Chapter 18
Donovan
“Good morning, everyone,” Mildred sings as she glides into the living room, sounding like goddamn Mary Poppins.
Groaning, I crack one eye open and immediately close it when I’m blinded by the sunlight pouring through all the windows in this damn house. Curtains. Seriously. Get a set-- or fifty.
Nolan grumbles a few sounds that I’m pretty sure don’t count as actual words, and then leans further into my shoulder and side, my arm already outstretched under the pillow Callie was using last night. If there’s a warm body anywhere near him when he falls asleep, he’s suction cupped to them come morning. Which makes me wonder where the hell Callie is, since last I saw her, she was asleep between us.
“Dude,” I grunt, shoving Nolan with my left hand. “Get up. I can’t feel my arm.”
He rolls over, muttering, “Five more minutes.”
Now that I’m more awake, I try opening my eyes again. Shit that burns.
“No, now.” I shove Nolan off me, his head smacking onto the floor. “I gotta piss.”
“The fuck, man?” Nolan growls, sitting up with one hand to the side of his head. “You could’ve said that the first time.”
Nolan’s wearing the same clothes that he was the night before, only taking his shoes and socks off, and has a glare that shows vampires aren’t only smooth, charming assholes. They also have pissed off predators inside. Fucker is less of a morning person than I am.
“Get up next time,” I reply, sitting up.
Sharp pins and needles sensations shoot down my arm, as I roll my shoulder and flex my hand to get the blood moving. I get to my feet, my back sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor, and grab my t-shirt off the couch. Sniffing the shirt, I get whiffs of beer and the perfume of the girl who was all over me last night. She smelled like a beach vacation stuffed into a bottle. Too sweet for me, but she was hot. What the hell was her name? Rebecca? Victoria? Whatever. The shirt is serviceable, so I throw it on.
Clanking sounds of pots and pans come from the kitchen, and looking over as I head for the hallway, I find Kaleb pulling out cast iron from the lower cabinets, while Mildred is digging through the fridge. Kiss ass.
Connor’s sitting at the table drinking his coffee, looking a hell of a lot calmer than last night. I wonder if there’s something more to wolf shifters once being guardians for the Volkov family, because he looked ready to rip the arm off of anyone that would try to take Callie from him.
I head down the hall past the office, where there’s a second bathroom near the laundry room. It’s small with only a sink and a toilet, which is a pain when you’re 6’ 3” and well over 200lbs, and I have to fight around the door to close it behind me.
The bathroom doesn’t quite have the same polish as the other bathrooms. Linoleum tile instead of river stone, and striped wallpaper instead of beige paint. The Jacobs always planned to remodel, not only to make it match the upstairs, but also to expand it into a full bathroom-- especially after Connor and I had hit over 6’ the summer before Sophomore year. Not anymore.
After taking a leak, managing pretty decent aim through morning wood, I dig through the drawers and find the spare toothbrushes and travel toothpaste that Mrs. Jacobs always left for us. We forgot to clean them out when we packed up everything else. When my mouth no longer tastes like ass and I’ve finger combed my hair out of my face, I head back out.
Entering the living room, I see Nolan has joined Connor at the table and is blinking heavily at a cup of coffee.
“Works better if you drink it,” I comment when I stroll over.
Without looking, he flips me off, then reaches down to take a sip.
In the kitchen, Mildred is cooking a surprising amount of fried food for a woman who looks like she’s the spokeswoman for healthy living. It’s weird to see her at the stove, with her neat blonde hair and lavender, silk, pajamas, instead of Mrs. Jacobs in her ratty flannel bathrobe that she stole from her husband days after he bought it.
I wander over to take a look at what’s cooking, dodging around Kaleb making another pot of coffee. In several different pans, there’s the usual eggs, potatoes, bacon-- along with ham and sausage which is cool, but there’s also-- “Are you frying the bread?”
Mildred jumps, the spatula she’s holding flinging onto the counter, and she presses a hand to her chest.
“Bleeding hell,” Mildred curses, reaching over to retrieve the spatula. “Someone your size shouldn’t be that quiet… wear a bell or something.”
I bust up laughing, Connor and Kaleb joining me, while Nolan chokes on his coffee. Okay, she may look posh, but Mildred isn’t that bad-- especially for a witch.
