Page 27 of Bonds of Magic
“I knitted it,” I told him.
“You know how to knit?” He looked surprised, bending down to finger the rows of yarn. He toyed with a tassel. “This looks really complicated. Was it hard?”
“Not if you know how to knit.”
“When did you learn?” he asked. “My friend Franny—from back home—knows how to crochet. Is that similar to knitting? I mean, they both use yarn, but they must be a little different if they’re—”
“Cory,” I barked. He jumped and looked up at me. “If something were going to attack us,” I said, “it would have done so already. Your bird came by because they like you. Now lie down so we can get to work.”
“I’m not stupid,” he said, straightening. “I know sometimes Cat just shows up.”
“Then what are you stalling for?” I nodded at the couch.
He either didn’t notice, or refused to acknowledge it, because he turned and walked back towards the kitchen. I waited, striving for patience, as he ran his fingers along the edge of the kitchen table, fiddling with my salt and pepper shakers, then peering at the cactus again.
“Has it ever occurred to you that this isn’t actually fun for me?” he said finally, glancing in my direction.
“What isn’t?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely around the cabin. “All of it. Being an incubus. Needing to have sex dreams with people. Having no control over any of it. It sucks. Sue me if I’m not looking forward to doing it yet again, against my will.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, but that’s the deal. You’re an incubus, whether you want to be one or not. And you know what’s at stake. Unless you want to die, and put everyone else in—”
“You think I don’t know that?” Anger filled his voice. “You think I haven’t been listening every time the dean reminds me? I have to learn to control my power, or everyone I know is in danger, but they’re also in danger just by me being here. You think I’m not thinking about that all the time? Erikadiedbecause of me.”
“You’re not responsible for that.” How had this turned into an argument so quickly? “We’ve been over this before. You’re not to blame. You’re as much a victim as Erika or—”
“Don’t, okay?” Cory spun away to stare out the kitchen window.
“Don’t what?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Don’t give me your pity. I wouldn’t want it, even if it were real. I’mnota victim. But you’re not very good at pretending you care anyway, so let’s just forget we ever had this conversation and get this over with.”
He strode back to the couch and sat down, but he crossed his arms and didn’t look at all ready to fall asleep.
I re-ran the conversation in my mind, trying to find the place—or places—where I’d messed up. I wasn’t thrilled about Cory’s conviction that I didn’t care about him, but I also had no desire to tell him he was wrong.
But something he’d said caught in my mind. I hesitated to bring it up, but I needed to know.
I pulled a chair out from the table, set it across from the sofa, and said as carefully as I could, “You said these dreams were against your will. But they shouldn’t be unpleasant.” If they were, ifCory were being forced to act against his own will, Argus might already have him. “Are they? Are you being hurt? Is someone making you—”
“Jesus, can we please not talk about this?” Cory snapped. “Forget I said any of that. It’s fine. Let’s just—it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I know you’ve been struggling to influence the dreams yourself, but you still shouldn’t be in a situation where you don’t want to—”
“Maybe I’m not thrilled aboutwhatI fucking want,” he exploded. “Maybe it’s that, okay? I know it must be nice for people who’ve grown up confident and loved, but some of us have baggage, and it’s not fun being forced to work through it every time I enter the dreamworld. Maybe I don’twantto want the things I do.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting at all. And it wasn’t the kind of thing I knew how to fix either.
What would Seb say in this situation? I had no idea. Which was probably for the best—I couldn’t pretend to be someone else. I might wish anyone but me had this job, but Isaac had made it clear I had to do this. Worse, I agreed. But I wished things were different.
Which, I realized, was exactly what Cory was saying. So maybe I did understand, in a way.
Watching him like this, I had the strongest urge to cross to the couch and wrap him up in my arms. To press him close and feel his body against my chest. To tell him it was going to be okay.
Instead, I said, “I didn’t know all that.”
“Well, obviously.”
