Though Malachi wasn't easy to see the good in, one of his distinct admirable traits was his resilience. After so many years with my father, I wouldn't expect anything less. But the fact that he could be close to panic on the floor of the gym in one session, and rearing to begin training in the next was impressive regardless, if a little saddening. I knew he probably used training as an escape, the only light in his life, or at least the lightest dark, but I didn't see the harm in that coping skill. I enjoyed training too, as did Jordan. It gave purpose while still allowing us an outlet to do what we craved. And though Malachi now watched Jordan like he wanted to step on her neck, he hadn't triggered his collar again, so he apparently wasn't scheming too seriously.
Kael and Nevaeh were not with us for the next session either, and I guessed they wouldn't be for most. If we wanted to train together, it would be on our own time in the evenings. And as much as I didn't want to admit it, that made sense. Our skills were vastly different, and somehow, sparring with Kael or Nevaeh didn't sit well with me. Maybe I was worried they would be afraid of me, of fighting me, even if it was just for practice. Plus, I knew most of what Kael wanted to learn from the mages would be of little use to me. I had next to no healing abilities without using so much of my own blood it was hardly even healing. I had no natural magic either, my powers were more inclined toward other goals - namely destruction, not creation. It was probably better for my brother if we kept our trainings separate, and geared for our individual strengths and goals.
I originally thought that Malachi and I would clash constantly, but it turned out, after our initial days of adjustment, the real interactions that needed to be supervised were between my Pair and him. They could barely be in the same room without poking at each other or having a full-on battle of wills like they had in our Signs training. Their fights always seemed to go a step too far too.
So, when Malachi approached Jordan in our next session, an open sparring slot, I already knew they were going to be at each others' throats soon. He had a look on his face that said he was itching for a fight. And while Malachi and I simply fought physically, Jordan and Malachi seemed to prefer putting on a show and trying to rip the other one down, either with their words or their powers. Their fights didn't seem as much about hurting the other as dominating them. The fact that their powers were essentially opposites wasn't lost on me either. Malachi being able to force emotions on others and Jordan being able to strip them away, it was curious. And then there was whatever connection Jordan felt to him, to know when he was being attacked in his dreams, to know when he was in trouble.
Malachi went straight for the weapons closet when we arrived at our second 'classroom' - a gym that our schedule stated would always be left open to us and our kind in the Vault. He neared Jordan with two daggers in his hands, clearly planning on playing the 'training' angle so he could wet them without having the collar stop him. I saw his footwork, saw his weight shift forward before Jordan did, but to her credit, she didn't flinch when he appeared an inch in front of her faster than any man of his size should be able to move.
Instead of giving him the reaction he clearly wanted, she merely smiled serenely at him, leaning forward as she spoke.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Liar liar."
He growled in his deep, gravel voice, the one that had always mismatched his fine features. Then his eyes blacked out and I could feel his power like it changed the very air in the room. But though he stood close, knives gripped in his fists, Jordan remained calm before him. I saw her tense after his Shift and I felt fear growing in her mind, but I knew it was just a trick of Malachi's power. She recognized it too and scowled.
"I may feel fear when you're around sometimes. But I am not afraid of you."
I turned to retrieve weapons of my own, though I could tell by how Jordan's voice had changed halfway through her sentence, she had Shifted too.
"Splitting hairs a bit, aren't we, darling?"
"You pushing emotions on people isn't the same as them actually feeling them toward you. So, try whatever you like to push or move me, it isn't going to work. In fact, I've already decided to do for you what I did for James."
I turned back at this, glancing over my shoulder to see a confused look on Malachi's face that probably mirrored my own. Then he recovered and made a dramatic show of looking past Jordan at the closed doors.
"Whoa there, right now? Do those doors even lock? What if I don't want my brother's sloppy seconds? Us males have a code, you know."
I felt my stomach constrict at his insinuation, but Jordan didn't so much as bat an eye.
"Nice try. What I mean is I'm going to save you from yourself."
I turned back to the weapons closet after seeing Jordan smile sweetly at Malachi and brush past him.
