I turned to say something to Daemon, but there was a rush of warm air and I realized the spot where Daemon had stood was empty. A door opened and then closed.
Surprised, I turned to Blake. “I…”
“He sure can move fast,” he said, shaking his head. “I can move fast, but damn. Not as fast as him.”
I nodded, blinking back hot tears. The one time I actually did something right, Daemon bailed. How freaking typical.
“Katy,” Blake said softly, wrapping his hand around my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I pulled free, dragging in deep breaths.
He followed me into the living room. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I choked out a laugh, embarrassed. “No.”
Blake was silent for several moments. “It’s probably better this way.”
“It is?” I folded my arms, willing my tears to go away. Crying fixed nothing.
He nodded. “From what I’ve gathered, relationships between the Luxen and humans don’t work out. And before you tell me there’s nothing between you two, I know better. I can see the way you look at each other. But it’s not going to work out.”
If this was supposed to be a motivational speech, it was so not working. Blake picked up the first book, smoothing his hands over the glossy purple cover. “It’s better if you cut ties. Or he does, before someone gets hurt.”
My stomach hollowed. “Hurt?”
He nodded solemnly. “Look at it this way. If he thought the DOD was onto you, what do you think he’d do? Risk his life, right? And if the DOD does find out you’ve been mutated, they’re going to want to know who did it. Their first guess is going to be him.”
I started to tell Blake that it wasn’t Daemon, but that would just sound suspicious, and damn if he didn’t have a point. Daemon was the obvious suspect. I sat down, rubbing the heel of my hand over my forehead. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” I said finally.
Blake sat beside me. “Do we ever? But what we want rarely changes the outcome, Katy.”
…
In trig the following day, Daemon tapped his pen off my back. “I’m not going to be at your training today,” he said in a low voice.
Disappointment swelled inside me. Even though Daemon usually wasn’t the most helpful person during these sessions, I truly believed the reason I’d been able to move the books was because of him.
And yeah, I also looked forward to seeing him. Sigh.
I forced a shrug, playing it cool. “Okay.”
His emerald-colored eyes met mine for a brief moment and then he sat back, scribbling along his notebook. Feeling as if I’d been dismissed, I faced the front of the class and exhaled slowly.
Carissa tossed a folded-up note on my desk. Curious, I spread it open.
Why the :( face?
Gosh, was I that obvious? I scribbled a quick message:
Just tired. heart your new glasses.
And I did. They were a rocking zebra print. I managed to toss the note back to her. We weren’t worried about our teacher—it was doubtful he could see all the way to the back of the classroom. The guy made Santa look young.
A few seconds later, the note was back on my desk. I grinned as I unfolded it.
Thank you. Lesa wants me to tell you: “Daemon looks hot today.” I have to agree.
I laughed under my breath and wrote back,
Daemon always looks hot!!!
Stretching into the aisle, I went to drop the note back on Carissa’s desk. Before it could leave my fingertips, it was snatched from my hand. Son of a donkey butt! My mouth dropped open and my cheeks burned. Twisting around in my seat, I glared at Daemon.
He held the note close to his chest and grinned. “Passing notes is bad,” he murmured.
“Give it back,” I hissed.
Shaking his head, he unfolded the note much to my—and I’m sure, to Lesa’s and Carissa’s—horror. I wanted to die as I watched those vibrant eyes quickly scan the note. I knew when he got to my part, because his dark brows shot up his forehead.
He grinned, used his mouth to pop off the cap on his pen, and wrote something on the page. Groaning, I glanced at Lesa and Carissa. Lesa’s mouth was hanging open and Carissa’s cheeks matched mine. God, he was taking enough time.
Daemon finally folded the note and handed it back. “There you go, Kitten.”
“I hate you.” I snapped around—just in time, because the teach was scanning the classroom. When he went back to the chalkboard, I handled the note like it was a bomb. Slowly and carefully, I unfolded the damn thing.
And I died a little more.
That note would never, ever see the light of day again. I refolded the paper and shoved it in my bookbag, my movements stiff and my entire body enflamed.
Daemon chuckled.
…
For several days, Blake and I worked alone. Unsurprisingly, things were a lot smoother without Daemon’s threatening presence. With Blake’s coaching, I went from being able to move small objects for short periods of time to rearranging the entire living room with a single thought. Each time I was successful, Blake got all kinds of happy, and I tried to join in the revelry—because this was good—but there was always an edge of disappointment riding each accomplishment.
I wanted to share my successes with Daemon, and he wasn’t there.
Blake eventually moved on to harder stuff, attempting to teach me how to control the more powerful things through a horrible series of trial-and-error experiments. The first time I’d attempted to control fire ended up with what I swore were second-degree burns on my fingers.