And that’s what’s holding her back from the void.
I force myself to look away from her and I peer up for only a second to find Kayos pawing through a dresser drawer in the closet. She holds up a pair of black boxers and makes a promptly disgusted face before tossing them to the side and to keep searching.
“It’s easier if you’ve been there. You don’t know where you’re from though, so you don’t have too many places you could go.” I scan her pages of notes.
She’s trying. She’s got every word that old hack has ever said jotted down here. But it’s all for nothing if she doesn’t have a foundation to work from and if she doesn’t trust herself.
“My father adopted me when I was just a baby.” Her tone is just shy of a whisper. I lean into the pretty sound of it. “He’s a warlock, but he’s put distance between the supernatural society and himself. I don’t really know a lot about supernaturals in general. It feels—I feel like I already failed and I haven’t even started yet.”
I don’t know why she confesses this to me, but I’m glad she does. My hand slips over to hers, but she has a lifeless touch as my fingers brush back and forth over the small curves of her knuckles. “Failure is only monumental if you build it up before it falls.” The quote is something I’ve heard so many damn times in my life.
I’ve just never said it out loud to anyone before.
“Wow,” her brows lift and fuck if I don’t love the way she’s looking at me right now.
I wonder if my grandpa has any other inspirational quotes I could steal to get laid?
“My grandpa always said that. Mostly to me. Kayos is too smart to need any advice from anyone.”
Her smile tilts, and she passes a look to the little girl who’s currently leafing through a small notebook.
“Your drawings are overemotional,” my sister says vacantly.
“Kayos. Fuck. Stop.” I nearly stand to pull her evading search away before any illusion of privacy is completely destroyed. Izzy tugs me back down at her side with a gentle squeeze of my hand though.
“No. She’s—She’s right. Art is entirely overemotional.”
“It means your work is good,” Kayos murmurs as she continues flipping page after mysterious page.
“Can I look?” I tilt my head to get a better view of the ink lined pages but Izzy dips her head into my line of sight.
“No. Angel, you cannot look.” Her taunting nickname burns so warmly in my chest, I can’t help but glare at her.
“What the fuck! Kayos got to see.” I’m almost stomping my foot with a wide smile, but she shoves me back when I try to make a lunge for it.
I wrestle her small hands away and my heartbeat purrs to life with every touch of her skin brushing mine. So I do it again. I lunge, she shoves, I twist, and she grips both wrists. And then with those slender fingers sliding over my pecs, she pushes me down entirely against the thin mattress and covers my body with her soft curves. Smooth thighs lock around my stomach, my shirt shoved up high and granting me the full effect of her heat that’s pressed firmly against my abs.
Our smiles shine, her breath mixing with mine until all I fucking breathe is her happiness. She releases me slowly but never pulls back. I can’t help but settle my free hands on the curve of those hips I watch too frequently.
The moment I touch her there, logic falls into her warm honey eyes.
Shit.
“Sorry.” The whisper is a breath of a word as she slides off of my hard body and stands, smoothing her skirt down and finding her buttons are undone at the bottom of her shirt.
The door crawls open with a tiny cry and the creep that paws all over her at lunch fills the doorway with his broad shoulders.
His green gaze shifts from me lying on Izzy’s bed to his roommate who’s re-buttoning her shirt at my side.
Double shit.
“What the fuck are you doing over here, Bird Boy?”
His voice is all suspicion and hard anger. Because it’s totally normal for me to have sex and fuck at Izara in front of my kid sister. Of course, logic won’t work on this brute of a demon.
He has the gaze of someone who kills firsts and asks questions never.
“Okay. Can we at least remember that I’m a fucking nephilim, not an angel, not a bird, a nephilim?”
In three big steps he’s in my face and my body weight falls away as he lifts me right off the damn bunk. He hauls me up with rage shaking through him and my wings fling out in less than a second. Ethereal light shines across his scowling features the moment my wings extend. The force and quickness in which I bring them out physically hurts. I feel the shirt at my back rip, the blood coating every feather and sliding down the length of my back. The length of my wings nearly touches one side of the wall and the other, but there’s enough space in here for me to push them in powerful strokes.
And then it’s him that’s being lifted by me.
With big shifting moves of my wings I keep him there several feet off the ground.
“My name’s Syko. What’s yours?” I ask, my hand slipping between us as he clutches my shoulders harder to keep from falling.
“Fucking bird shifters.”
“Nephilim. I’m born of literal heavenly powers. Please, take notice.” My hands lift from my sides as he lets go, giving a growl before falling to his knees on the floor. I finally drop on the heels of my shoes and stride to the door where Kayos waits with an aloof look on her tired face.
“I asked you not to embarrass us,” she mumbles as we walk into the safety of the hall.
I shake my head at her and turn back for a single second to see the surprised look in Izzy’s eyes.
“Thanks for entertaining us.” My wink makes her smile widen until the little dimple in her cheek shows, exploding gratifying happiness throughout my chest with the sight of it.
“Bye, Kayos,” Izzy says sweetly.
Kayos gives a little wave. “I like her. Work harder to show her you have more potential than the demon.” My sister doesn’t even look at me, but her bluntly demeaning words remind me too much of my grandpa.
Kayos approves of her. Kayos doesn’t approve of anyone.
Fuck, I like Izara even more now.
Seventeen
Izara
I’ve made it months here. Four to be exact. Things have settled, a routine has fallen into play in my life just as it did in the human world.
The thing is, I’m still Prodless.
Everything’s different. But exactly the fucking same.
“Pair up, my Prods,” Professor Zent instructs in the grumbling tone of his, like a grandfather clock literally coming to life.
Phoenix and Saint sit side by side at a table. Syko glances at me but stays at his table with his sister. And just as I have for months, I sit with Malek. He’s my safe place really. There’s nothing but patience in him no matter how many times everyone around us dissolves away with the magic of their Prods and we sit glued to this damn classroom like I’ll never fucking leave.
Anxiety thrums through my chest as everyone gets into position for the lesson, but the one thing that calms me is having Malek. He’s gentle, even his rumbling tone is a gentle sound. His touch, god, his touch is gentle.