Page 17 of Avelina

Uh oh. I tore my eyes away from him just as he looked at me with an intense stare that penetrated down into my soul.

“You are a greater reservoir for the Connection fragment,” he continued. “It lets you feel people’s emotions and communicate with them through touch. It’s one of the rarer ones, but not unheard of. There is at least one other greater connector in Neesee.” His face reddened again, then momentarily twisted into something like pure hatred, but he recovered quickly, relaxing back into a neutral expression.

I shook my head, clearing the trance he had just put me under, then tried to digest what he was actually saying. What kind of insane magical thinking was this? And yet, I had sensed him.

“Have you ever experienced anything like that before?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. I’ve always been sensitive to people’s emotions, I guess, but nothing like that. It shocked the hell out of me.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I remember my first time. It was disturbing. Of course, I was fifteen when it happened.”

“You have this ability too?” I asked.

“No, mine is different,” he said, then he turned back to his work again without elaborating. Another touchy subject, I presumed. He had a lot of those.

Rogue rolled over in the doorway and whined a little.

“Okay, my turn,” I said. Aaron didn’t answer, but he didn’t argue either. He just pulled open the dragon’s stomach cavity as he had the sternum and tugged out organs and intestines. He didn’t use his knife for this part. I supposed that it might be bad to poke a hole in the poop shoot.

The intestines slid down into the basin and then hung, caught at one end inside the carcass. Aaron cut the end free from the outside, carving a hole in the creature’s butt, and the intestines fell with a splat.

Aaron sniffed and then turned back to me. “Ask your question,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn’t. Blood dripped freely into the basin, and it occurred to me that Spirit might have a point with the whole vegan thing. “Why would your mother have a vision about me?”

He shrugged. “Not a vision. It’s more like a very accurate prediction. The future is always mutable.” He sounded like he was quoting a textbook. Maybe he was.

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked, my frustration bubbling up again.

“I don’t know,” he said, grabbing a rag that had been hanging from another hook and wiping his hands. He retrieved the split firewood and stacked it in the firepit, presumably to make a cooking fire.

I wondered if he would start rubbing sticks together. He finished stacking the wood, then he stood, staring at his work, as if trying to decide something.

He raised narrowed eyes to me, then said, “Why don’t you go get cleaned up. There is a bath in the back of the cottage with a privacy screen. I won’t disturb you. You can wear one of my shirts while we wash your . . . uh . . .” He looked at my blue pants but didn’t finish the sentence. Either he changed his mind about promising to save my clothes or he didn’t know what pants were.

“There is a water spigot over the tub. Try not to waste it. The rains won’t come for a few more weeks.”

I nodded. “Okay, thanks.” That did sound like a good idea, although I doubted the water would be warm. Beggars can’t be choosers, though, and I definitely fit that description. I turned to go, but then curiosity got the better of me. “How are you going to light the fire?” I asked.

He snorted. “You can’t let anything go, can you?”

“Endearing, isn’t it?” I answered, grinning. “It’s my best feature.”

“I doubt it.” He sighed. “Come, I might as well show you.”

He might have been complimenting me, but it just as easily could’ve been an insult. I decided to assume the former and walked up to stand beside him. He crouched close to the firepit, and I did the same.

I noticed for the first time, squatting there next to him, that he smelled amazing. It wasn’t cologne, but a sort of non-BO man smell. A little musky, a little sweet, a little sweaty, but not in a gross way. It was that, mixed with spearmint and a hint of blood. Even the blood smell didn’t bother me. It only added a strangely seductive tanginess.

Jesus. What is wrong with me? Now I’m turned on by the smell of blood? I need a psychiatrist. Any minute now I’m going to wake up in a straitjacket.

I wanted to ask him how he managed that amazing scent when I was such a disaster, but I reminded myself not to get sidetracked by sniffing the man I’d believed would kill me only three minutes ago.

Aaron stuffed one large log underneath the firewood in a way that would smother any attempt to start a fire. He reached out and touched the edge of that log, then took a deep breath in and out. For a split second, a flash of bright vermilion light streaked through his hand, beginning at his wrist and moving down through his fingers. It was so fast that if I’d blinked, I would have missed it. When the glow reached the log, it burst into flames. It startled me, and I fell back on my butt with a little yelp. I stared at the fire, then at Aaron. His lips quirked up at the corners.

“That’s your fragment,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Evocation.”

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