Flipping the fried bread, she answers, “Yes. I’m making you all a proper English breakfast. I have the potatoes, breakfast meats, eggs, beans… oh shite, I need the tomatoes.”
“The what?” I yelp, as she whisks around me.
“You can’t have a proper English breakfast without broiled tomatoes,” she answers into the fridge.
Once she’s retrieved what she was looking for, she hurries over to the counter where the knives are and begins cutting thick slices. “Kaleb, could you be a dear, and watch the stove? And Donovan, could you let Callie know that if she’s hungry, breakfast is almost ready? She’s outside talking to your ghost fr… to Felix.”
I send a sharp look at Kaleb, because if Felix is hanging out outside, he’s probably at the burn spot. Kaleb nods when he catches my eye, knowing what I’m thinking. Ah fuck. Felix isn’t prone to brooding, but it’s never a good sign if he’s hanging out there.
“Yeah, I’ll get them,” I sigh, retrieving my boots from near the couch.
Once I’m all laced up, I retrieve my leather jacket from the coat closet and make my way outside. The sky is burn your retinas blue, and the air is cold enough that I can see my own breath.
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I walk around the house toward the back, and I freeze when I see Callie and Felix. They’re standing so close that if I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d say Felix was about to kiss her.
Or is it impossible now that he can enter her dreams? The whole concept still feels too much like possession to me, and I can’t believe Kaleb suggested it. It worked this time, but I’m not stupid enough to believe Felix won’t do it again.
Something changed between them last night-- well it changed us all-- but this is different. I know Felix, and he’s never looked at a girl like he’s looking at Callie. Shit.
His hands are at his sides, while hers are wrapped around a coffee mug. He smiles down at her then says something that makes her laugh. She shakes her head, her wild mane of blonde hair shifting as she moves, then she replies with something that makes him laugh. Both of their faces are animated as they speak, talking about who the fuck knows, but they don’t move away from each other. So much for brooding.
He seems fine now, but I saw his face when he came back last night. I know that look. I’ve had that look. It’s been nearly ten years, but I’ll never forget finding my family after the fire. Picking through their charred remains for knives, swords, and anything else that would hint to the humans what they really were. The house was out in the middle of nowhere and had burned away before the humans even knew there was a fire, and I was long gone before anyone would think to look for me. I shake my head and push the memories away.
For Callie to go catatonic last night, whatever Felix saw had to be something bad. I don’t like not knowing, but I don’t want to push her for multiple reasons. One, shit seems to blow up when she’s emotional and two, if last night is any indication, Connor will do his best to beat the shit out of me for upsetting her. And I like to try to keep that kind of violence in the ring.
I’ll just have to corner Felix into telling us what we’re really dealing with. She’s one of us now, and we stick together. Anything that affects her, affects us. And anyone that wants to hurt her will have to go through us.
My hands curl into fists, as a growing rage burns through my veins. Too many people I care about have been hurt. And too many of the bastards who have hurt them are free. But guilt quickly follows right after the rage, like I swallowed a metal ball covered in spikes. I take my hands out of my pockets, slowly unfurling them from fists, and stare down at them.
Some of the bastards I know, but my hands are tied to do anything about them. Then there are those I don’t know, and the selfish asshole in me doesn’t want to. The Jacobs deserve justice, but I’ll lose my friend in the process.
I grit my teeth and lock my feelings down, because it doesn’t change anything. It is what it is. I expel a harsh breath and run a hand through my hair. Get your shit together.
Now that I feel like a goddamn, creepy stalker-in-training, I shout Felix and Callie’s names to gain their attention before I walk over, and the dumbass jumps away from her like I caught them about to fuck.
“Callie, your aunt is up and making what she calls ‘a traditional English breakfast’,” I call out, walking casually over and pretending I didn’t see Felix make an idiot of himself. Remembering the weird crap Mildred’s English breakfast includes, I continue, “If you’re hungry, she said it’s almost ready… though I gotta warn you, there’s baked beans, broiled tomatoes, and she’s fried the bread instead of toasting it. Shit’s weird.”
She apparently finds something funny that I don’t about bizarre British food, because she slams one hand over her mouth and begins giggling, her whole body shaking as she laughs. Felix, on the other hand, sees me, mutters something I don’t hear to Callie, then poofs away.
Well, fuck-- what the hell did I interrupt?
Callie stops laughing, and her brows pucker as she looks where Felix was.
