Of Thorn and Thread (Daughters of Eville #4) - Chanda Hahn Page 0,46
and wiped my mouth before moving closer to the fire. I couldn’t stop shivering.
Liam kept his distance and stayed on the opposite side of the blaze.
He watched the fire dance. The reflection made his eyes glow. “He also said that the drug made you susceptible to commands, is this true?”
I nodded again, tears forming in my eyes.
“I have to know.” Liam took a deep, agonizing breath and met my gaze. “What I saw when I walked in—did Devin command you—did he force you against your will? If he did, I will kill him, and no childhood pact would save him.”
I vehemently shook my head and struggled to form my words with conviction. I didn’t want Devin punished for something he didn’t do. “No.”
“I see.” Liam’s head dropped, and he rubbed his palm over his face. He was struggling with what he learned, but could he not also see that I was struggling just as much?
Oh stars, I wanted a signal, a flash of an aura, something to tell me what he thought of me. Not knowing was almost worse than knowing.
He pulled back and pleaded with me. “Tell me what happened when you left the inn. You do not understand the agony, guilt, and fear that coursed through me when you disappeared. Only to find out you were kidnapped and sold to a . . . I can’t even say it. I keep running it through my mind, blaming myself for not running after you.”
I never even thought of what the experience did to Liam. How traumatic it must have been, not only for me, but to him. The guilt he felt as well. I didn’t want to tell him everything, but I explained how they took me from the hillside, the hidden wagon, and my foolish attempt at escape. With each additional detail, I could see the anguish and guilt eating him up. I decided it was best to stop and spare him the details.
“You’re different,” he said.
My breath hitched. Was this sadness I heard in his voice, or accusation?
“Of course, I’m different. One does not walk through the fire and leave unscathed. We all have scars that haunt us for life. Some are physical, others emotional. I’d be a fool to assume that I’m any different.”
“I failed you.”
“It’s no one’s fault. It’s over. It’s in the past,” I said firmly, trying to make myself believe my own words. “And we’re both changed because of this experience, and we’ll have to learn to adjust to our new circumstances.”
He looked at me, and I heard him swear under his breath. Feeling like I was just disappointing him more, I retreated into my tent and stared at the bedroll.
“Aura. Look, I’m sorry, I failed you. But I promise to protect you from now on.” His voice was full of determination.
I pulled a blanket around my shoulders, lifted my chin, and stepped out of the tent to confront him. To tell him the truth he didn’t want to hear.
“There’s no need. There’s nothing left to protect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t use my magic anymore. The world has become silent. I can’t hear anyone’s thoughts.”
“They can’t be gone.” He grasped my upper arms and shook me so I would look at him. “Just listen, Aura. Listen to me.” His forehead scrunched up, and I could tell he was trying to think or send me images.
Burning built up in the corner of my eyes, and I dropped my head to hide my shame. “Stop. It’s no use.”
“Will it come back?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it will, maybe it won’t.”
“What if we go to a healer? Do you think they could fix you?”
“Fix me?” I blurted, feeling my anger rise. “There’s nothing wrong with me, and maybe”—I took a deep breath—“maybe I don’t want to get them back.”
“What?” My confession surprised him. “You can’t be serious?”
“I am. Maybe I don’t want to be saddled with powers that don’t let me near people and are destined to make me go crazy. Did you think of that?”
He dropped his hands from my shoulders and turned away. The frustration was apparent as he stared north. I could see his mind working as he debated his options. I was no longer useful to him, and I was nothing more than a liability.
“Maybe this is for the better,” I said. “Now I’m just like every other woman.”
“I don’t agree,” he said stiffly, turning back to me. “You’ll never be like other women.”