a degree in English is pretty useless these days unless you plan to become a teacher.” She paused. “Or a writer.” She picked at a thread on the sheet.
He jumped on that tidbit. “Did you write?”
She waved her hand as if to wipe out his words. “I wasn’t very good.”
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t have time to write much.”
“Who?” he demanded.
“I showed a story to Kayley once.”
Morrigan’s sister was a lying bitch. Tension radiated from her, as though she was waiting for him to comment. It just about killed him, but he kept his silence.
“What about teachers?” He knew very little about the modern school system, other than it incarcerated children for years in institutions of so-called higher learning. As far as he could tell, their purpose was mostly to kill any original thinking so that they’d fall in line with the current system, put their heads down, and work until they died without question.
Not that he was in any position to look down on them. He’d done much the same thing in Heaven, following orders, believing in the greater good, until the person he’d trusted and believed in had turned on him.
She gave a quick shrug and smoothed down the sheet. “A couple of teachers said I had potential.”
There was a hint of hope, of pride buried beneath the uncertainty.
He grazed his fingers up and down her arm, enthralled by the way goose bumps rose on her skin and the slight tremble of her body.
Can’t fuck her again. Need to give her time.
Now it was he who needed the distraction. “What else?”
“Why do you care?”
He had no idea. This was a first for him. It was his turn to shrug.
The silence grew. Figuring she’d finished sharing, he was just about the roll out of bed when she spoke again. “I miss simple things, like a walk in the park on a summer’s day enjoying an ice cream, and the innocence of not knowing that demons walk among us. What about you?” She traced a finger over the haladie inked on his arm. The weapon rose slightly from his flesh to let her stroke it. “Tell me something about you? It doesn’t have to be anything big. Just something.”
Information was power, and he guarded it closely. Not much was known about his life or abilities, and he liked it that way. But if he expected her to share, he had to give her something.
“I had a dog.”
“Really?” Pushing herself up, she sat tailor-style beside him.
He was as shocked as she seemed. He’d never told anyone about his companion.
The curse of living so long was that memories often became murky or simply lost to the mists of time. But some remained vivid, no matter how much time had passed. “It was back in the eighteen hundreds, maybe the seventeen.” He’d stopped keeping track for a while.
“What kind of dog was it?”
“Demon wasn’t a pet. He was a companion. A wolfhound.” Massive in stature with thick fur as black as midnight, the animal had been feared by all who saw him. In that, they’d been alike. They’d been kindred spirits, sharing their lives for a time.
“I can picture that.” She rested her hand on his knee. “What was Demon like? And great name, by the way.”
“Intelligent. Dependable. Loyal.” All the things he’d hadn’t gotten from his friend. The dog had given him something to focus on besides his worries. “He died.” Leaving Maccus alone once again and grieving.
He’d never had another.
“I’m sorry, but at least you had Demon in your life and have the memories.”
“Is that better?” Pain was something he lived with daily. There was no need for him to actively court it. But wasn’t that exactly what he was doing with Morrigan?
“Yes.” Her voice was firm and filled with conviction as she placed her hand over his heart. “If we don’t have them, we have nothing to hang on to during tough times.”