“You okay?” I ask, uneasiness building between my shoulder blades.
She looks up at me, squinting against the sunlight that’s turning her grey eyes the pale color of a frozen lake, and answers, “Yeah, I’m fine… or as fine as I can be at the moment.”
I shift so I’m blocking the sun, and shove my hands back into my pockets. Being this close to her, I can see the tear tracks down her cheeks. My chest feels tight remembering last night. Her catatonic in Connor’s lap, then her small and afraid as she told us the abridged version of what the bastard did to her, and I feel like I have to do something. Help her somehow. I know she’s some all-powerful spirit witch, or what-the-fuck-ever, but until her magic is actually free, she’s helpless with a growing list of people who want to hurt her. And just because she can heal, and her magic likes to blow shit up when she’s scared, doesn’t really change anything. Hell, her wonky ass magic makes it worse. She’s as likely to blow something up that will hurt her--or us-- rather than help her.
Late last night, I had an idea that would help protect her-- and maybe, help her feel safe, but I worry how she’ll take it. “About that… look you can tell me it’s none of my business and to fuck off.”
Her face blanches, but I keep going before she does tell me to fuck off. “I was wondering… if you were interested, I could teach you some self-defense. With your magic bound, it might be good for you to know other ways to defend yourself.”
I run my hand through my hair and look just past her head, wanting to get everything out. “Witches rely too much on their magic anyway. There’s something to be said for being able to throw a good punch, and…” I release a harsh breath, then start fucking rambling, “And I’ve heard that learning self-defense helps some people feel more in control after they’ve been attacked. I know it isn’t the same thing you went through, but if it could help…”
“I’d like that,” she blurts, interrupting me.
Thank fucking God.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking back at her face.
“Yeah,” she confirms, smiling up at me.
There’s a softness and warmth to her gaze that has my chest feeling tight for a completely different reason. Oh, fuck no. She and I would be a goddamn disaster.
She motions for us to start walking and dumps what’s left of her coffee out onto the grass.
“We can start today, if you want. I do most of my training on the weekends,” I tell her as we walk side by side, ignoring whatever the shit this new feeling is.
“Today’s fine,” she replies, looking out toward the forest that surrounds the property. “What kind of training do you do?”
“Pretty much you name it, and I probably do some form of it,” I answer with a shrug. “Weapons training. Hand to hand in a shit ton of different styles, both offensive and defensive. I do all of my endurance and strength training during the week since I can do that on my own.”
I have no idea why I’m telling her all this other bullshit. What does it matter that I do my combat training on the weekends and endurance training during the week?
“On your own? Who do you do all the other stuff with?” she asks.
Who does she think? I glance down at her confused. “All of the guys. Well, except for Felix because ghost.” Then I remember the last time I tried to spar with Nolan, and he gave up before I could throw a punch. “Nolan helps sometimes, but he’s pretty useless. He can fight and his quick reflexes can be a challenge, but he doesn’t take it seriously. Figures his charm abilities will get him out of most things. Dumbass.”
“Even Kaleb?” she gasps, her brows reaching toward her hairline. “He seems so anti violence that I’m surprised he’d want to learn.”
I can’t help it, I double over laughing, bracing my hands on my knees. Dude looks like depictions of the Archangel Michael when he’s handling a longsword-- might as well have been born with one in his hand. And I have years of cuts and bruises to prove it.
Callie looks ready to bash me over the head with the coffee mug in her hand for laughing, so I do my best to rein it in, if only to explain.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” I snort, wiping the tears from my eyes. “Kaleb is against violence with humans and generally with other supes, but we’re training to fight and kill demons. He’s nephilim first. Yeah, his purpose is helping souls, but demons don’t give a shit.” I shake my head, and some of my hair falls into my eyes. I really need to get it cut. “Just wait, you’ll see. Man is a fucking beast with a longsword.”
“Swords?” she chirps, her normally husky voice thin.
Shit. Are swords too close to knives?
Glancing down at her, she looks more shocked than scared, but just in case, I ask, “You okay with that?”
“Yeah, swords are fine,” she assures, but she still looks a little out of it for a moment. Then she does this odd whole body shake, like she got a chill, and comes back more normal. “I mean, I’ve never dealt with swords in the past, so I’m good on that front. It’s more surprising, like I’ve somehow wandered into the middle ages.”
I grin, imagining what she’ll think when she sees us in action.
