Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) - By Jenna Black Page 0,10
protective of me.” He shook his head as if to clear it, and I noticed that the beads at the ends of his braids were a combination of orange, black, and white.
Jamaal was color coordinating with his tiger? I had to suppress a laugh at the idea, though I wondered if Jamaal was even conscious he’d done it. He had enough beads to wear a different color every day for a year; maybe it was just a coincidence that he’d chosen tiger colors.
“I can’t blame her for that,” I said, though I’d have been happier if he could teach her the distinction between the good guys and the bad guys. “But maybe you should go a little easy on your practice sessions. You know, stop before you’re about to drop from fatigue?”
He gave me a sour look as he laboriously dragged himself to his feet. “Venting the death magic was your idea. Don’t complain if you don’t like the results.”
Jamaal’s temper was a lot more stable now that he’d learned how to summon Sita, but he was still a pro at being surly. I tried not to take it personally, though I suspected there was something personal about it. And maybe it was time we got whatever it was out into the open. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t think to initiate a personal conversation when I was standing outside in January in a damp set of running clothes and Jamaal was so shaky on his feet he had to concentrate to stand up, but this might be my only chance to get him alone for a while.
“Are you still pissed at me for trying to leave?” I blurted, wincing a bit in anticipation of his response. At the time, I’d thought leaving was the only way I could protect both myself and Steph. Emma and Anderson had still been trying to make a go of it, and Emma had—for reasons that mystified me to this day—decided that I was after her husband. I’d been sure that Emma and I couldn’t coexist in the mansion, and that if it came down to it, Anderson would choose her over me. And so I’d decided I should make myself disappear.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, though I realized now that deciding to disappear without talking it over with anyone, or even saying good-bye, had been taking the coward’s way out. And I was pretty sure I’d hurt Jamaal’s feelings, though he’d never admit it.
Jamaal blinked, as if confused by the abrupt change of subject. “What are you talking about?”
I didn’t for a moment believe he didn’t know. He just didn’t want to talk about it. Like most men I knew, he wasn’t a big fan of talking about his feelings.
Actually, he wasn’t a big fan of talking, period. He was the strong, silent type personified, but I didn’t think that was particularly good for him. Even living in the mansion with seven other people, he managed to hold himself aloof, and I thought the isolation, self-imposed though it was, exacerbated his difficulties with the death magic.
“It was wrong of me to try to sneak away like that,” I said. “I was afraid that if I let anyone know I was leaving, someone would try to talk me out of it.” I’d been equally afraid of how I’d feel if someone didn’t try to talk me out of it, but I wanted to talk about Jamaal’s baggage, not my own. “And I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to force myself to leave. I—”
Jamaal shook his head, making his beads click. “Don’t make something out of nothing. I don’t care whether you stay or go.”
I couldn’t help flinching at his words, my heart clenching unpleasantly in my chest. I shouldn’t have let it get to me. I knew he cared, whether he admitted it or not. And yet the words still hurt.
Jamaal sighed and wiped some of the drying sweat from his brow. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that. Just meant it’s your decision, not mine. Now I need a shower and a nap, and you need to get inside before you turn blue.”
He didn’t wait for my response, turning his back abruptly enough that he almost lost his balance again and heading toward the house with a ground-eating stride. I considered running after him, trying to get him to stop and talk, but I didn’t like my chances of success. And yeah, I was still feeling pretty stung.