Chapter twenty
Micah’s grip on my wrist is a vise, and his eyes are crystal blue blades cutting through me.
He thinks I’m with Jeremy. He thinks I’m one of them, here to betray him and hurt his people, and it’s killing me.
“Whatever you think I planned, I swear to you, I did not. Read my mind,” I demand again.
“Do it now. Do it and stop doubting me.”
His chest lifts with a breath, his jaw a tight band about to burst, but he does nothing, says nothing. “Micah,” I plead.
Abruptly, he releases me and turns away, pressing his hands onto the counter, his fingertips splayed just beyond the blood splattered there, the knife I’d used to cut myself in his direct line of sight.
“Damn it, Ember,” he curses, rotating to face me.
“Do not fuck around with magic you don’t understand. ”
I bristle at his bullish tone. “You told me to embrace what I am, but I can’t do that when there’s a serpent showing up in my head. I need it to be gone. And what if it’s Jeremy and he’s killing my true familiar? What if too much time has passed and it’s too late—too late for it and me?”
“You wait on me. You wait until you learn. You have twenty-seven years of learning to do. Wait on me,” he repeats. “The end. You wait, and you do it right.”
“You don’t trust me,” I snap back, “or you wouldn’t have come in here and all but ripped my arm off.”
“Holy fuck, Ember, I want you to run with anything you’ve mastered, but this, this is magic those who’ve trained for generations have not mastered.
You have not mastered. If you’d finished that spellcast, Jeremy might be here right now, ripping pain and death through my entire garrison, Ember.
You listen to me. You do this my way, the right way. ”
“My God, you’re arrogant. How did I not get that until now? Oh wait. I did. You’ve been an arrogant ass from the moment I met you. I guess everyone bows to the great and grand Overseer and Crystal Seer. Well, guess what? I am not everyone else.”
“I’m quite clear on that point.”
“A familiar is not a reptile. It’s in all the books.
And my familiar could be dying right now, suffocated by Jeremy.
” My hands are shaking, my voice lifting with emotion, with my fear of where my story ends.
“And then what? Do I die? Does he take me over? Do I become like him? I don’t want to be one of them. I won’t be one of them.”
“Your familiar cannot die,” he says, his statement absolute.
“It’s a part of you, woven into your soul.
It’s been with you from the day you were born, and at some point, I know you’ve felt it there, felt it with you, helping you.
If that had been a serpent, I believe you would have turned out a much different person. ”
“Then my familiar could be in danger.”
“No.” He swipes a hand through the air. “I told you, no.”
“Jeremy was strong enough to bind your powers. How do you know those months I was close to him weren’t part of some spellcast that made it possible?” I point to my temple. “Go inside my head. I need you to go inside my head and make sure you can’t find him there.”
“I’ve been inside your head.”
“You said you didn’t read my thoughts. Maybe that changes what you can see or feel. I need you to do this.”
“Ember—”
“And you need to trust me. I need you to trust me. You have to do this for both of us.” I step closer to him, wiping out the space that separates us as if my nearness allows him to better read me. “Please, Micah.”
I’m met with an eternal deadpan stare, his expression unreadable, before he reaches for me.
He captures my shoulders, and that calming sensation he creates stirs in me instantly—a warm river washing away the blood and fear of moments before.
The intimacy, or whatever this feeling is that he stirs in me, is thick in the air.
It’s between us. It radiates from his palm and hums through me.
And I think maybe that’s the point—that’s what he wants me to feel. Some sort of Crystal Seer bond that I’m not sure he was fully prepared for any more than I was. “I can feel what you are,” he says. “I don’t need to go into your head.”
“I think we both know you do.”
“No,” he says, and offers nothing more.
“No? Just no?”
“Just no.”
“You’re too arrogant for your own good, Micah. What if he can hide so deep inside me that not even you can feel him?”
“No,” he repeats, releasing me to step back and wide. “We both need to sleep before we travel.” He saunters toward the couch with that damnable hotness and grace of his, sits down, and picks up my bag of chocolate, holding it up. “I take it you like candy?”
Frustration ticks through me, and I want to push, but it’s clear he’s not going to allow this topic to continue. I ignore the question, joining him in the living room, where he’s unwrapping a piece of chocolate. I step in front of him, on the opposite side of the coffee table. “Where are we going?”
“I’m not telling you that. You have no guard. What you know can be plucked from your head. Someplace safe. That’s all I’m willing to say.” He motions over his shoulder. “Take my bed. I’ve got the couch. Rest. You’ll be glad you did.”
“You’re the Overseer, the king in this place. You take your bed.”
“That would be so very arrogant of me, don’t you think?”
My cheeks heat. “You are arrogant.”