His reply was casual enough, but it came a second too late, following a pause that was a beat too long, and I found myself smiling too as I picked through the various weapons.
"There's nothing here to save."
Jordan joined me a moment later and called back in a sing-song voice that matched her smile.
"Liar liar."
» ✦ «
I had no idea why. In fact, it made more sense the opposite way, but I was sure Malachi wasn't all bad. Not nearly as bad as James had been when he left his father's house. Zodi's wise words seemed to lean me that way too, though I knew they could just as easily mean the contrary. A light soul trying to be dark...I decided to focus on the beginning, that he was light. A light soul. A light Half. Another one of us. Though, actually, we were dark souls trying to be light. I focused on the second half of that explanation just as much as I focused on the first half of Malachi's.
It was hypocritical and illogical, but it was still what I chose to believe. Even if he allowed only glimpses, scraps of evidence, it was what I chose to believe in. There was something good in him, deep down, protected and hidden from the Collector, maybe even hidden from himself. But I knew it was there, I just knew it. And I would find it and bring it to the surface, let it breathe again. Maybe for the first time since James left. I decided as much days ago, but I hadn't been able to articulate it, to have the thought fully form in my mind until the aftermath of me pulling his anger again. After his rage had bled out of me, and after my guilt had subsided, I knew there was more there, more to him, beneath what he showed.
I smiled at James as I picked two pairs of metal rods out of the weapons closet, the length of my forearm and a finger and a half wide. He let out a breath and made a show of rolling his eyes before hanging his head. The men of his father's house all seemed to have a penchant for the dramatic.
"I'll go get Ailech," he said when I didn't relent.
Give me ten minutes before you come back. I have a plan.
I sent the thought to him and flashed a smile as I felt his mind agree, though he shook his head in exasperation. I walked out to Malachi, tossing him a set of my weapon of choice for the morning. He caught them deftly and weighed them in his palms before dropping them to the floor with a loud clatter. So dramatic.
"Not as fun as knives, or as sharp, or as deadly."
His grin was like a wolf's, too many teeth showing, his eyes too yellow to belong in a pretty Human face. He took a step toward me with his daggers raised again.
"Anything can be a knife if you polish it enough. Pick them up, I believe I've proven that I make the decisions now. Think of me as the Angel on your shoulder, tugging on that collar."
I smiled and gave him one of his signature winks before dropping into a fighting stance. He scowled darkly but followed suit after picking up the metal bars and flipping them a few times. He looked menacing and I began to wish I hadn't goaded him. I knew this was going to hurt, and I wasn't making it any easier on myself. But that had never stopped me before. I breathed out a numbing name and made my move.
Malachi reacted perfectly, blocking my first series of hits, the bars ringing out with each connection. He took the offensive a moment later and I mirrored his steps, each clang of the bars reverberating in me as I chose when to make my play. I saw my opportunity and was greeted with a sick thud as his strike landed at the base of my weapon, crushing my hand between his bar and mine. My weapons dropped and I hissed as I clutched my hand to my chest, though the numbing name had helped.
Malachi made to continue but I raised my uncrushed hand to stop him.
"You win this one, let's pause until James makes it back with Ailech to heal this. Otherwise, you'll just get zapped as I can't hold my own against you with just one hand."
Malachi looked pleased that he had won and straightened out of his low stance, flipping his metal rods casually again.
"That wasn't much of a training, was it? Tsk Tsk, little wing, clumsy. That's the problem with not training to kill, you don't try as hard."
He looked smug and I had to take a deep breath and remember why I was doing what I was doing to hold myself back from ripping the air from his throat. Instead, I let the silence hang awkwardly between us as I looked past him to the door, presumably waiting for it to open and my favorite healer to walk in. But it had only been four minutes since James left, I had six more, and if Malachi was as impatient as I had observed, this wouldn't even take half of that.
The silence sat heavily on us as we stood in the gym stiffly, frozen in our spots as we waited, and waited, and waited. I let out a nearly inaudible whimper as I tried to move my hand, letting a wince pass over my features. These men weren't the only ones who could put on a show. My dramatics got the desired effect a moment later as Malachi rolled his head back like he was bored and spoke at the rafters.
