Chapter 32 #2
All of this felt so heavy a few days ago, so impossibly monumental that I couldn’t share it with any of them. Now though, I can’t find the energy to care. My head feels fuzzy and full, and I’m having a hard time even thinking straight.
“But I’ve come to understand it was simply an excuse to get rid of me. To not have to deal with me or my power, or the stain I’ve left on his reputation.”
Aamon turns, brow furrowed. “Evangeline, you are not a stain.”
I laugh, the sound all wrong as it echoes through the room.
“You don’t know my father, Aamon. The High Quarter Alpha having an Arcane-touched as a daughter?
Let alone one that has no interest in the Watchers’ agenda and disagrees with nearly everything they stand for?
” I lift my head, quirking an eyebrow towards him. “That is most definitely a stain.”
Aamon’s jaw hardens. He takes a tentative step forward, then another.
And before I know it, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed.
“You are not a stain,” he repeats, dropping his voice lower.
“You didn’t choose this life, Evangeline.
None of us did. We cannot help that the Arcane chose us.
And while there’s little I can do to restore things between you and your father, I will ensure you never spend another day considering yourself so lowly. ”
“Aamon, I—” But he cuts me off.
“I owe you a great debt.” His lips purse. “You must understand, we had no idea how to save you, no instruction manual for what to do when a Watcher becomes overpowered by the Arcane inside herself.”
I nod, sitting up a little straighter. “Aamon, you did nothing wrong.”
He scoffs, standing again and pacing the room. “You cannot speak on what you don’t know. Let me confess my sins and then you may condemn me.”
I shake my head, ready to argue, but he continues on:
“We had a theory. That Angel’s Trumpet would be the key to helping you heal. That if we could suppress the Arcane long enough for you to fight it, you’d be able to do what you’ve been doing and continue on as normal.”
My heart drops. Because aside from the fact that I know Angel’s Trumpet would be impossible for them to get their hands on, I also know that would never have worked.
“Aamon, Tamiel had me on so many different experimental treatments to suppress that magic. Treatments that took years to formulate. You never would have been able to mimic what she did perfectly. And even on my best week, the formula still wasn’t perfect.”
“But we had to try,” he bites out. “You were lost to us. You weren’t getting better. And we didn’t know what would happen if . . . if we did nothing.”
I reach out for him when he paces close enough for me to touch him. “Again, you did nothing wrong.”
He pulls his hand away, laughing through clenched teeth. “You don’t understand. The Angel’s Trumpet, it didn’t work.”
How they’d been able to find some within the ungoverned district, I couldn’t comprehend. I shake my head, a question on the tip of my tongue.
“But you got worse. A lot worse. There was no time to think of something else. We were losing you.” He’s pacing faster now, his voice rising as he runs his hands through his hair.
“I promised myself, Angel. I promised myself I’d let you die rather than making that decision for you.
Because it’s not a matter of just turning you—but of binding you to me.
” He stops, facing me at last. “But I’m weak.
And when I saw you slipping away I just couldn’t . . .”
I lift my fingers to my lips, running them over the dried remnants of blood there. Not my blood. But his? I thought I’d summoned him in that dark abyss. But perhaps he summoned me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I’m trying so hard to process everything he’s sharing.
And what he’s not. That’s why this feels different now.
It’s the Arcane, yes. But it’s so much stronger than it’s ever been before.
It’s filling me to the brim, igniting my soul, warming my arms. Beating in my chest. There’s no more hiding it away, no more denying who I am.
“It’s not okay." He leans in, eyes wild and breath heavy. “It’s not okay. I took that choice from you. You’ve spent your entire life suppressing that power, and for what?
For me to rip the option away from you after little more than a week under my watch?
For me to damn you under my control because I’m too selfish to just let you go? ”
“Aamon, really, it’s—”
“I swear to the gods if you say it’s okay one more fucking time.
" He laughs, shaking his head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. There’s no coming back from this now, you get that, right?
There’s no going back to your father and the High Quarter.
There’s no returning to a normal life as a Watcher. This is who you are now.”
I lift to my knees, closing the distance between me and where he stands at the foot of my bed.
“What makes you think I want to go back? What makes you think I want to be anywhere else but right here?” I tentatively lift my hand.
He recoils but doesn’t retreat. I press my palm against his taut features, urging them to relax.
“You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have eventually chosen for myself.
” I reassure him. “My father is the one that has spent so much effort into suppressing who I am. Not me. And if there's anything I’ve learned in my short time with you, it’s that this is what I truly want. I just didn't know how to accept it.”
He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that. You don’t want this, Evangeline.”
“I do.” I correct him, a soft smile breaking out across my lips. “This life here with you, with Quinn and Sterling. Hells, even Zeke, in all his broodiness. It’s so much better than anything I ever had in my father’s house.”
Aamon pushes my hand away, squeezing my shoulders and pushing my arms down by my side as he leans in.
“No. This isn’t a life to aspire to. You’re young, fresh.
You don’t understand the violence that I’ve damned you to.
A life tied to me and by proxy, Andras. A life amidst the Blood Order.
An eternity of hollow need that will never be satisfied. ”
I scoff, opening my mouth to argue, but he slams a fist down against the bedpost.
“Dammit, Evangeline. Listen to me!” He lifts his arm between us, one of his fingernails elongating into a point as he slices the skin on his forearm. “Do you feel that? The hunger? The need? You will never not chase that now. You will never exist outside of it.”
But I cannot focus on anything he’s saying anymore.
All I can see. All I can hear. All I can smell is the crimson river that flows inside him.
I feel my fangs elongate, ready and desperate to drink up the drops of red that have escaped his veins.
It’s a blinding pain, the need for him. And I can’t even begin to process the dark thoughts that attack me—images of me ripping into him, how sweet the warmth of his insides would be as my teeth sank into them and gulped down every last drop of blood he has to offer.
“Fuck,” he stammers, realizing his error. “It’s okay, Angel. It’s okay. Drink.”
I don’t wait for him to repeat himself before I’m clamping onto his arm and letting my tongue lap up the sweet, luscious nectar he offers.