“Confident. And it takes confidence to stay alive in our world.”
“Take your bed,” I press.
“Not happening, sweetheart. Go rest.”
“Sweetheart” from him is not the “sweetheart” of a best friend teasing me or opposing counsel talking down to me.
Or the grocery clerks in Texas who seem to love it as much as they do sweet tea.
This “sweetheart” is from a man I’ve been pressed so close to I’ve felt almost every inch of him.
This is “sweetheart” from a man telling me to sleep in his bed while I occupy his apartment.
I want him and hate him and just so many things.
But then he ruins my female fascination by eyeing the book I was reading and picks it up, glancing at the page open to the spellcast I just attempted and then at me. “Magic is dangerous when practiced without training and guidance.”
“You left me the book.”
“And told you to read it, not conjure a damn demon.”
“The spellcast was to conjure my familiar. Again, a familiar is not a snake. And considering he bound your powers, I think you should be concerned that I’m not the only one with a serpent hanging around inside me.” With that, I walk away and enter his room, shutting the door firmly behind me.
Once I’m facing forward, staring at his gigantic bed with the towering posts, the centerpiece of his domain, I wonder how many nights Celine has spent here and curse myself for going down that highly personal path.
It’s not my business. I do not care, I tell myself firmly, but I do care.
I don’t want to get in between her and Micah, and yet, from the moment I met Micah, there was a spark and a tug, as fierce as an ocean current.
There’s something happening between us, me and Micah.
You and I, we’re alike, he’d said. I don’t even know what that means at this point, but there’s truth in that statement that reaches beyond the color of our eyes.
With a few short steps, I’m sitting on his bed, the scent of him misting the air around me.
This is his domain. I am but a visitor, conceivably a prisoner, but I don’t fear Micah.
I fall back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling.
I don’t fear him because of what I feel in him.
That’s what he’s been telling me. A Crystal Seer can feel the motives of another Crystal Seer.
And that connection I feel to him must be about me waking up my senses and recognizing him as being a likeness of myself.
Either way, this is no fable. It’s real life, and I have to learn to fight, really fight, and protect myself. That requires rest, which I haven’t had in far too long. I shut my eyes and will myself to sleep, but the minute the darkness consumes me, the darkness is him—the serpent.
Jeremy.
I jolt to a sitting position, stand up, and march to the door, opening it and heading straight for the couch where Micah is lying down.
I tiptoe to the edge to lean over and spy him on his back, eyes shut.
I sit down on the floor beside him, just beyond where his head rests, curling my knees to my chest.
“Why are you not sleeping?” Micah asks without moving, his deep voice vibrating through the quiet of the room.
“Every time I close my eyes, he’s there. He won’t go away.” I laugh a humorless laugh. “So much for me slaying werewolves, demons, and monsters, right? I can’t even sleep alone.”
He throws his legs over the side of the couch and stands up, stepping in front of me and offering me his hand.
Craving the calm he creates in me, I don’t even consider where this might lead, eagerly pressing my palm to his.
It’s as if silk strokes the sandpaper of my nerve endings, a colorful rainbow of calm overtaking me.
He guides me to my feet and then motions to the couch. “Let’s trade spots.”
“I can’t put you on the floor, Your Overlord Grace.”
He smirks and corrects, “Your Overseer Grace. And lucky for you, my graceful ass can sleep anywhere in any position. I’ve had lots of practice. Lie down.”
He’s arrogant but quite gentlemanly. After all, the man did kill a few dozen demons for me.
I claim the couch, stretching out with my back to the cushion, my eyes on the room.
Micah lowers himself to the floor where I’d been moments before and tilts his head to rest it on the arm of the couch.
“That’s not very comfortable for you to sleep. ”
He glances up at me. “It’s a perfect bodyguard position. I got you. Go to sleep.”
He’s got me.
It’s a calming idea in the moment, but it’s a notion riddled with cuts and holes. Deep inside, I recognize the need to fight and become my own hero. “I believe you,” I say. “A Crystal Seer can sense the intent of another Crystal Seer.”
“Exactly.”
“You healed my hand.”
“I did,” he confirms, “and before you ask me how, you already know the answer.”
“Magic. Magic is always the answer.”
“You’re learning.”
“I’m trying,” I assure him. “Can all Nephilim heal others?”
“No.”
“Can all Crystal Seers heal?”
“No.”
My brows furrow. “Why can you?”
“Ask me tomorrow. We need to rest. Goodnight, Ember.”
About ten questions dance on my tongue, but I swallow them and whisper, “Goodnight, Micah.”
I shut my eyes, and this time, instead of a snake and yellow-eyed demons, my mind conjures a beautiful man with the most incredible red wings.