Page 32 of Stealing Embers
I shake the melancholy off once again.
“Can everyone shape shift?”
“Only Nephilim descended from cherubim can shape shift. And even then, they can usually only turn into one of the forms. Lion, eagle, or bull. Other angel lines have different powers.”
My mind reels. There are different types of Nephilim . . . different types of angels? There are several different powers. And hold up—some Nephilim turned into bulls? I really hope that doesn’t turn out to be my specialty. With so many questions floating around my head, I have to pick a starting point.
“But you’re different. You can shift into two: a lion and an eagle.” It’s a statement rather than a question. I’ve seen it for myself.
“Three. I can shift into all three.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
Steel’s sigh brushes against my head and stirs the fine hairs that frame my face. “Do you have to ask so many questions?”
“Why are you being cagey?”
“Why are you being annoying?” he shoots back.
“Part of my charm.”
“Right.” I don’t have to be able to see to know an eye roll accompanied his clipped response.
“What’s the big deal? I’m just trying to figure out how all this works. Is it something embarrassing? Do the other students make fun of you for turning into a bull?” I don’t really care all that much, but since he said I was being annoying, a very immature part of me bubbles up and urges me to continue poking the sleeping bear.
“Oh, and what happens to your clothes when you shift?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, of course I am. In books, shifters are always tearing through their clothes and reappearing in human form naked. That doesn’t seem to happen to you.”
“Read a lot of shifter romances about naked dudes, do you?”
Do not answer that, Emberly. Divert conversation immediately.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk to me about shifting. I understand that we all have our insecurities. I hadn’t realized this was one of yours, but I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I turn into a giant cow either. I won’t ask again.”
“I don’t turn into a cow,” he grinds out. “I turn into a bull.”
Question successfully ducked. Point: me.
“Oh, my bad. But is there really much of a difference?”
My voice drips with fake innocence. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. I’m suddenly thankful no light has penetrated our hidey-hole, or Steel would see the amusement splashed across my face.
Steel shifts and his presence invades my space.
I yelp as my legs are tossed to the side and I slide down the wall until I’m half-laying half-sitting on the packed dirt ground.
Steel hovers above me, his arms supported on the ground and wall on either side of me.
Once again, I’m struck by how intimate the lack of sight makes our interactions.
I’m caged in. His scent surrounds me. His breath fans my skin.
Something a little like fright and a lot like something else I’m not familiar with blooms inside my chest.
Whatever it is, I hate it.