Page 27 of The Discovered
I was still reeling from everything I’d just seen in my meditative state. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? Was this castle a real place? It seemed medieval and archaic, so that was doubtful, unless it was a glimpse into the past…
When we stepped inside, Daelon gestured to a couch. “Sit.”
“When you talk to me like that, it makes me not want to listen.”
“And how should I talk to you, Áine? How you talk to me?” His voice was level now, but still seething.
So, he was still angry about my words last night. I’m the one who should’ve been angry—with his mixed messages and the confusion and humiliation his words caused. I sat down and fiddled with my fingers as they lay in my lap. I hated how he made me feel like an errant child.
“I have never in my life been spoken to so…” He paused as he searched for the right word. “Disrespectfully.”
I scoffed. “Well maybe you should have been.”
Daelon closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the leather chair behind him. He stalked off, leaving me to sit in silence.
When he returned, he clutched what appeared to be a first aid kit. He knelt beside me.
“Won’t I heal soon?”
He ignored me, and I flinched when he took a damp cotton pad to wipe the dirt and blood off my skin. Despite his anger, his touch was soft and careful. I winced again when he applied some kind of antiseptic.
“You have no idea,” he started. “What do I have to do to make you understand that I’m merely trying to protect you? Disappearing after last night—god, Áine. I thought you’d left or something. Made yourself vulnerable to kidnapping or worse. And going so deep into your mind that you couldn’t even be reached as I yelled for you… which you did all alone I may add, something you aren’t ready for.” He glared at me again, wrapping a bandage around a cut that was deeper than I’d realized.
How had I not felt that?I sighed. I thought he was most upset about the cursing and the disobedience, but it seemed that most of his anger was just a mask for his worry. I let my guard down, if only a little. “I just needed some space,” I said.
He stood. “You’re not a prisoner here. But you can’t just disappear like that after we had an argument.” He ran a hand through his hair. When he looked at me again, his eyes softened, and some of the frantic tension in his features finally loosened.
“I didn’t think about it like that,” I said. “But I’m fine. It was just a scrape. And I just got too caught up in a visualization.” That was putting it mildly, but I wasn’t in the mood to elaborate.
Daelon studied me for a moment, his brows furrowed. “About last night—”
“No,” I quickly stopped him.
“No? What do you meanno?”
“It means I don’t want to talk about it, Daelon. I’m sorry I got the wrong idea,” I muttered, flushing.
“It wasn’t like that.” He shook his head, cocking it to the side in mild confusion. “I—I just can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not when there’s so much you don’t know about me.” He seemed to consider his words carefully.
I heard him loud and clear. “You don’t need to come up with an excuse. Like I said, it was a mistake. You don’t have to do things you don’t want to.”
“Wait, but I didn’t say—”
“It was probably just Stockholm syndrome,” I joked with a shrug.
Daelon looked like he’d just been slapped, suddenly straightening his back, a flash of ice in his stare. I’d clearly struck a nerve. He stayed silent, his features now completely unreadable.
“Right, then,” I said. “I’m going to go shower. We can go back to normal. Forget any of it ever happened.” My face contorted with confusion as I cast him one last glance before walking away.
Chapter8
The next few days were uneventful. Daelon was distant and untalkative, and I was still reeling from how quickly things had changed between us. Despite my attempts to return to our normal dynamic, the air was stiff and awkward. He began teaching me defensive magick—his specialty—and it was tiring to have to put up with his constant nitpicking and control issues. To make matters worse, he was wholly incapable of understanding my human culture references.
“The defense against the dark arts position is cursed, you know,” I said at one point.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please focus.”
And that was how our conversations went. He led me through ways to detect if someone was using magick against me, how to cast defensive spells, and how to make sure I was protected when I practiced my own magick. I was beginning to understand that my power somehow already knew what to do—how to tap into each individual current of witchcraft and launch itself to the desired outcome—and sometimes it was as though the magick itself was more in control than I was. The hardest part was centering and grounding myself so that the power could take the reins constructively rather than impulsively.