“Bullets don’t kill demons,” I explain. “It hurts and can slow them down, but what’s always guaranteed is decapitation and…” I stutter to a stop, when I realize what I was about to say.
“Fire. You can say it,” she growls, crossing her arms, the coffee mug dangling from her fingertips. “Donovan, one of the things I like about you is that you’re blunt and don’t sugar-coat things for me. Please, don’t start now. I’m the same girl I was before you learned about all of my crap.”
Ah fuck. That’s the last time I try to be sensitive. Looking down at her, I have to remind myself that she may look small, but she’s survived hell and is still standing.
She releases a sharp, harsh breath, then meets my gaze with steely determination. “I need you to treat me the same as before. Don’t treat me like I’m broken…” her voice hitches for a moment, “even if I am.”
Her face is hard, with clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. Clouds roll across the sky, which I’m not exactly sure isn’t her doing, cutting her features into harsh shadows.
“I get that,” I murmur, feeling like a jackass. “I’d be fucking pissed if people started treating me different because they found out about my past shit.”
Which she didn’t when I told her about my family. Fuck. I should know better.
Placing a hand on Callie’s shoulder, the bones underneath my palm feel fragile, and I feel sick wondering how many times they’ve been broken. I lean down so our gazes lock, because I need her to believe what I’m telling her. “For the record, I think you’re the exact opposite of broken. Surviving leaves scars, and whether you can see them or not, you’ll feel them. Doesn’t make you broken.”
Some of the hardness bleeds from her eyes, and it feels like I’ve been kicked in the gut when I see what’s underneath. Hope and pain.
“Sounds like you speak from experience. Is it your family?” she whispers.
I feel like a coward, but I can’t keep looking into her eyes. Instead, I stand back up and shift so I’m looking back from where we came. She’s not ready to know everything, but maybe if I give more of my story, she’ll at least know I get what it feels like to be alone.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and glare at the burnt spot that took another family away from me.
“You know I’m an orphan,” I start, shifting my weight to my back foot, “and that my family died in a fire when I was eight. It wasn’t an accident. My parents, my older sister, and my older brother were tricked by the demons they were hunting and trapped inside an abandoned house. Fire is effective against demons but is pretty fucking deadly to nephilim too.”
I glance over at her, and her expression is neutral-- she's listening without judgement, then I look back at the scorch mark. With a sigh, I confess, “When I say orphan, I mean no extended family either. It’s literally just me; I’m the last of my line. If it weren’t for Kaleb’s family taking me in, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.”
I wait for the follow up questions. What happened? How did they all die? Why would anyone try to wipe out my entire bloodline?
Instead, with bitter sarcasm, she mutters, “Damn, fire has really screwed us all over.”
Can’t argue with that. Staring out at nothing, the familiar what if rolls around in my head. What if they’d lived. Everything I am is shaped by their death.
After a moment, she bumps me with her shoulder and says, “To being scarred but not broken.”
I look down into her eyes, and I see strength and resolve staring back at me. For the first time in my life, the what if quiets, because in the end, it doesn’t matter.
With a smirk tugging at my mouth, I echo, “Scarred but not broken.”
She chews on her bottom lip, which is-- distracting. Restraint has never been a talent of mine, so pushing away thoughts of kissing that mouth is difficult-- and not helping the morning wood stuffed down my right pant leg.
“How do you do it?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
It takes me several beats to realize she’s asking me a question, before I finally respond, “Do what?”
“Tell people,” she huffs, with an awkward wave of her hand. “With your past and everything… you just said it. No hesitation. No apology. Just… ‘Hey, here’s my fucked up past. Deal with it.’”
I swallow heavily and try to focus on what she’s saying. “Secrets can only hurt you if they’re kept a secret.” I tell her, sounding like a damn fortune cookie. “What I mean is… if everyone knows, it can’t be used against you. Also, I’ve found that if you tell people just enough of your fucked up life, they think that’s all there is and stop digging.”
She snorts, and attempts to push back some of her wild blonde hair behind her ears. She looks like she just rolled out of bed-- or in reality the floor-- swimming in her red hoodie, flannel pajama bottoms, and ugg boots.
“So what you’re telling me is, if people knew that my mother was dead and my father is in prison for attempted kidnapping, that should be enough fucked-up-ness for one person, and no one will think there’s anything more.”
