Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
When I arrive home, I can feel John’s absence, the lack of his energy on my skin.
John’s energy is like what I experienced when I was around Riddick, inner peace—which is nuts.
The thought makes me antsy. I need to learn to recognise this inner peace feeling as his energy, so I know when he’s around and can avoid him. I’ve stopped answering his calls.
Yet John continues to follow me…I don’t know how I feel about that.
It’s all so strange. I can’t help feeling safe whenever he is around. He saved my life, and in return, I was horrible to him.
Crap, when does being kind change to being a doormat? Or when does trying to protect yourself turn into unnecessary rudeness and cruelty? I don’t want to be rude to him, but I also don’t want him to walk all over me.
Heck, I don’t want him to think that his actions have no consequences and what he did to me was okay, because it bloody wasn’t.
He scares me.
My head tells me to run like hell, but something inside of me likes his attention…it tugs me back.
It is so confusing…Is it a demon thing? Is it an Emma thing? A hellhound thing?
Scott’s words flash into my head. “It’s almost like you’re his mate, the way he follows you around.”
Huh. I frown…demons don’t have mates…do they? I vaguely remember that shifters have chosen mates, but I can’t for the life of me imagine John choosing me as his mate.
There is nothing as silly as the idea of fated mates. Apart from in romance books, I’ve never heard of fated mates in real life. It might be some demony danger-warning system that I’m experiencing. Yet I don’t feel as if I’m in any danger. It’s more…contentment. Which is plain old freaky.
I stomp to my shelves and pick out the book. it’s not like I’ve been avoiding this book…I just didn’t feel the need to learn about demon love. Gag.
My life in pages…all I seem to do is read stuffy old books. It feels like I’m forever searching for answers, answers that leave me with more questions. Yay to freedom…I grin toothily. I am living the dream. Not.
I plop down on the sofa, still sweaty from the gym. I should have a shower, but my brain won’t leave Scott’s words alone. I skim the book and find what I need.
I read, and my hands shake as my brain slowly registers the words. When I’ve finished, I close my eyes tight.
Horror floods me.
Oh, no, no, no. I really wish I hadn’t read those words. I slam the book closed, jump to my feet, and slide it back onto the shelf. I wriggle and rub my hands on my leggings.
Nope, it’s not happening.
Every time I blink, the words are inscribed on the back of my eyelids, lasered onto my eyeballs, and stamped into my brain, never to be unseen.
Demons have soul mates.
Nope, it’s not happening.
Soul mates.
Fate is really getting on my tits. A strangled giggle spills from my lips and I tug at my ponytail. No, no, no.
John is my mate. Ha, ha, mate—like in a romance novel. Insta-love. Soul mate.
Oh bloody hell.
I throw my hands in the air and look heavenward.
“Okay, fate,” I shout aloud like a madwoman.
“What do you want from me? I will get on my knees and beg. I will roll on the floor and wail if that is what you want. What the hell have I done to offend the universe? Arrah…why him? Why bloody him? I feel so bloody fucked over.” I let out my rage with a bloodcurdling scream.
It echoes around the room. I pull my hair and then scrub at my face.
Nope, it’s not happening.
That book, that bloody book. I lift my eyes and glare at it. It sits there innocently on the shelf. It dares to tell me how lucky and blessed I am. I grit my teeth. Blessed. My nostrils flare and my left eye twitches. “Blessed,” I snarl.
My little mantra, “everything happens for a reason,” isn’t going to cut it.
My entire face twitches, and I vigorously rub it. The book talks about my symptoms: feeling his energy beyond the norm and an overwhelming attraction.
The whole overwhelming attraction on its own isn’t a red flag. John is beautiful—he’s on a scary level of beautiful, a walking, talking wet dream. But the book describes my strange feelings to a T.
My attraction to him has never been normal for me.
I’m a reasonably sensible, well-rounded person despite my experiences and childhood.
All this time, it’s never made much sense —let’s face it, the guy has been horrible.
Yet, when I hear his voice…when I’m in his arms…
I feel like I’ve come home. When that happens, my head screams at me to knock it off, and my heart…
my soul? I gulp. Well, my soul wants to lick him.
I huff. Heck, the guy spent hours aggressively questioning me, he bloody stabbed me and my heart still happily skips a beat whenever I see him—that’s not normal.
What has me worried the most is the energy thing, the ability to feel each other’s energy beyond normal senses.
I don’t know…I don’t want to know if he can feel my energy like I can his.
His wild hellhound energy welcomes me; it is almost alive.
Now that I can recognise it, I could probably pick his energy out of a crowd or feel him coming from down the street.
