Page 29 of Gifted Destiny

“Yes.” I manage to be louder, but it’s still just a croak. In an attempt to stave off the impending panic attack, I start babbling immediately. “Kodi says all of the bedrooms are soundproofed. Does that mean you can’t hear me through my bedroom door if it’s closed? How did you know it was all right to come in? How did I hear your knock? Does it go both ways?”

He shuts the door behind him, his lips twitching. I’ve always considered my bedroom huge, but his presence makes everything feel smaller. He only spares a glance at the rest of the room before his gaze refocuses on me. He can smell my fear, and he moves slowly and deliberately in an effort to be less threatening.

“I heard your whisper, but I wanted to make certain, so I asked again. The soundproofing is magical as opposed to structural. I believe it permits necessary sounds while blocking others.”

My cheeks heat as I recall the sounds I made last night. I hadn’t restrained my moaning screams when Avery brought meto an ecstatic climax – twice. I force the memory away before my arousal can make the situation more awkward.

The shifter approaches with caution. Since my body doesn’t permit easy flight when my adrenaline kicks in, I usually veer toward fighting. My muscles are so tense that I feel like a fractured ice sculpture. A single touch might shatter me into a million pieces.

Glimpsing the wheeled chair I sometimes use while dressing, Garrett positions it out of arm’s reach and sits. His body language portrays relaxation as he attempts to lessen the intimidation his sheer size presents. “You’ve had some physical therapy sessions?”

I pick at the threads of my quilt and shrug. His casual, patient air is soothing. “Only once or twice. It was a long time ago. The exercises they assigned caused a lot of pain, so I never followed through. The therapists either didn’t bother or couldn’t hide their emotions. Most of them pitied me, and I couldn’t stand it. Some acted like they didn’t care at all. I was just a job to them. That was easier than being pitied but still difficult.” I glance down at the blanket. If Sage didn’t magically mend it every day, I might have unraveled it by now.

“They all wanted to know how my injuries happened. Some didn’t believe I couldn’t remember.” I shrug again. “The orphanage’s caretaker made it more difficult because she didn’t always arrange transportation. After a while, it became too much of a hassle.”

I glance upward to see Garrett’s nod of understanding. I’d deliberately dimmed the lights, and the shadows emphasized the ruggedness of his face. Unlike Bren, Garrett’s appeal is subjective. His intensity can resemble anger, indifference, or condescension. Considering he was raised with privilege and wealth, all are reasonable assumptions.

I’ve tried, but I can’t entirely separate the brothers from their father. It doesn’t make me fear them, however, because we have something in common. Addington sought to control and break all of us, but we survived.

“Can you describe your pain to me? How often do you feel it? How bad does it get? Do certain activities make it worse or better?” The questions are similar to my doctor’s appointments, but Garrett asks them with more compassion.

“I’ve felt less pain since I arrived here. The building’s magic, and perhaps shifting, has changed it from unbearable to just irritating. I think Sage expends energy to decrease my pain, though, and she can’t do that when she’s overwhelmed. Today was worse than it has been.” My gaze slides away from his. “A few other things increase my pain.”

“Pressure? Like when Bren sat in your lap during the storm?” Garrett’s neutral tone isn’t hiding judgment; he’s simply gathering information.

I flinch. “Yes, but please don’t tell him that. I feel like he needed it.”

Although my words are intentionally vague, Garrett understands. He leans forward in the chair, drawing my gaze again. “He did. His magic has never calmed so quickly before. I won’t tell him.”

“I have to ask even though it’s a bit off-topic,” he says after a measured pause that piques my curiosity. “Doesn’t his magic hurt you? I’ve tried to hold him when he loses control, but I can’t get close. The blue sparks prick and burn when they touch my skin. I’ve sucked it up more than once to protect us or other people, but it feels like hugging a flaming porcupine.”

A vision of a flaming blue porcupine prompts amusement despite the situation. I’m also surprised. The sparks had provoked a strange tingle, but they hadn’t hurt. “They didn’t hurt. After the first few, I barely noticed them. When he startedto regain control, they almost felt … nice.” My cheeks heat again as I consider how my meaning could be misinterpreted. “I’m not someone who likes pain because I hurt on a daily basis, and I might have a higher tolerance than most. It felt more like energy than pain.” Kodi’s static can be similar, but I don’t mention this.

“Maybe it’s because your magic is more compatible with his than mine. Sphinxes are also mages, but I’m just a shifter.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, back to the main subject. What else besides pressure increases the pain?”

I continue to fidget as I contemplate my answer. The ways I accommodate my body and pain aren’t conscious decisions anymore – they’re habits now. I’ve grown used to the things I do to minimize my pain and rarely think about them. “I suppose too much rest or too much activity. If I’m immobile for a while, my muscles start cramping up. It’s the same when I’m too active. I have to switch often between my chair and my crutches. Sitting makes my thighs and hips ache, but standing causes weakness and pain in my thighs and calves.”

I pause as a thought occurs to me. “You’ve seen braces that can be molded to the legs, right? They’re usually 3D printed and stretch from the hip to the ankle or just around the knee. The joint flexes with the body.”

“I have seen them in physical therapy videos.”

His answer surprises me. Supernaturals wouldn’t have a need for such devices. Shaking off my assumptions, I continue. “A doctor told me that I have enough strength in my legs to use them, but I’d have to relearn how to walk. They’d require a different kind of balance than the braces I have now.” I shrug again. “They’re really expensive.”

Garrett regards me thoughtfully. “Could this be a goal for you? Would you like to learn how to use them?”

I can’t answer right away. It’s never been an option, so I didn’t indulge in the fantasy. Money isn’t an obstacle any longer,though. “Maybe,” I admit. “Once I got the hang of them, I could have my hands free. That’s huge.” My nose wrinkles. “It would be a really steep learning curve, though, and I don’t have the mental capacity right now.” I don’t have to explain why. Our lives are intertwined and both are tumultuous.

“I’ll help you learn.” Garrett’s words sound like a promise. “We could even tailor these sessions with that goal in mind so that it’s easier when the time comes.”

I stare at him and forget to blink. He makes it sound like we’re all going to live happily ever after, and I want to believe him.

“Now, are you feeling more relaxed?”

I roll my shoulders, pushing aside any thoughts of an unknown future. “A little, but that might change.” I offer a shy smile.

“Understandable. I’m going to move closer, but I’ll warn you before I touch you. I know I look intimidating, and it probably feels different when I’m not carrying you.”

He’s not wrong. When he’d held me, he’d felt capable and strong. Now, his presence looms over me. He slowly slides forward, his thick thigh muscles flexing and bunching. When he stops, his knees brush against mine. My pulse flutters and my calves curl around the mattress. My knuckles begin to ache from my tight hold on the blanket.

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