Chapter 8 #4
“Well, you just did,” he claims, his voice raw as he stares at me intensely.
“It is not like I am happy about this.” He shrugs.
I can’t believe him. “Then leave! Make a choice: we’re doing this together or not at all, you self-centered prick!
Drop this cocky prince act and start acting like the tough man everyone describes you to be!
” I yell at him. He stiffens at my reaction.
Fuck, maybe I should have been a bit nicer.
He is also human. Before I can apologize, his mouth twitches a bit and his eyes smile at me.
“See you tonight, Honey.” He smirks at me, his voice still raw, stepping out of the room.
My pulse flutters. He closes the door carefully.
I stare at the door in disbelief. He didn’t even slam the door after what I told him.
He didn’t even flinch. I feel myself turn red as I stare at the door.
Why did I act that way, and why are all the lights on?
They were off before. I plop down on our bed and zip my backpack open.
The book I felt so attracted to before lies on top.
I read it before, a few years ago I think, but it didn’t do anything back then.
Right now, it feels like it is glaring at me, screaming to me ‘Open me, please!’ I pull the big brown book out of my bag and toss the bag onto the bed.
Tiny glittering lights shimmer around the book, sending tingles through my body.
A yawn slips past my lips as the lights in the room begin to dance around it.
Weird.
That doesn’t happen often.
I open the book, coughing as the dust flies out of it.
But before it has the chance to fall my lights cover it and change it into little light glitters.
I notice that all the lights fly in one direction.
One page off the books lights up completely and colors my now entire dark room.
I flip through the pages until I am at the one that lights up everything.
A page about signets. I read it until I remember every word that is being described on paper.
‘While one person gets born with a signet, others find out they can channel their signet years into their life. Some would call having a signet a gift, since there has been a time when people had no such thing. I would explain it differently. Having a signet is just like having muscles to run very hard, but you won’t be able to do that if you don’t train them correctly.
A signet is a combination of your power and ability to channel.
Everyone has their own power and way to channel it.
Your signet and ways of use reflect who you are at the core of your being.
Channeling and wielding has everything to do with who you are and what you feel the most and nothing with your kind of power.
Some would call us fae, but we have no pointed ears.
Others call us witches, except witches we do have and we make no blood sacrifices.
Most powerless humans put us under the often-used term different.
But aren’t we all different since we are the only existing version of ourselves?
‘Everyone feels emotions differently. Some feel deeply and intensely while others don’t. Signets can activate unwillingly when you are a deeply feeling person. You have to learn how to keep your emotions under control if you care about your surroundings.’
I can work with that. Maybe my high pulse and pitched breathing when I am around Braxton is the reason I see lights appearing everywhere. I keep browsing for something that can help me further.
The door slams open. All the lights that were surrounding me switch off within a split second.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark?” Braxton asks, looking unbothered, but I notice that his hands are looking for the light switch immediately. I hear his breath pitching for whatever the reason may be.
“I uh—” I murmur. “I was reading.” I can feel the blush rise to my cheeks and for once I am thankful for the darkness surrounding me. “Wait, I’ll do it!” I turn my hand up and the room lights up.
“Why were you reading in the dark?” he mutters under his breath. I see the relief wash over him and his breathing going steady again as the light is back on again. Could he be afraid of the dark?
“It was on, until you came in,” I whisper, feeling kind of embarrassed. “Well alright, if you say so.” He shrugs. “You missed dinner.”
I turn my head to the clock hanging on our wall. Fuck. He is right. I have been in here for four hours. It is already 11 p.m.
“Sorry,” I murmur, zipping my backpack open and throwing the book in.
“Have you been in here reading the whole time?” He stares at me in disbelief. His lips are pressed together and his finger is pointing at me. I feel attacked.
“Maybe. But since when did you start caring? And why are you talking to me so much? You’ve said more in the last few minutes than you have all day.
” I breathe out, furrowing my brows. He shrugs his shoulders, not reacting to my questions.
I guess I am back in the silent treatment.
He opens our bathroom door. It seems like he is moving in slow motion.
His hand moves to the bottom of his shirt.
He pulls it over his head in one fast movement, revealing his body that is covered completely in tattoos.
Not just his arms—no, I mean everything.
He glares over his shoulders, and I can feel myself turn red.
“Sorry, I will go,” I squeak out. It feels like all the air left my lungs and my heart beats so fast it is going to beat out of my chest. I spin around on the mattress.
A finger under my chin forces me to look in his direction again. He is standing close to me.
Too close.
I can smell him and feel his breathing on my face.
He smells like cedarwood and a mix of sweat and blood.
I take a deep breath in to make sure I will remember this smell.
A light stubble covers his strong facial features.
Sadly enough, his dimple isn’t on the front row today.
And wow those abbs. He has the body of a god.
Except for the tattoos, though. I am not sure a god would be allowed to have that many doodles and drawings all over their body.
I have nothing against it. It is badass, personal, and maybe even a bit attractive.
A gigantic scar forms the base of a tattoo at the bottom of his chest. I clench my jaw at the thought of someone doing that to him.
His eyes find mine and I realize that I have been staring at him for way too long and the blush on my cheeks continue to rise.
“So you like my tattoos?” he breathes out, his voice deep and raspy. I can see his pulse going fast as I put on my brave face. I lift my chin high as I continue to stare in his deep blue and green eyes.
“Just curious who put them on you,” I answer indifferently. I straighten my back and wipe my hands on my dress.
“Well, if I am too much of a distraction to you, I could always close the door,” he huffs out, walking inside the bathroom again.
Was he planning on showering with the door open?
“Yes please, not sure if you can handle me changing into my pajamas.” I smirk at him.
He didn’t answer my question, so I might tease him a bit.
His eyes wide as he closes the door. The door is made of this blurry glass, and I can see him throwing his pants on the ground.
A shiver rolls over me. I should change into my pajamas.
I open my backpack again to find my clothes.
I put on my cream silky top and shorts. I have to remind myself why I am doing this again.
Oh yeah, I am obliged to. But also, this is my way to freedom.
I lie down in bed, turning my face away from the bathroom door. It feels like I need to hold my breath. I grab the blanket tightly, waiting for the door to open again.