TWENTY
SAGE
Something moves against my arm. My mind surfaces from sleep in a rush, awareness filtering in. The feel of soft pillows under me, the smell of soil, of damp green things—it’s soothing and lovely.
I open my heavy eyelids, but everything is blurry. I can’t see right. Am I still in the alley? No, it smelled like soot and smog there, and nothing was comfortable.
Memories appear like cloudy puzzle pieces: the creatures slinking from the puddles, the dark-haired guy, he . . . he—cut my neck!
I sit up in a rush, hand going to my neck where the strange raven guy was gripping me. Am I in a forest? I’m surrounded by trees. And under my fingertips there’s a thin bumpy line of skin on my neck—a scar?
Faelan told me about a dark prince, and I laughed, I thought it was so funny, that Faelan was crazy, or I was crazy, someone had to be crazy, because guys called the Dark Prince are only in books and movies that nerds like Ziggy talk about. They’re vampires or wizards, and that stuff is . . . well, it’s totally real apparently, so I’m just—holy shit, how can I be okay after what that raven guy did? My blood was on his face. I died! I know I did, I remember—
Something moves beside me again, stopping my tirade of thoughts.
I turn and blink at a shirtless Faelan, who’s lying next to me, his eyes beginning to open. His body is only a foot away. He’s so . . . wow. I must’ve been too panicked yesterday to fully take in all those muscles. And that tan. And, oh my, he has a lot of scars on his chest . . .
He props himself on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”
I open my mouth, but no words manage to come out. Why am I in bed with him? I look around and realize we’re not in a forest; we’re in his room. I’m in that nest thing where he was naked and snuggly with Aelia’s friend. How did I get here, and why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
I look down at myself, relieved to see I’m wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. But how did I get into them? “Where’s my dress?” I ask stupidly. I should be asking how I’m alive. I should be asking how I got from the alley to here.
He sits up all the way and moves closer. “Your dress had too much blood on it. I had to toss it in the bin.”
“Blood?” I know what he means, but my mind is having trouble processing. I was covered in blood. But I’m still alive.
“Do you remember anything that happened?” He studies me.
His intense green eyes make me shift farther away. Grass tickles my palm as I grip the side of the nest. I shake my head. “I remember a guy—or a raven—he was a raven that turned into a guy? I think he tried to kill me, but . . .” I touch my neck again. “I don’t understand what happened.”
Faelan’s gaze follows my fingers. “You were hurt. I’m sorry about the scarring. The wound was open too long for it to heal properly.”
“How am I not dead right now?” Because I know beyond a doubt I should be. But I don’t even have stitches or bandages. Just a scar?
“As a demi, your spirit anchors to your flesh more firmly than a human’s does. Thankfully, despite your unpredictable nature, your spirit held even after your body gave out, longer than normal. Hopefully, you won’t be dying for a dozen centuries or more.”
I bark out a laugh. And another. But then my throat clogs and tears spring into my eyes.
“You think I’m joking?” he asks.
“I think this whole thing is insane,” I say, my voice cracking. I know I’m about to cry so I turn and scramble over the side of the nest, tumbling into the ferns, attempting to get farther away. I’m going to live for centuries? Me. How does a person let that sink in?
“Whoa, woman, where ya going?”
He jumps down after me, but I back up, hands held out to warn him off. I focus on steadying myself, realizing my legs are weak. The trees around me spin a little.
“You’re okay,” he says. “There’s nothing to get in a tizzy about.”
I shake my head and make myself breathe through the tangle of emotions welling up. “A tizzy? You just keep throwing stuff at me like I know how to swallow it all. This circus is going to have me drooling into my soup and sipping tea with the Mad Hatter in the hydrangeas.” When he just frowns, I add, “You’re making me nuts!”
He studies me cautiously for a few seconds before he finally says, “Okay, look. We’re good to get started on the training, so let’s begin today, going through some preliminary information. You can collect yourself in your room, and then in an hour or so we’ll meet back in the greenhouse to begin. You’ll get clarity. That’s what you’re looking for, right?”
I nod and sniff, pretending I don’t have tears on my cheeks. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. It’s so dumb. And it never does any good, anyway.
“Grand, then we’ll meet back—”
“Can you just answer one question?” I interrupt. “Why was I in your bed?”
Confusion fills his features.
