Casey just wanted to have a normal life. She would only be so lucky. She despises school, especially after she meets Evan Fynn. In seconds, he's undone everything she's worked hard to maintain; he's taken everyone from her, filled their minds with lies to drive them away. She is desperate to find out why, even if the truth is more terrifying than she expected.


13. Fear.

When we were safely outside, I sat on the porch steps and pulled him down next to me. When I felt him wrap an arm around my waist, I relaxed.

“Why aren’t you afraid?” Nixon asked.

I watched his breath twist in the cool air before I answered. “What am I supposed to be afraid of?” I stared up at him and watched his mouth twitch.

The intensity in his grey eyes made my heart pounding against my chest. He reached out and pushed my hair behind my ear, then shook his head.

“You know you should be afraid of me, and yet here you are, curled up with me like I’m some old security blanket.”

“You won’t hurt me,” I said. When I looked into his face again I saw something that made me frown. “You won’t, right?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” Nixon said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

I stared at his hand, again laced with mine, and raised an eyebrow at him. “Why can’t I―”

“It was only temporary,” he explained. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle the transfer at first. Though, I admit, you did a better job than the last person I allowed to access my power.”

“What happened?” I asked, not quite sure I wanted to know.

“She became very frightened,” he said softly. Suddenly, he reached up and rubbed his eyes, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. “She started to back away from me, shrieking for me to break the connection. When I told her to relax, she pulled away.”

“So she thought you were crazy,” I mumbled.

He nodded. “Somehow she screwed up my connection for anyone else I tried to encounter. I didn’t know if anyone else could help me.”

“So, this thing, whatever it is, has been going on for a long time?” I said. My thoughts were clouded when he finally put his glasses on. I shook my head to uncoil that image from my brain.

He smiled.

I frowned at him.

“So,” I said, trying to figure out my words. “What’s this whole deal of me not being human? Because last I checked, I definitely was.”

“You’re taking this exceptionally well,” Nixon praised. “I’m a little worried you might go and hang yourself when things finally set in.”

“That would be the human way of doing things,” I said. When he stopped laughing, I let my mind wander. “What am I then?”

He sobered up, his face serious. “I told you that I don’t know the answer to that one.”

I made a noise in my throat that sounded like a growl and said, “You’re bullshitting me, right? You mean to tell me that you’ve been sent to protect me and you don’t even know what I am?”

“Please,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Please sit down.”

I was trembling from where I apparently stood, glaring down at him. His expression was half between shock and pain. He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

“If you want to speak, do it. It’s not like you’ll say anything worth hearing.”

He rose from his spot on the porch, his lips curved into a tight unpleasant smile. Before I knew what was happening, I felt my back hit one of the columns that held up the house.

“You’re so foolish,” he hissed, his eyes darkening behind the lenses. “Stupid and foolish. Don’t you see that I don’t have all the answers to your insignificant questions?”

“Stop,” I whispered. He was very close and for the first time, I was afraid. “Get away from me.”

He frowned at me, and the light from the kitchen had slid onto his face from the window, his eyes cool. He stepped back and lowered his gaze.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he said quietly. He reached for me and I moved away, feeling the fear in the pit of my stomach suddenly explode.

“Can you please leave?” I said gently, my head turned away from him. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I didn’t want to see the pain in them because of me.

“Casey―” he pleaded.

The last thing I remember before I shut the door in his face were his fingers slipping through my hair.

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