Chapter 26 Kane #2
Demons feel less than all other creatures, our apathy being a skill many envied. But Jasmine always makes me feel. So much more than I thought possible… I’d forgotten what certain emotions felt like until I met her.
Irritation, at first—for this bratty empath who wouldn’t do as she was told, who wouldn’t bend to my will. Who wasn’t afraid. Then, more dangerous ones: curiosity, intrigue… the urge to protect. The feeling of loss. Of grief.
And now… I can’t name it. But it makes me feel warmer than I ever have.
“Yesterday could’ve ended in disaster,” I say. Blunt.
I’m always too blunt.
She thinks I’m blaming her. I see it in the narrowing of her eyes, the way she pulls back, away from me—
“We should have listened. I’m sorry,” I blurt the final words, halting her regression.
She stills, those red embers flickering with confusion… then something else.
Her lips pull into a soft, self-assured smile. “I accept your apology.”
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t.”
She sighs, long and hard. “That’s where we’re different, Kane. Was I angry that you kept me away? Yes.” She glances down the river. “But do I understand why you did it? Yes. And do I feel a tiny bit smug that I was right and you were all wrong?”
She presses her lips together, trying to hold back another smile, unsuccessfully.
“Still think empaths are weak?” she asks.
But she doesn’t say it in malice, no, she’s teasing me. I hear it in her voice, see it in her expression, how her eyes glisten and lips twitch.
I said that once. I remember. How being controlled by her emotions made her weak. And I know I should reply with something equally light, but… I don’t know how.
Suddenly, I find myself wishing I was more like Sai. Silver-tongued, quick-witted.
A dreadful realisation.
Instead, I go with my mantra. I tell the truth.
“A being who can make even a demon like me feel is the very opposite of weak.”
Did I imagine that blush?
“All empaths can do that.” She looks away, hiding those entrancing eyes behind feathery lashes.
I lean forwards, resting my forearms on my knees. “You’re right, but not like this. You make me feel… everything.”
I don’t know why I said that. No—that’s a lie. I do know. It’s the truth. Because I don’t have to pretend with her. Because I’ve never wanted to be understood until I met her.
She blinks, her fingers tightening around the grass. “I—” She clears her throat, then glares at me. “You don’t talk like this.”
I’ve seen her angry, stubborn, sharp-tongued, but flustered? Speechless? Rarely… And I decide I want more.
“Maybe you bring out my better qualities.”
She makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, and I don’t miss the way her gaze flickers down to my—
Is she looking at my mouth?
I’m suddenly hyper aware of how easily the words are coming, how I haven’t stumbled through this conversation like I usually do. I never know how to speak to people and, as Sai so kindly remarked, especially not in a flirtatious manner.
I’m too blunt. Too cold. Too distant.
Yet here she is, shifting uncomfortably, struggling to hold my gaze. I did that.
I lean back slightly, studying her reaction, letting the silence stretch just to see if she squirms.
She does.
I’ve made her squirm.
Not out of fear. Not because she’s scared of what I am or what I’ve done. Because of me. Because of my words.
No one’s ever reacted to me like this. People flinch when I enter a room, they lower their eyes, they fake respect to hide the terror bleeding from their skin.
But her?
She’s blushing. Flustered. Shifting like I’ve stolen her breath and she doesn’t know how to get it back.
Because of something I said.
I want to say more, anything to make her react like that again… or more. But all I can do is look at her.
Look and want.
Finally, she exhales sharply and twists her body to face me fully, as if shaking off whatever just happened.
“Well, seeing as you know so much about empaths,” she begins, straightening her spine. “What else can you tell me?”
Her voice is stronger now, but there’s still a hint of something unsteady beneath it.
I definitely like this.
“They’re beings of the light, normally,” I say, and her eyes lower to the ground.
“I know, Ferne told me that, but when they realised I could…” She pauses, then mutters quietly, “Meld minds…” Her voice fades, fingers curling into the grass again.
I hate it.
I hate what these people have made her think. How she can’t even utter the words, like they’re a curse.
“She said something happened to me, and that made the darkness overpower my light.” She frowns, studying the strands of grass she’s pulled from the ground, then gently pats them back down, like she wants to reverse the damage.
“Can you…” She looks at me. “Do you think you could explain that?”
For her? Anything.
“We’re all born with fragments of light and dark within us,” I say, watching her closely. “That isn’t a belief—it’s a fact. But not everyone is born equal. Some come into the world carrying more of one than the other.”
I pause to let that settle, to see if she needs more, but she stays quiet—crimson eyes fixed on mine, wide and waiting.
“Suffering trauma,” I continue, “feeds the darkness, enhances it. Some say the pain mutates the fragments already inside us, twisting them into something… more.”
I glance at the sun overhead, feel its warmth skim uselessly across my skin. “And others, those who need to cling to something greater, say it’s the Dark Goddess herself. That she chooses the ones who suffer most, marks them, fills them with power. Not a curse, but a gift.”
Jasmine doesn’t blink, her fingers press tighter into the grass.
“Dark powers are always stronger,” I explain.
“It’s one of the reasons my father believed them superior, but they’re also more unstable.
Most bonds form within shifters because their beast needs something, someone, to ground them—keep them whole.
Although rarer, it’s also true for beings who carry immense darkness.
Some say it’s the Goddess’ way of making sure we don’t lose ourselves.
A built-in anchor. Others say bonds are formed from the same fragment of darkness, and those pieces are trying to become whole again. ”
Her eyes widen, then narrow softly.
“What do you believe, Kane?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something fierce, determined, beneath it. Something searching.
I meet her eyes. “I don’t believe in gods.” I lower my voice, try to dull the spikey edge she always seems to soften anyway. “I won’t let my life be dictated by anything but my own choices. I won’t use belief as an excuse for the bad I’ve done. Every choice I make is mine.”
She nods slowly, then gestures between us. “But… how would you explain this?”
“My brother believes in the Goddesses,” I murmur, trying to hide my displeasure. “He might believe they’re the reason.”
“But what do you believe, Kane?”
What do I believe?
Nothing.
Until I met her.
“I believe in how you make me feel. I believe my scrap of soul is tethered to yours. I believe in you.”
Her expression crumples, barely, but enough. Then she blinks it away, looking down at the grass. I let her sit with my confession, my truth.
I’d raze every realm for her without pause. I choose her, not because a Goddess marked us, not because fate demands it. But because I do. Because she’s mine to choose.
Mine.