“I saw you with that pixie, Niamh,” I say, slowly, unsure as a look of realization appears on his face. “I know why you had to be with her, to fix your burns from the fire and everything. So, were you and I in the bed together, because . . . I mean, was that some sort of kinky healing thing you did to me?”
He steps back, and revulsion scrunches his features. “Feck, no!”
I blink at his biting tone. He’s definitely disgusted at the idea, grossed out at the thought of me in his bed for anything other than sleep.
My throat clenches again, and all I can do is whisper, “Oh good.”
“I would never link with you to that level without your permission,” he says. “Hibernation is a private and mutual process. Things can occur that you aren’t fully aware of. I wasn’t pleased with Aelia putting me under with the pixie without my consent. I wouldn’t do something like that to you. To anyone.” He pauses and seems to consider before adding, “There was a moment, though, in the wood, when . . . I believe I almost . . . well, I nearly kissed you, I think.”
His confession jars through me, and I rack my brain, trying to find the memory. Trying to figure out how we could have gotten into a situation where this beast of a guy would ever in a million years kiss me.
I come up empty.
“I wasn’t fully in control,” he says. “But you needed the energy. And in the moment of a feeding . . . magnetism, attraction, can sometimes happen.” He quickly adds, “But it’s not real, it’s temporary.”
“I see,” I say, even though I don’t. He fed himself to me and that’s how I healed. I took life from him. It kills me that I can do something so monumental, so bizarre, and have no memory of any of it.
“And the fact that I’m weaker than you,” he continues, “while you’re ignorant about how to control your subconscious . . . It was bound to happen eventually between us.”
“Wait.” I roll his words over. “What was bound to happen?”
“A feeding, a moment where your control slipped. The transition eventually requires that the Emergent feeds off the trainer as they learn. Sometimes that can become volatile when only one party is . . . practiced in the process. And, like I said, you’re likely stronger than me.”
His casual tone seems a bit forced. Obviously, he’s not a fan of some of the requirements of his task with me.
I decide to try and get him to lay more cards on the table, since he’s suddenly being honest. “It seems to bother you,” I say, “that we almost kissed.” It bothers me too, but mostly because I don’t remember.
He waits for a second before responding. “Control is important to me.”
I have no idea what to take from that. I suppose it’s why he didn’t want to do this, train me—the possibility of losing control. But I need to figure myself out, to know what I am and what it means. It doesn’t matter how he feels about me, or if we almost kissed. And an almost kiss means nothing. Especially one that I have no memory of.
“Why don’t you go get dressed,” he says. “Be back in an hour, and I’ll show you the books I have, and you can ask me whatever you wish. But we need to start the training. Sound good?”
I can tell he wants me to be agreeable, but I’m still not sure I can go along with all of this. It’s tough to settle with myself that I need to stay in this madness and fake it, like I’m perfectly fine with what’s happening. How can I, especially after last night? A guy tried to kill me. He overwhelmed me and trapped me and . . . I was completely useless. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. Or pissed at myself.
I swallow the pain in my throat and ask, “What is this training, exactly?”
Faelan’s at his closet, slipping a shirt over his head, his movement tense. He takes a second, like he’s thinking about how to answer. “Things will be different with you,” he says finally. “Traditionally, we’d start with focusing techniques, but we’re short on time, and your power seems to be overwhelming you, even overwhelming the torque.” He motions to my necklace. “We need to skip kindergarten and move right into you learning control. Like I said, control is important. Even more so for you.”
I nod absently, not sure how to absorb everything. “Okay, I’ll get dressed.” But then I remember. “Except I have no clothes.”
“Aelia filled your closet earlier. Your wardrobe is more than overstuffed now.”
I have a full closet. I’m not sure I’ve even had a closet of my own before, let alone a full one. “Wow, okay. I wonder what she put in it.” Probably the same stuff that was in her own. Ugh.
Faelan looks confused. “She put clothes.”
“As long as there’s yoga pants,” I say.
“Those are the stretchy things, right? That’s unlikely.”
“Well. Then I quit,” I say, dryly.
He blinks but then surprises me with a smile, a small dimple appearing in his upper left cheek.
I didn’t even know his mouth tipped that direction. I think I just accomplished the impossible.
I smile back at him, and in a flash his dimple disappears. He looks away. “Try not to take too long getting ready. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” And then he walks into the greenhouse, leaving me standing beside his nest, alone.