"God, this is tedious. Do you just want me to heal it?"
I quirked an eyebrow up like I was surprised.
"You can heal?"
"I'm alright."
"I don't know, hands have a lot of bones and you dusted a few of them from the feel of it."
He rolled his yellow-gold eyes, raising his wrist to his lips and baring his teeth. Then he bit, his curved eyes on me the entire time. The movement made a memory I hadn't been expecting slink through my mind. Of Jevin doing just that, pressing his wrist to my lips, the cold poison running down my throat and numbing my mind, stealing my fire, replacing it with his icy dampening blanket. Those months had all been ice; his blood, his touch, his lips, even his fangs sinking into my skin felt like frozen daggers. My next wince wasn't feigned as I buried the thoughts and memories I wished I could rip from my mind, along with the scars.
My eyes focused on Malachi again where he stood, blood slowly soaking into the cuff of his sleeve. His head was cocked like James', like an animal's, but he didn't comment on whatever he had seen on my face when I was transported back into Jevin's manor, into his room, his bed. I swallowed hard, praying my voice wouldn't shake.
"Blood just for broken bones?"
I tried to sound incredulous again as he came closer.
"What, you squeamish?" He chuckled before continuing, "I said I'm alright, not good. This makes healings easier."
He motioned for my hand with an incline of his head.
"May I?"
His polite request dripped with sarcasm, and I made a show of looking away as if he was an annoyance before sticking my arm out, placing my hand into his outstretched one. He ran the tip of his dagger across my palm with a surprisingly light touch, gentle even, the cut nothing more than a shallow line, nothing more than was needed. His face was absorbed in concentration as he pocketed the knife and lightly wrapped my now-swollen hand around his bleeding wrist. His sharp jaw set as he closed his eyes in focus. His lips began moving a moment later, and though I couldn't make out the words, I felt the itch of a heal immediately.
I studied him as he whispered words over my hand, as he used a power that both my Pair and I could barely access. As he used his blood, something James had made sound important, a connection, so flippantly, and with an enemy no less. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he had never had anyone around him to share blood with and feel a connection with, not since James. Maybe this was all self taught and his master never even trained him in the art of healing.
I watched him without him knowing, without his yellow eyes pinning mine down. I tried to see him just as a young man for the first time. He really was beautiful in an unnatural way - no, not unnatural - a hyper-natural beauty, supernatural and ethereal. His eyes turned up ever so slightly, their lids curved like a bow, with straight brows that angled starkly, a straight nose and mouth, and sharp planes from his cheekbones to his jawline to his chin. He was all sharp and straight, angled and fine, like he had nymph or fae in his far heritage. But maybe the most important piece; he was interesting. Something about the lines of his face made you want to keep looking, his eyes and hair only adding to his interest.
"You don't seem concerned about the connection. That surprises me."
A pause.
He opened his eyes that now looked more golden than yellow, and pulled back slightly. I tightened my hand on his wrist, eliciting a slight grimace from me as my bones were still soft and tender.
"What connection?"
He looked confused and it gave him a distinctly younger feel, or maybe I only felt that way because I now knew he was younger. I wondered by how much, again.
"And I thought you knew everything with all your training."
I teased, but his stony face didn't match. He suddenly looked guarded, and much less youthful.
"You fucking played me. You knew I'd fix your stupid little hand. What. Connection. I won't be bound to you."
The last word was said with deep disdain, each syllable ground out now as he gripped my hand and pulled me in, squeezing, bending the new bones.
"Finish the rest of the heal and I'll tell you. Whatever connection is already done by now anyway. And it isn't binding like chains, just a connection."
I waved my free hand between us, trying to relay that the connection was no different than our hands touching, trying to reassure him. I understood his aversion to being shackled to someone more than he knew.
"Fine, start talking."
He relaxed ever so slightly, though his previously pretty face still wore a sour scowl.
