“I’ll admit, I didn’tsee this coming.”
Stone holds open the door to the ceramics studio like a perfect gentleman. “I figured we both needed to ease ourselves into this.”
Before he can elaborate, we’re swept up by an overly-eager instructor ushering us to our station. There are only five other couples in the class, all seated side by side, the stations spaced out around the room in a semicircle with the teacher in the center. Clearly the woman sweetens her coffee with cocaine, the peppy blonde running through her demonstration with the utmost enthusiasm, making wet clay out to be the best damned creation in the universe. By the time we’re finally set loose, I’m pretty sure I’ve riddled out what Stone meant.
Fighting back my trepidation, I slowly remove my gloves and roll up my sleeves so that I’ll be able to work, Stone not moving much faster than I am. If we were anywhere crowded, I’m honestly not sure that I could do it, but I’ve spent the last few days at the house attempting to ease myself into the idea of exposing myself. Not only skin, but putting my scars on display, knowing I’ll eventually get some random jackass or curious kid commenting on them.
The only person near me is Stone, and there’s no risk in touching him. I can do this; no different than my old routine for banging one out with a human. Just... with the lights on. And pants.
Seeing his frown as he stuffs his gloves into his pockets helps. We’re both venturing outside of our comfort zones here, not just me. If he’s willing to try for my sake, I can return the favor.
Once we’re set up with all of our supplies and dive into work, I keep my voice low, even though the other couples are far enough away and so immersed in their own conversations that I’m not overly concerned about anyone overhearing. “So, super healing? I haven’t heard of that one before.”
“Not quite.” Wetting his hands, he concentrates on stretching his piece. “There’s no official name for my affinity since it’s rather uncommon, but I suppose mimic or lapidary may be the closest applicable terms?”
My hands are completely coated with wet clay, and I’m not sure if I’m a fan of the way it squelches between my fingers. “Oof, we’re starting right out of the gate with brain teasers, are we? Okay, so that would be... copycat gemstone work? Forging diamonds, but for... healing?” I scrunch my face in contemplation, because that doesn’t make any sense. “Unless healing crystals are actually your jam and you work at the hospital for patient access? Wait, I forgot the mimic part. No shifter hasthatadvanced level of healing, so do you replicate and amplify those of someone you’ve been in contact with? How long does it last?”
“You’re perceptive and analytical; I admire that.” With a gentle smile, he works his lump of clay with confident strokes. “I utilize gemstones for a multitude of purposes. With them, I can enhance another shifter’s abilities, copy and contain them to use later, merge them with one another; that sort of thing. It’s a pretty broad spectrum that’s rather difficult to define, but you’re pretty close with the witch doctor comparison, although I prefer amulets and such for ease of carrying over a lump of crystal.”
His smile falls. “After so much exposure over the course of my life, since every shifter carries advanced healing in addition to their other abilities, it rubbed off on me and became an intrinsic part of my nature regardless of if I carry a stone on me or not.” He grimaces. “Bright side, organ regrowth has proved a fruitful endeavor on the black market.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
My pottery wheel keeps spinning, but I’m doing little more than ensuring my shapeless lump doesn’t go flying off to peg some poor human in the head. All I can do is stare at Stone’s stoic profile wondering how he can say all of this so calmly like it’s no big deal.
He may very well be the biggest threat on the face of this earth, but he looks like the kind of guy that’d rather be in bed by eight to catch the latest episode of his favorite cooking show.
“I never joke about the importance of fair compensation," he states, scrunching up his face likeI’mthe crazy one. “My thirteenth spleen is walking around somewhere the next state over as we speak. I want to help people, but I still have to make a living so I can continue doing so.”
I blink, then blink again, but he’s still staring at me, completely serious, and not understanding why my brain fritzed out.
“You’re a doctor that sells his own organs on the side, and you expect me to act like that’s not mildly disconcerting? You’re treating your body like it’s disposable, saving everyone else at your own expense. Are you going to sit there and pretend that it doesn’t kill a little more of your soul every time you sell off a piece of yourself?”
His iridescent gaze bores into mine, unyielding. “That would be assuming I have one left, Amara. ”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I break our stare off to return to the task at hand. “So what is it, a foot fetish? Serial killer?”
He tilts his head, forehead scrunched in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
I scoff, molding my blob into the general shape of a coffee mug. “There’s no way that you’re that powerful, attractive, a doctor, and just an all-around nice guy with the patience of a saint. Sorry, but it doesn’t add up. There has to be some fatal flaw or deep dark secret to balance all of that out.”
Paying the utmost attention to the detailed lines of his project, he seems to age a thousand years in a matter of seconds. “I killed my best friend, imprisoned every demon on earth inside of human bodies that couldn’t contain our energy and twisted them into shifters, and left us all cursed in far too many ways to count.”
“I... think I might need a little more to go on, here.”
With a sigh, he rolls his thumb, widening the mouth of his creation. “Roughly ten thousand years ago, the world was split between humans and the demons that crawled out of the hollow pits of their souls. I won’t get into all of the finer details here, but it wound up reaching a boiling point. A demon named Acheron Wilder pitted us against each other in the hopes of eradicating the humans, but my best friend saw right through the egotistical jackass. She asked me for help, but in true Nightmare fashion, things exploded beyond what anyone could predict or control.”
His shoulders slump. “Instead of taking the people in our village to start over elsewhere like she originally agreed upon, Aurelia tried to fix things at home. Used the gemstone fragments I gave her to amass enough energy to remove Acheron from power, which, to be fair, she did, but only by sacrificing her life and accidentally ‘saving’ every demon by hiding them in the nearest vessel; the people trying to kill us. Human bodies weren’t meant to contain demonic energy, and it resulted in the mutated complications we know today as shifters. And thus, we spend our lives at war with ourselves and suffering the various curses that befell each demonic race.”
His sculpture collapses under his touch and he sighs, beginning the arduous process of reconstructing it. “I gave her the keys to the universe, and she used them to damn us all. So I’ve spent every moment since trying to make up for my mistake.”
I see what Raiden meant, now. Stone's beating himself up, working at the hospital to save people as a means of redemption. Maybe he played a part in what happened, but ultimately, Aurelia’s decisions were just that; hers.
“To be fair, it kind of sounds like your friend is the one that did the whole imprisonment and curse thing. You can hand someone a gun, but you can’t control if they use it for protection, go on a mass murdering spree, or turn it on themselves. All you did was help a friend; her choices were her own. Maybe it didn’t pan out the way either of you had hoped, but what was the alternative? Mass genocide, and an evil overlord reigning over what was left?”
I wait until his unnerving gaze meets mine, fighting against the chill it sends down my spine. “I think you’d have bigger regrets if you had refused to help. She still would have died, but you’d always wonder if you could have prevented it. It sounds like a lose-lose situation, Stone, so no use beating a dead horse. It doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t responsible for other people’s actions.”
Attention rapt on the task at hand, his silence stretches on long enough that I don’t think he’s going to answer, and I return to my project. When he finally speaks, it startles me enough that I squish the hideous blob.
