Page 34 of The Illuminated
“The jump was intense, right?”
I nodded. “I could feel how much power it took.”
“That’s a good thing. Witches aren’t meant to be here. It’s unnatural.”
“And dangerous. For humans, that is,” I murmured. A vision of my human friends flitted across my mind’s eye, and then of the energy vampire who wanted to use me as a kind of magickal battery for the rest of my life. I glanced around. “We aren’t worried about any energy vampires finding me here?”
He shook his head. His eyes flashed anger, no doubt thinking, as I was, about the first time we met. “You’re shielded when you’re with me. I can mask your power, remember?”
I nodded. “Right. You going to tell me what it is we’re doing now?”
“We are trying to find this man,” he said, sending the image through his fingers and into my third eye. “To question him. About what, I can’t access yet.”
The man had stringy gray hair and a plump, haggard appearance as if he’d aged quickly and poorly. His eyes were cold and dead.
“Am I going to notice when you become your blacked-out alter ego?”
Daelon ignored the question. Beneath his tense shield, I could tell he was nervous. The sight of him like this again triggered thoughts of that night in the snow, when he ripped the blade from my grasp and stood by Lucius.
Even still, I found myself holding his hand. Because I refused to let Lucius win again. I wouldn’t let him tear us apart.
“Daelon. Look at me,” I said, halting us just before we turned onto the busier, wider street. Laughter billowed toward us, along with French-speaking voices and the clanking of cutlery. The sun was long gone, so it was prime time for Parisians to be enjoying their long, drawn-out dinners and drinks on the cobblestone streets.
“What is it, Áine?” he asked wearily, his eyebrows pinched together, his lips turned down. He already looked defeated, stress digging into his tight features.
“I love you, and we’re going to get through this. No matter what. I promise.”
His stress seemed to fall away as my words took root. He looked down at our shoes for a moment, and his eyes traveling back up slowly. “Those boots are really, really hot.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Is that all you have to say?”
“No.” He dipped me, locking his lips to mine. He kissed me so fiercely I lost all sense of myself for a moment, and when he pulled me back up, I was just as dizzy as after we’d hopped dimensions. “I’m so grateful to hear you say that. And I love you too, more than anything else in this world.”
I reached a tentative hand to his face, watching his tense muscles relax to my touch. “We’re in Paris. We’re out of the castle. I know it’s not true freedom yet, but let’s pretend for as long as we can.” His skin was warm under my palm, and his shy smile made my heart melt. I wanted to remember us just like this.
In case it was the last truly happy memory I got.
I could feel our intentions to block everything out—everything but our love for each other—take root in our shared reality. Even more than my desire to beat Lucius at his paranoid games, I knew that I couldn’t fault Daelon for his secrets when I held such a huge one of my own: my life was no longer guaranteed.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “We have time. We can’t deal with Lucius’s assignment until tomorrow.” Excitement glowed in his dark brown eyes.
I nodded. “Good, because I’m starving.”
“Well, then, I’ve heard the French have excellent cuisine,” he joked while holding out an arm. “Let’s drop our bags off at the apartment first.”
I slipped my hand through and cuddled up close to him. “You know this is going to be our first date, right?”
Daelon laughed. “That doesn’t sound true. Makes us sound kind of slutty, doesn’t it?”
“I cannot believe you just said that.”
“That was so good I could cry.” I took a sip of my wine and Daelon mirrored me. We sat outside a restaurant in the Eighth Arrondissement, leaned back in our chairs as our plates lay barren. I dissected each distinct note as the rich liquid moved over my taste buds. The deep red Burgundy tasted of fresh spices, peaches, blackberries, and cherries, fermented to perfection.
Our server had been less than enthusiastic about our presence until Daelon ordered the bottle in perfect French, which sparked a nearly ten-minute conversation on why that particular vintage was so special, from the unique weather patterns to the year’s average temperature to the soil and the crop yield. As I watched them both muse about a bottle of wine that I didn’t even want to know the cost of, I couldn’t tell if it was incredibly attractive or really, really nerdy.
Both. It was both.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Daelon said. “You haven’t been eating enough.”