"James told me that sharing blood connects you. He gave me his blood when I tried to...when I slit my throat, and he couldn't keep me out of his head anymore. Or, it was a lot harder to at least."
One of Malachi's eyebrows arched at my words, his eyes on mine for a moment before dropping to my neck, then my hand again.
"I've never heard of that. Though it must have been a shit suicide attempt if Gabriel could heal it."
His eyes rose to my throat again, to the smooth white line left behind from James' heal.
I poked a finger at his cut wrist and he jerked back, my hand as good as new. I smirked.
"Dick."
I smiled wider.
"I've been called worse. And it did take a lot of his blood."
Another pause, longer this time.
"Why?"
"Why did it take a lot of blood? I suppose you're right and he isn't a very good healer. Or maybe my attempt wasn't so shit."
I smirked again, knowing that wasn't what Malachi was asking and enjoying being the one to bait him into speaking for once.
He shook his white hair from his face and slicked it back with his bloody hand, giving its colorlessness a pink overtone. He had an unamused set to his thin lips and pulled brows as he relented and clarified.
"No. Why did you try to kill yourself?"
He sounded as unamused as he looked, but I didn't let up. Irritating him seemed to keep him talking.
"Why did you?" I said, nodding to the sleeves I knew covered thick rows of scars.
"You first."
He ground the words out again and I wondered if it was in true anger or only frustration, or maybe something else entirely. And then, I realized I didn't have to wonder what he was feeling. I opened my newest Gift, not pulling, just touching, listening, seeing if I could feel the emotions of the room without taking them on.
There was his ever-present anger first, but then, confusion, curiosity tempered by distrust, sadness. And sympathy, something that ached, a cautious watchfulness. Interest. I pulled my Gift back, surprised that most of his feelings weren't murderous or dark.
"James figured out we were True Pairs before I did. He knew that meant I was a Half too, even before I knew either of us were. So he told me I would go dark and to kill myself to stop it. I did. That changed his mind and he brought me back."
"He told his True Pair to kill herself?"
His voice was full of disbelief, almost awe. I nodded.
"Fuck. That's cold."
I shrugged. "It's that conviction that will make us win."
"Conviction doesn't beat power. Only more power does." He shook his head, a pitying look deep in his eyes now.
"Agree to disagree. Your turn; when did you get those scars up your arms?"
I ran a finger across my neck, feeling the line of my own story. I had never thought about what James had been willing to give up by letting me die. He had been willing to sacrifice his other half if it meant I wouldn't join his father, wouldn't go dark. Would I really do the same if I had to? Let him die to win? Kill him to win? I was pulled from the thoughts by Malachi's low reply.
"Which time?"
I swallowed down bile with some difficulty. I had been right. He had tried multiple times.
"You tried four times? I saw four sets."
He looked mildly surprised by my observation, then shrugged and rubbed at his forearms through his sleeves roughly, like they itched, his eyes far away.
"Not really, I guess. I don't know if I really tried, I mean. I thought I wanted to die but maybe I didn't. It doesn't matter though, he knows how to bring me back now, so I can't die anymore. I don't want to. I won't."
A shiver ran Malachi's spine at the thought, and I understood the feeling fully. The Collector had made many the same chill run over me too.
"James tried once too. To kill himself."
"I know. I was there. He's the one who gave me the idea, the first glimmer of an escape."
"Oh."
I hadn't thought of that, but of course, Malachi had not only experienced a similar childhood to James', he had watched James' unfold too. Back when James took the brunt of the abuse before he left Malachi to stand alone.
"But it only pisses his father off, inconveniences him, so it isn't worth it. It just makes things worse in the aftermath. I learned that from him too."
"But you still tried, four times?"
"Some live and learn. I just live, apparently."
Malachi rubbed at the back of his neck, scratching under his collar as he spoke with a quirk to his lips, almost a grin, a nice one, at his joke. I watched him, seeing something familiar there, something I knew. I pulled in a deep, stabilizing breath and took the plunge.
"What do we have to do to prove to you we'll win, to get you to join our side?"