Page 71 of Forging Darkness
I bury my hands in the folds of fur beneath me to cover the shaking. I’m suddenly no longer hungry. The little food I have eaten sits heavy in my gut. I always knew I was in danger, even before I learned about the world and creatures that existed beneath the layer of the mortal realm. But hearing about a murder attempt on the defenseless, infant version of yourself is jarring.
“Isn’t being a Nephilim baby reason enough?”
“To Fallen or Forsaken, I suppose so. But is that all?”
His features twist. I bet he wishes he never agreed to honesty at the beginning of dinner. He releases a breath in a rush forceful enough to stir the short hair lying against his forehead.
“I don’t exactly know, and I’m not willing to burden you with my guesses.” His posture tells me I’m not likely to get any more information on this topic, even if I keep pushing, so I go back to my original question.
“You never answered my question. Just because you knew I existed, and we are from a similar line, doesn’t mean you had to abduct me. You could have, I don’t know, tried to talk to me first.”
He laughs. “As if the angel-borns would have allowed us even a simple conversation. Your place is here, with me. The Fallen and Forsaken are more your kind than the Nephilim ever will be.”
Six months ago there didn’t seem to be a single person on the planet who wanted me, but now two opposing ends of the supernatural spectrum both claim me for their own.
“I don’t know why you think that, but whatever the reason, I should be given a choice.”
“You are. I knew you’d never agree to make this place your home without a chance to get to know what we’re like—without getting to know me. So to answer your question, that’s what this is all about. You’ve had months with the Nephilim, it’s only fair I steal a few days of your time as well.”
“And what happens if at the end of all this, after you’ve shown me everything you want me to see, I decide I don’t want to stay?”
Thorne’s body is angled toward me. He moved closer as we spoke, but with a blink he lets his body fall back against the cold stone wall. Disappointment shutters his features, but he wipes it away a moment later. “If after everything you didn’t want to stay . . . you’ll be freed. I’ve already told you this.”
He has, but just as before, I know it can’t be true. And if that’s the case, what other lies or half-truths has he fed me?
“My turn now.”
It was too much to think he’d forget about that part of our bargain. I shift, adjusting my jacket like the armor I wish it could be.
Thorne places a finger on his lips as he regards me. “Tell me about . . .”
Oh boy, here it comes.
“. . . your favorite food.”
What?
He chuckles at my WTH look.
“You’re serious? That’s really what you want to know?”
He shrugs. “Why not? We need to get to know each other. It’s a place to start.”
“Okay. Umm . . .” Whatismy favorite food? Consistent meals are a luxury to me. I don’t like to dwell on what I can’t have.
Thorne laughs again. The sound is rounded and full-bodied. “That’s not supposed to be a trick question.”
I chew on my bottom lip, tipping my eyes toward him. “It’s just . . . I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.”
The smile drops off Thorne’s face, but it isn’t pity that settles over his features, it’s understanding. The deep kind. Like when you look at someone and realize they reflect parts of yourself back at you.
That doesn’t happen to me often, and I’m not thrilled that it’s happening right now.
“Pizza,” I say, thinking that’s a convincing answer. “My turn again.”
We spend the rest of dinner exchanging questions while I pick at food. My inquiries are geared toward uncovering whatever secrets I can about Thorne, Whitehold, the Fallen, and Forsaken, or his general intentions for me. He’s a master at answering without giving away anything substantial, and after several back-and-forths, I’ve learned little about anything of import. Thorne never met his father; Whitehold houses twelve hundred Fallen and Forsaken; the angel-borns don’t know everything about the spectrum world. Blah, blah, blah.
My only comfort is that he hasn’t learned much from me either. His questions are all surface-level, and I answer with whatever comes to mind first rather than with what might actually be true.