Or we’re all irrevocably fucked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Flint’s story plays in my mind as I try to ready myself for the day. I had thought that I would be ruminating on how he mentally joined us yesterday — in multiple ways, wink wink — but the story he told me about Goira is taking precedence. There was something… I don’t know. Was it just the emotion in Flint’s face, his voice, as he recounted these moments in his life that made it feel like I had been there? That I had lived those moments with him?
It wasso powerful. Since I had met him, Flint appeared to be unbreakable. Fearless, strong, unflinching. To hear his voice shake,feelhim shake… I think that shook me as much as the scenes he’d described.
To be stripped of all power, autonomy, emotions? Is there any hell more devastating, more punishing than that?
It sounds like a special sort of Hell, honestly.
I may not have a lot of my memories and, don’t get me wrong, that shit haunts me, but to not have my feelings? That sounds… torturous. I mean, I feel all the “bad” shit. I get angry, tired, upset, angry. But I also feel love, joy, happiness, contentment, lust. I feel all the things that feel “good” I guess this is one of those life lessons where you can’t feel the “good” without the “bad”, or some shit like that.
What type of mark does that leave on a man… er… male? I can’t imagine having to live through something like that.
Suddenly, I’m no longer in the bathroom, a brush in one hand, my toothbrush dangling from my mouth. I’m standing next to Flint on a battlefield. A group of men stand before us, wearing robes, with various bones on pieces of leather around their necks.
I know the bones are from the females they’ve vanquished, although I can’t explain how or where the knowledge comes from. It makes no sense — not to me, at least.
A blink and I’m back in my bathroom. I don’t know what to think, what to feel. When I glance in the mirror, silver eyes stare back at me.
“Flint!”
I blink but they don’t change.
He barges in, throwing the door open.
“What is it?”
I gesture to my face, my breathing rapid, palms sweaty. “What the fuck?”
“Ah, love.” He scrubs both hands through his fair, then uses one to cup my face, the other bringing my hand to his chest.
“How are you this fucking calm? Flint — WHAT THE FUCK?” I try to reach for grounding and falter.
“Breathe. Breathe with me, love.”
I stare into his eyes and try to focus on matching his slow, even breathing and not think about the factthat my eyes are fucking silver.
Flint
Well, fuck.
I reachout and lightly weave a soothing spell around Ash, hoping to calm her down, at least enough to have a conversation. The silver in her eyes doesn’t shift, but her breathing slows.
“It’s fine, love. Everything’s fine. Just keep looking at me.”
I hold her gaze, and when I feel the soothing spell lull her further, I allow some of the power to show in my own eyes.
Her breath catches again. “Your eyes… my eyes… fuck. Flint?”
I smile softly, brushing a thumb back and forth across her cheek. “It’s okay. Just keep breathing with me.”
“I thought I’d imagined it butyour eyes fucking glow.”
I nod. “When I channel my power, they do. And apparently, so do yours.”
Before she can protest, I kiss her, pouring my hope, my love into the kiss. Is it wrong to distract her? Probably, but what comes next will be easier if she’s calm. Especially if her power is leaking through. The last thing I need is my beloved witchling leveling the entire building.
