Pulling back, the window in his eyes shutters close and gentleness turns to sadness. Sitting back in his chair he also removes his hand from over my heart and stares longingly at me.
“I couldn’t see your soul, Mavyn.”
I know.
Turning away again, this time it feels somber and there’s a heavy weight on me now. He won’t ever be able to see my soul. No one ever will.
He sighs and I understand his disappointment. If our roles were reversed I’d probably feel the same.
“Are you still hungry?”
My stomach doesn’t make a sound but it does roil. He doesn’t sound disappointed or angry. I turn my head to look at him and he’s just sitting there, waiting for me to answer with a neutral expression.
“You’re not angry?”
His brows flicker down. “Why would I be angry?”
I blink at him. Did I imagine it? Did everything that just happen happen in my head?
“I’m not. . .yours.”
I say that word slowly. Hesitant and unsure because I can’t say the other word. Saying that word out loud would mean it’s real. Would cement the fact that we are. . . connected. I can’t eventhinkthe word because if I want any hope in un-connecting us I can’t believe it. I can’t allow it to have any belief or faith because then it will be real.
People forgot the power of belief.
Belief can make whole universes exist. Just as not believing – just as forgetting – can make them disappear.
So I can’t believe it.
I expect his true devil to rise to the surface and demand I take it back. The force of his power slamming into me with a need that I believe. It’s always the primal part of ourselves that overrule our conscious and morals. And you can’t get any more primal than a true form.
But Callahan softens his features and brings one of the containers back over. Setting it in my lap and then letting go so I can feed myself.
“What would you do if I was angry?” he asks quietly.
Fear, pain, regret, fangs. I look at the food in my lap instead of him so he can’t see the memories. Cages and chains, beatings, whips, starving, burning, burning, burning.
“Brace,” I whisper.
I had done it in the training arena when Thorne grabbed me before Callahan came in. Then again before at the party when Darian grabbed the back of my neck and at the angle – despite there being minor differences and them having different colored hair – I had seen the sun devil.
Psychology says there’s two options when faced with a threat. Fight or flight. But in truth there’s actually four, the other two people tend to forget about. Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn.
I was never able to defend myself or run away before. And freezing never helps when the threat is pummeling your face intothe ground, nor does trying to appease it when it craves violence. When the threat gets off on your pain and blood.
Ms. Elaycia had paid for my weapons training and martial arts classes and self-defense. Nana had practiced with me and honed my skills and technique. Rosemary had sparred with me to strength my body. I am anything but weak.
And yet. . .
Even then. With all the training in the world, all the new muscle memory, all the weapons. . . my mind is my greatest weakness. I could fight a whole army in broad daylight and win, but mention that devil and I’d be open from every angle.
I will always brace.
“I am not angry, Mavyn.” Calm and clear words. “You were hurt. All I want to do right now is take care of you.”
I pick at the container still on my lap. I feel like I’m fourteen again when Ms. Elaycia was taking me in and showing me how the brothel worked. She said she takes care of those living here. She said she would take care of me.
It had been the first time. . . well, it had been the first time it was said to me without any malicious or derogatory intent behind it. And Ms. Elaycia kept her promise. For five years she took care of me.