knowing he needs this hammered home more than the others, but I can tell he’s not hearing me.
“But, like you just said, you don’t know for sure,” Nash points out. I fight the urge to glare at him for once again circling back to the fact that I can’t give a definitive answer. I honestly don’t even know why he’s pressing. Nash has never really looked at me like he’s at all interested.
“Technically, no, I can’t say that I know for sure. But your marks aren’t anything like the marks the rest of my Chosen have, and that supports what I’m feeling.”
Enoch opens his mouth, and I can practically see the argument on the tip of his tongue. “What if I marked you for someone else? You could be Chosen, just not mine. Have you given that any thought?” I ask them, and Enoch promptly swallows his argument and closes his mouth.
“Maybe,” Kallan agrees casually, and then he reaches for my hand. “But how do you explain these then?” he counters as he lines up both of our middle fingers and the identical runes that line them.
“Really rad friendship bracelets,” I say, but it comes out like I’m asking a question. Kallan laughs. “Listen, Ass Daggers,” I start, and he puts a finger up to my mouth to stop me.
“That is not a thing, don’t try to make it a thing. Shitty nicknames can go both ways,” he warns, and I smile.
“Fine, Kallan, to answer your question, I don’t know, and you already know that because I’ve said it a billion times already. I don’t know,” I confess, even though I want to crush the words in my throat to keep them from leaking out and giving any of them hope. I want to squash it once and for all and make everything easier on me and them and the guys, but there’s nothing else I can say to Kallan’s question. As much as I fucking hate it, the reality is I just don’t fucking know.
They don’t feel like my Chosen…but they could be.
7
Lunch is about as awkward as I thought it would be. Each of my Chosen have questions burning in their eyes, and despite my efforts, I haven’t been able to squash the hopeful light that reflects back to me in Enoch’s and Kallan’s gazes. I have no idea what Nash thinks about anything. Sometimes he pushes like he’s on the same page as Enoch and Kallan about wanting to be Chosen, and other times he seems completely indifferent, but it’s the least of my problems right now. Silva, Aydin, and Evrin announce that they’re going to head out after lunch and might be gone for a day or so depending on where the trail of lamia leads.
I finish off the last of a yummy potato dish, whose name I can’t say, and silently wonder if I’ll ever eat another thing not cooked by the sisters without missing them. I make a mental note to call them later today, and then I add Mave to the list too. My ears perk up when I hear the mention of the barn area and the words “off limits” spoken in the same sentence. I fight to keep from snorting at Silva’s warning to stay away, because if he knew shit about me, he would know he pretty much just lit up a neon sign asking me to snoop through whatever is out there.
“I’m prepping some spells with the shifter toxin you all brought, and I don’t want to risk anything messing up the volatile potion until it’s ready,” Silva tells the twins casually, and they nod in understanding.
Knox inquires about what kind of spells Silva is working on, but as soon as the discussion gets technical, I can’t follow what the hell they’re talking about anymore. Ratios of ingredients to woven magic, the time it takes to adequately cook a certain potion, the time it takes a spell to settle. It all sounds so intense, and I’m reminded of something Sabin once said about how Spell casters were like chefs. I haven’t seen Knox in his element with his branch of magic, but it’s not hard to picture him apron-clad and cooking away, with a wide smile on his face as he rocks out to music and adds a pinch of this and a dash of that.
Like he can feel his name in my thoughts, Knox looks over and gives me the same wide smile I was just picturing in