“Should you be trying it now, then?”
Ah, good point. “But you’re here to heal me.”
Daemon frowned. “Worst logic ever, Kitten.”
I grinned as I focused on the branch. The Source flared once again, traveling along the slender, crooked twig of a branch, encasing it whole. A second later, the stick collapsed into an ash replica, and as the whitish-red light receded, the branch fell apart.
“Uh,” I said.
“That wasn’t fire, but it was pretty damn close.”
I’d never done anything like that before. Had to be the opal-enhanced alien coolness, because I just turned a stick into Pompeii.
“Let me have it,” Daemon said. “I want to see if it has any effect on the onyx.”
Handing it over, I followed him to the pile of onyx, wiping the ash off my fingers. Holding the opal in one hand, he uncovered the stones and, jaw clenching, he picked one up.
Nothing happened. All of us had grown a tolerance to the rocks, but there was usually a gasp or flinch of pain.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Daemon lifted his chin. “Nothing—I don’t feel anything.”
“Let me try.” We switched off and he was right. The bite of onyx wasn’t there. We stared at each other. “Holy crap.”
Footsteps and voices carried into the clearing. Daemon swiped the opal, sliding it in his pocket. “I don’t think we should let Blake see this.”
“No doubt,” I agreed.
We turned as Matthew, Dawson, and Blake appeared at the edge of the woods. It would be interesting to see if the opal had any affect in Daemon’s pocket or if we had to be physically touching it.
“I talked to Luc,” Blake announced while we were all standing around the onyx. “He’s good for this Sunday, and I think we’ll be ready by then.”
“You think?” Dawson said.
He nodded. “It’s either going to work or not.”
Failure wasn’t an option. “So the Sunday after prom?”
“You guys are going to prom?” Blake asked, scowling.
“Why not?” I said defensively.
Blake’s eyes darkened. “Just seems like a stupid thing to do the night before. We should be spending Saturday training.”
“No one asked for your opinion,” Daemon said, hands curving into fists.
Dawson shifted closer to his brother. “One night isn’t going to hurt anything.”
“And I have prom duty,” Matthew said, sounding absolutely disgusted with the idea.
Outnumbered, Blake let out a disgruntled mumble. “Fine. Whatever.”
We got started then, and I kept my eyes trained on Daemon when it came to his turn. When he touched the onyx, he immediately flinched but held on. Unless he was faking it, the opal had to be touching flesh. Good to know.
Over the next couple of hours, we did our rounds with the onyx. I was seriously beginning to think my fingers and muscle control would never be the same again. Blake kept the required ten feet distance and didn’t try to talk to me. I liked to think my come-to-Jesus discussion had gotten through to him.
If not…then, well, I doubted I’d be able to control myself.
As we broke apart for the night, I lingered back with Daemon. “It didn’t work in your pocket, did it?”
“No.” He dug the thing out. “I’m going to hide this somewhere. Right now, I don’t think we need anyone fighting over it or it getting into the wrong hands.”
I agreed. “Do you think we’re ready for this Sunday?” My stomach dropped thinking about it, no matter how long I’d known that this day was coming.
Daemon slipped the opal back into his pocket and then gathered me in his arms. Anytime he held me, it always felt unbelievably right and I wondered how I could’ve denied it for so long.
“We’re going to be as ready as we ever will be.” He brushed his cheek along mine and I shivered, closing my eyes. “And I don’t think we can keep Dawson off much longer.”
I nodded and wrapped my arms around him. Now or never. Oddly, in that moment, I felt like we didn’t have enough time, even though we’d been practicing for months. Maybe it wasn’t that.
Maybe I just felt we didn’t have enough time together.
…
On Saturday, Lesa and I piled into the back of Dee’s Jetta. Windows rolled down, we enjoyed the seasonably warm temps. Dee seemed different today, too. It wasn’t the pretty pink summer dress she’d worn, paired with a black cardigan and strappy sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail and her thick hair cascaded down her back, revealing a perfectly symmetrical face that bore an easy grin—not the one I was so familiar with and missed painfully, but almost. She was lighter somehow, her shoulders less tense.
Right now, she hummed along to a rock song on the radio, speeding around cars like a Nascar driver.
Today was a turning point.
Lesa grasped the back of Ash’s seat, face pale. “Uh, Dee, you do realize this is a no passing zone, right?”
Dee grinned in the rearview mirror. “I think it’s a suggestion, not a rule.”
“I think it’s a rule,” Lesa advised.
Ash snorted. “Dee thinks yield signs are a suggestion, too.”
I laughed, wondering how I could’ve forgotten Dee’s terrifying driving. Normally I’d be clutching a seat or handle too, but today I couldn’t care as long as she got us to the shop in one piece.
And she did.
And we only narrowly avoided wiping out a family of four plus a religious tour bus once.