Page 19 of Waves
He gave a sigh. "Not when my boss wanted me to turn into a key so he could unlock the bank vault."
I sat up straighter in my seat. "Someone asked that of you?"
Taft's expression darkened and his lips pursed before sliding to one side as he mulled over his thoughts, reliving a bad memory in front of my eyes before he spoke. "Yeah. Then they left me on the floor of the vault struggling to change back.”
Teeth grinding, I almost interjected to ask more questions. But I stopped myself. Now that he was talking, I didn’t want to do anything to interrupt Taft’s flow.
“I was twelve. Shoulda’ known better probably. Didn’t. But that's when I swore I'd find a way to never be that desperate again. It’s not easy, though. No one trusts a nixe. No one trusts a former thief."
Damnation. Was Mateo a fool for putting faith into this man? Was I?
With a tight smile, I sought to find common ground. To hide my worry and suspicion. “The same seems to apply to a sea sprite or a sky breather.”
His eyes found me again and knocked the air from my ribs with a jaded yet tragic expression. I didn’t know if the skepticism was his reaction to me or to life—or both. “I’m tired of being hungry. Tired of struggling. Tired of the temptation to go back to people who used me. So…I decided to join.”
I mulled over this truth, which was both more raw and harsher than I’d expected to receive from the shy man. I rewarded his truth with one of my own. "Honestly, I hate using my magic too."
"I should be grateful," he murmurs, his eyes on my fingertips. “Without that magic, I don’t know if I’d have survived.”
"Apparently, so should I—but I'm not," I confessed.
His face softened with sympathy and his hand twisted on top of his leg until it was palm up. Until his fingers lingered open invitingly.
My breath stalled and so did my pulse, lungs pausing mid-breath. Was trust possible? Was it even a good idea?
All the wild emotions that had been tumbling through my system came to a halt. Whether or not he was trustworthy remained to be seen. But he needed to think I did because I very much needed him to trust me.
Hand pulling out from beneath the seal skin blanket, I slid my palm over his. Let his fingers close around mine. Let him squeeze. And I squeezed in return.
This time, I let the syrupy silence pour over us. This time, the quiet was full of sweet understanding and not awkward puffs of breath. This time, it felt like a bond instead of a burden. At least it did to me. I had to hope that feeling was mutual. Had to ensure it, because I had more of Gela’s mind in me than I ever wanted to admit.
Taft’s quiet sympathy led me to divulge a bit of my back story. "I used to resent being human when my mother and sister and all my fathers had powers. Supposed mother,” I amended. “But now, it seems like magic is a lot more complicated than I ever thought it would be. We always imagine things are better than they really are."
He nodded. "Probably."
My lips pressing into a thin line, I scooted forward on my seat, seal skin falling lower in my lap. "I wish I could tell you that I won't ask you to use your magic, but that would be a lie. If you want to stay in this competition and at the palace..." I sighed as if I was disappointed I’d have to ask him. Part of me was. The emotional part. But the rational side of myself knew that magic-use wasn’t just an inevitability. It was key to Taft’s acceptance into my harem.
"I know." His hand squeezed mine once before releasing it. “Now, what is it you need?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to promise that I wouldn't use Taft and then leave him behind like his old boss. That I wouldn't take him for granted. Abandon him. But those words might turn into lies, so I swallowed them back down and let the sharp reality of who I was and what I was willing to do nick my insides.
I'd already condemned Watkins. How could I promise Taft anything better?
It was probably one of my most honest conversations with a competitor—and it was happening with one I knew the least. One who was an admitted thief.
Gazes roaming over one another, both of us seemed to understand the unsaid truths hovering in the water between us.
But Taft didn't drop his eyes.
"You're hoping I'm better than that man who left you," I muttered with a shake of my head.
"Trust me, you're better." His tone was brittle and dark as onyx, and I couldn’t stand how tightly his jaw clenched.
I saw two paths ahead of us. One led into the dark maze that confessed hurts and traumas, and I wasn’t certain we were ready to walk there together. Instead, I chose to go in the other direction. "Well, butter me up and tell me why I’m better." Batting my eyes, I tried to steer the conversation in a happier direction, but I wasn't nearly as charming as Keelan. My flirting fell flat.
Taft's eyes were still sad even though he attempted a small smile. “What’s butter?”
I was taken aback. “Are you serious?”
