"Ja."
The wickedly sharp weapon is formed entirely from light, yet it's steel too. I don't understand how that's possible, but there's no denying the reality when it's right in front of me. This is no trick, no sleight of hand. The weapon is as real as the Fae standing in front of me.
"Can I touch it?"
"Nei." He pulls it back, as if worried I might try. "Thelyststålburns everything it touches." He holds his arm out, gently placing the edge of the sword to it. His flesh immediately turns red.
"Dax!" I cry, jumping to my feet.
"Easy, Valkyrie. Easy." He waves his hands, and the weapon vanishes. A rivulet of blood runs down his arm from the angry red wound it left behind. He grabs a paper towel from the roll and dabs at it.
"Are you insane?" I scowl daggers at him.
Abigail giggles beside me.
"I'm well, Rissa." He pulls the paper towel away from the wound. "Thelyststålwill burn Fae flesh as easily as they do anything else, but only we wield them for a reason."
"Because you're insane and enjoy pain?" I snap at him.
He merely grins at me, warmth in his eyes.
"The weapon is part of the Fae who calls it," Abigail explains. "The burns are only temporary on Fae flesh because the weapon is formed of their Light. See?" She points at his arm. "It's already healing."
I glance at his arm, and then do a double-take. She's right. The wound is healing. Already, the angry red has faded to pink, as if the wound is weeks old instead of mere moments.
He tosses the paper towel into the trash can, washes his hands, and then returns to making sandwiches as if nothing happened. I watch him for several long moments as the wound heals completely, vanishing as if it were never there at all.
A thousand questions battle for dominance, but I don't know which is the most pressing. All of them seem urgent. All of them seem important.
"You were upset," he murmurs after a moment.
"What?"
"You were upset when you thought I was injured." His green eyes flicker to mine, emotion swirling through them. "You worried for me."
"I…" I trail off before the denial forms, unable to voice it. Instead, I shrug like it's not a big deal. "I'm still partially convinced you're a crazy person and this is all some story you've convinced yourself is real."
He sighs quietly. "It would be easier if it were."
"Yeah, I guess it would." My lips pull down into a frown as I face the dawning realization that I don't want this to be some dream or nightmare or made-up fairytale. I don't want to wake up to find out he was just a figment of my imagination.
Already, he's growing on me. He feels…important…to me. Because of the bond? I'm still not sure I believe that part—or that I want to believe it. But I can't deny that there's something growing between the two of us. It's like I'm staring at the sun with my eyes closed, its brightness beating against my eyelids. I can't see it, but I feel it all the same.
"Dax," Abigail says suddenly. "Something is wrong."
I glance at her to see her swaying on the stool, her face stark white. She's staring right at Dax, but I don't think she's seeing him. It's as if she's looking right through him, seeing something happening worlds away.
Every hair on my body stands on end, a cold chill ripping through me.
"Skíta!" Dax growls, dropping the loaf of bread as he launches himself over the island. He grabs her by the shoulders, gently lifting her from the stool. "Damrion!Kom inn hit!"
He lowers her to the floor, kneeling beside her.
"What can I do?" I ask as her eyes roll back in her head and she begins to thrash, fighting his hold. "How can I help?"