“For a normal person, yeah, that should be enough fucked-up-ness,” I answer, watching the wheels turn in her eyes. Deciding what she’s willing to tell. “Callie, you don’t have to tell anyone anything. You don’t owe anyone your story. Just because I did it, doesn’t mean you have to.”
“I know,” she releases a quick breath, “but you’re right. The longer I’m the mysterious new girl, the more people will want to dig… and they can’t know the whole truth. I don’t think I could take that. I’d rather people know my mother’s dead and my father’s in prison, than know… everything else.”
I grit my teeth to swallow my own questions, because she doesn’t owe her story to me either. Fuck, I hate this.
“You don’t have to advertise it,” I say, stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep from touching her again. “If someone asks, which they will, tell them as bluntly as possible. Make it clear that you don’t give a shit that anyone knows. It’ll still get around. Rumors will pop up. You’ll get dumb fucking questions about it, but no one will think there’s anything else. You’ll just be another girl with fucked up parents.”
She nods, squares her shoulders, and does her best to stand tall-- as much as someone can for her size. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it. People are dumb. Manipulating them is easy.” I shrug and turn away. All of this sensitivity and talking shit out is Kaleb’s domain, not mine. Thank fuck I get to punch something soon.
Callie tugs on my sleeve to get my attention, and I nearly groan when I look into her eyes. She’s an infuriating contrast of soft and fierce, like silk covered steel that cuts through me. It’s what allowed her to walk through all my shields like smoke.
“Someday I’ll tell you the whole story, I promise,” she whispers, searching my face. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s only… talking about it means reliving it, and I can’t. Not right now.”
Fuck. Shit. Damn. With that one sentence, I feel like too much of an asshole to corner Felix. Which wasn’t physically possible until I met Callie. The urge to kiss her grows stronger, if only to stop this conversation.
“It’s… fine,” I bite out. “Just, if something bothers you, say it. We’re not fucking mind readers.”
She laughs, her whole body shaking, which wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. “All this talking about emotional stuff is killing you right now, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” I grumble, which makes her laugh harder.
Then her stomach growls loudly, thankfully calling an end to this little heart to heart.
Callie grins, the expression taking over her entire face. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of food. Time to brave the English breakfast.”
“I’m not eating the broiled tomatoes,” I grunt, as we walk towards the front door. “I don’t even like fresh tomatoes. If they’re not in a sauce, they’re not worth eating.”
Callie looks up at me with over the top horror. “How can you not like tomatoes? Not even the cute little garden tomatoes you put in salads?”
“What part of this…” I take my hand out of my pocket, so I can gesture down my body, “says that I eat a lot of salads?”
“Right,” she snorts and rolls her eyes. “How could I forget? You’re practically a carnivore.”
“Hey, I eat fruits and vegetables,” I reply, glancing down at her as we approach the porch. “I just also need a lot of protein.”
She gives me a sly look that I’m starting to recognize as I’ve said something that’s going to backfire on me.
“Since you need all that protein,” she sings, walking carefully up the steps. “Then you can have the baked beans with breakfast.”
And there it is. Following her up, I groan. “Fine, I’ll eat the damn beans, but you have to eat both our servings of tomatoes.”
“Deal,” she answers, holding out her hand.
We shake, and her skin feels like ice against my palm. Need to get this girl some gloves.
When she opens the front door, we’re hit with a blast of warm air, and Callie sighs with pleasure. The scent of fried breakfast foods overpowers any other scent, and I lean over so I can whisper in her ear, “Do I have to eat the fried bread?”
She giggles. “Of course we do. It’s too weird not to try at least once.”
I swallow another groan, stand back up and close the door behind me.
Inside, Felix is eyeballing the bowls on the counter with suspicion, Mildred is transferring eggs to Nolan’s plate, and Connor and Kaleb are already at the table with plates full-- tomatoes, fried bread, and beans included.
Ghost. Nephilim. Witches. Wolf Shifter. Vampire. We’re a family that shouldn’t exist. Factions of supernaturals that never mix together, but here we are in the town of outcasts.
Then there’s Callie. I watch her kick off her ugg boots and hang up her red sweater, a warm flush spread across her cheeks. Like the rest of us, she may look normal, but she’s actually the scariest one here. And she’s ours.
Fuck her father and fuck the witches council.
We protect what’s ours, and those motherfuckers are going to regret learning exactly what that means.