The kind of burning I haven’t felt since the devil last placed his hands on my bare skin.
I don’t cover my body just because of the sun. I also cover it because if anyone touches my scars bare of any barrier – whether that be material or magic – it burns worse than the sun.
It almost feels like I’m about to black out. I forgot how much it hurt. The nightmares don’t even come close. I’m not used to it anymore. It’s not accompanied by the sexual warmth of his venom flooding my system from his bite or the twisted euphoria from the poisons the mage would give me before she would start with me.
It’s only pain.
I can’t even speak. I can’t even mouth the word stop. I can’t. . .
Let go.
I can barely think it and worse is that I wasn’t able to properly open my mental shields up enough to just tell him that. My walls get flung open as he immediately lets my arm go and I slide down the wall. It takes too many seconds to snap my shields back up and lock my mind from prying eyes.
Too many seconds too late because I felt him seeing what was exposed. I felt him watching. Even if he didn’t enter my mind, he still saw.
The pain lingers for long minutes. It’s quiet but for my pants. When I’m finally able to open my eyes I find Callahan still in front of me, though now he’s kneeling so my eyes are level with his. And his are pitch black.
No differentiating between his iris and pupil. A primordial stillness has his body stuck in place and I can’t sense his aura at all. It’s never been possible for someone to completely hide their magic from me. There’s always some sort of fluctuation even if they try concealing it to everyone else.
Ribbons of pain still shoot through my left arm as I pull my knees in tighter to my chest and slowly hunch my shoulders. Any tinge of movement feels like saws ripping at my skin and bone. But he looks. . .
“Callahan.”
Barely a breath. Barely anything because if I’m not careful he could eviscerate me. He looks like he’s so close to shifting into thatthingall devils have within themselves. A type of thing – not monster, not beast, not creature, it’s a thing – and I know the type of death they can instill. Theirtrue form.
“You said he was generous.”
Monotone and cold. His voice sounds dead to any sort of emotion. Like someone without a soul.
“Who?” I breathe. I will not speak louder than that in case he does attack. He wouldn’t even need to blink in order to decimate me.
The black in his eyes ripple as a sliver of color around what would be his pupil lights.
“The devil.” And a bit of understanding leaks through.
I can’t believe he remembered that. My description of the devil while I had been in the infirmary. I had said he was generous – though I had meant with his punishments. He was more than generous with those.
He speaks before I can respond. “This is torture.” The gold in his eyes consume more of the black in his iris. “He tortured you, didn’t he. It wasn’t you who cut your arms. It was always him.”
Breaking my eye contact, he looks at every scar, every bitemark. I should be lucky he can only see what’s on my arms and legs.
“How did you survive this?” he breathes, his voice finally cracking. “You said they adopted you when you were a toddler. Toddlers are between two to four years old.”
The black in his iris retreats back to just the outline of his iris and his aura flickers back to life around him. It makes me internally relax as I shift to push myself further into the wall. The pain in my arm is still lingering but not enough to prevent me from getting dressed and leaving. I wish I could take today off and just sleep. I want to sleep after this encounter.
“Mavyn,” he says quietly, softly, carefully. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” I snap. At least, I know right now he’s not going to. Not with that inner self that is the true form of a devil now locked back inside him. Pushing off the wall, I ignore the lingering pain and cinch the towel tighter around myself. “Now can you turn around so I can get dressed? Or better yet, get out and forget you saw anything.”
He stands up with me and his eyes linger on my scars.
“I can’t forget that – “
“Then try.” I snap again. “Now get out.”
His jaw clenches and because he’s already seen this much I don’t have the energy to care enough. I drop the towel and his eyes flare as I use it to wrap my hair up before pulling on my clothes. Just a loose long sleeve and pajama pants to cover me so I can get back to my room and then I can get ready.
When I look back up at him I’m not surprised by the state of shock or anguish. Scars from objects linger nearly every part of my body, and that devil’s bitemark accompany them.
