He scowls at me and crosses his arms over his chest. “That woman you saw, in whatever form you saw her, is a demon. Demons have no blood siblings.”
I frown as I stare at him for a few long moments, waiting for him to do something, and when all he does is stare back at me with that entirely serious expression on his face, I falter. But then I laugh. Because seriously.
He stands there, allowing me to laugh it off until I finally straighten, wiping some of the tears from my face as I say, “That was a good one.”
“Surely one of your aura believes in demons?” he asks quietly.
“Don’t start with that aura shit with me, Zion. Now is not the time for your hocus pocus bullshit.”
He drops his arms, closing the distance between us in two long strides, and then the next thing I know, I find myself pushed back against the stall wall, the warmth of his body pressing into my front. He raises an arm, so his hand is placed up over my head, and leans into me, the angle of his body putting his face directly in front of mine.
And it’s there, that distinct electrical current that seems to intensify the more time we spend around each other. My anger and confusion dissipate, taking the humor with it, leaving nothing but longing, this deep yearning ache that has me wanting to run almost as much as wanting to stay.
“How's that for hocus pocus bullshit, Viv?” His words are soft, and his eyes flit between my lips and my eyes as he leans in so close that I feel the heat of his lips against mine. He doesn’t move any closer, leaving that tiny space between us; he just remains there, hovering, waiting.
After a moment, I manage to take a breath, exhaling it slowly before saying, “What does it mean?”
“What does what mean? Which part?”
My hands move to his sides, where I grip his shirt, anchoring myself to him. “The part about Gemma.”
“Well, that’s where things are going to get awkward.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we’ve been looking for her.”
My grip on his shirt tightens, the tension in my body quickly increasing at his words. “I don’t understand.”
“I guess all we needed to get her to show herself was you.”
Seamus has quietly approached us. He’s standing diagonally directly behind Zion. I move my hands up Zion’s shirt until I’mgripping him from the front as I give him a little shake that barely moves him. “Explain.”
“We’ve been scouring the damn world for her for what feels like a lifetime, poking into every shadow and dark pit in the hopes she’d slip up and make her whereabouts known to us.”
“Who’s us?”
“Me. Cornelius and Jacob. Countless others.”
“But why?” I ask breathlessly, the weight on my chest excruciating because I already know the answer.
“To catch her,” he answers plainly, not even a speck of emotion in his voice or his gaze. “To put her back as the captive she should have remained.”
“No.”
He stares back at me, his expression still entirely serious, impassive even. “Yes”
The panic is back, along with anguish and fury, and I let it all pool at the very center of me before finally gripping him even tighter, pulling him close. He comes easily, not realizing the error until it’s too late, and then I stick my foot out, shoving him backward as I take his feet out from under him, and he falls onto the other side of Seamus.
And then I take off.
He had left Seamus’s stall door open, and once I’m through it, I twist, giving a push so it rolls closed. I don’t bother trying to lock it. I take off down the hallway, but I’m not even through the doorway when I hear Seamus’s stall door open, and I know I’m not going to make any real escape.
He shouts my name behind me, an ethereal echo that sets my heart pounding as my feet slow and then stop. Inch by inch, I turn, backing away swiftly as he charges forward. Then I find my back against another wall, my palms pressed behind me, officially trapped.
He’s no longer hurrying; he just stalks toward me, the blinding sun shining behind him. I blink rapidly, frowning as I refocus and realize there is no sun. It’s just him.
He stops directly in front of me, the radiating light just brushing the front of me, a soothing calmness in the midst of a violent storm. My pulse slows, soon matching the throbbing pulse in his neck. My sharp inhalation pulls the light inside where it swirls, easing my worries, leaving peace in its wake.