If that isn’t enough, the book also describes a zap, a mixing of energy on the first touch. Considering John smacked me on the back of the head and dragged me away to a basement, I might have missed that step while I was unconscious. If I zapped him, John probably thought it was my bad demon juju.
I stomp to the bathroom and turn on the taps for a relaxing bath. I’m seething. But I smell, so I will have a bath, damn it.
While the tub is filling, I grind my teeth and stomp back to the sofa and the love book. “Hell’s bells. I should burn it,” I snarl.
Crap, that shows how angry I am, blaming a book for my situation.
I’d never intentionally harm a book: that’s sacrilegious.
I gently remove the book from the shelf. I take a deep breath, ignore the mate stuff, and head for the chapter on progeny. I’m planning to never open this book again, but I just need to double-check one last thing before I forget about its existence.
Breeding with humans is best avoided. The offspring of such a pairing can be unbalanced and aggressive.
Huh. This right here is why I need to be careful and why I need rules.
Emma, the love content of the book is all about demon-to-demon pairings. No, there is nothing written that I can find about soul mates from other races. As John isn’t a demon, and I’m only half…he shouldn’t feel the same.
Ha, there is no way he feels the same. I know he’s gone all flirty with me lately, but that could just be a normal attraction and not this soul stuff.
There’s a fuzzy memory from the hospital…
I narrow my eyes and tap my mouth with my fingertips as I try to remember.
Arlo standing over my hospital bed, “Poetic really, two broken souls twisted together by fate, forever entwined.” I close my eyes and groan.
Arlo he bloody knew, he must have recognised the signs.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders. I can control myself; knowledge is power. This can only be a good thing. Now that I know what’s happening, I can ignore the whole thing.
I am not masochistic, nor do I have Stockholm syndrome. That’s at least a relief. It explains a lot. I roll my tense shoulders and take a deep breath.
I swallow down my fear of John and the…thing. I will not think about that again.
The book goes back on the shelf, and I drift back towards the bathroom.
I take another cleansing breath. Everything is going to be okay if I follow my rules, keep myself out of trouble, be kind, and avoid John.
Everything is going to be okay. I nod. The direction in which my life goes will be on me.
I open a bottle of wine—I’m not much of a drinker, but, well, tonight I need a drink. The white wine is sweet and refreshing on my tongue.
With my glass, I slip into the steamy bath, and I close my eyes.
Once I’m wrinkly and relaxed, I set my empty glass on the floor and think about what Malcolm said about the bears and how they learn to shift.
Think of your natural form.
I shrug. I close my eyes and think, Natural…natural—natural—natural demon. My mind brings up Arlo’s monstrous face in the circle, and I shudder. No, not like that. I dig deep into myself, into my magic, and I mumble the words natural form.
I feel an unfamiliar warmth on my skin, separate from the now-tepid bathwater. I open one eye and my smoky-black ward-magic is surrounding me and the bath.
I squeak and jump. A wave of water splashes onto the floor.
What? Oh my God…Oh, not my ward. What the heck is it doing here? I lift a shaky hand and the smoke drifts gently across my hand and twists between my fingers. I want to smack my forehead.
This smoky stuff is my magic.
Wow. I use my big toe to pull the bath plug, not willing to take my eyes off my magic. I stare at it in wide-eyed fascination as the bath drains. Wow.
“What can you do?” I whisper to it like a proper weirdo. The smoke seems to get thicker. Natural form. I aim the thought at my magic. It shimmers, and from one breath to the next…I have a cape around my shoulders.
A cape.
Ha, bloody brilliant. Useless. I roll my eyes and turn my head to see black fabric.
The empty bath squeals as I stand up. The cape is heavy on my shoulders and hits me mid-thigh.
What the hell? I don’t need a bloody cape.
I know the book said demons can create their clothing, but a cape is crap.
“At least it could be designer horse-wear,” I grumble as I step out of the bath.
I let out a bloodcurdling scream when I see myself in the mirror.
Oh bloody hell, hell, hell. That’s not a cape. That’s not a cape!
Wings.
I have wings. I panic. I wave my arms about in the air, and the bloody wings follow the movement of my hands as they open and flap. Ouch.
OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.
I run in a circle and they follow me; they smash off the bathroom walls, knocking stuff off the shelves and onto the floor.
Ouch, ouch, ouch, that hurt.
Oh my God, they are real. Oh my God, it’s not my imagination. The freaky huge black bat wings sticking out of my back are real.
I slip on the wet floor, and only a desperate wing flap keeps me from falling on my bum.
Emma, calm down.
I stand, panting. I drop my arms and the…gulp…wings…relax down my back.
It’s okay. I am okay.
Oh bloody hell.
I tremble. “Natural form…oh, for fuck’s sake.” I bury my face in my hands. “Nice one, Emma.”