Grey IV - Chains

Chapter 7 - Learned Behavior

Malachi's plan was to find our mother. He thought she would know more about 'second-Fallen' as he called me, and that maybe learning more about what I was would help us control and use my powers, find new ones I hadn't tapped into, and kill Baraqiel. He said that was his only agenda, revenge for decades of wrongs, for James, but I saw his mind ticking away behind his eyes when he thought I didn't notice him watching me.

I could tell when he was working something over in his mind, even without seeing it in his eyes, as he had a clear tell. The little rhythms he so often drummed out, on his collar, a table, his leg, clicking the piercing through his tongue against his teeth, even just tapping the tip of his middle finger or index to his thumb. I used to think it was from some tune in his head, but now it seemed more like an unconscious habit, something he wasn't even aware of.

We spent days in my room, trying to control my blackouts and subsequent fire, trying to find the trigger. But I couldn't see any pattern, besides James, and though every episode happened when I was thinking of him, every thought of him didn't bring with it an episode. Kael and Nevaeh tried to visit once, but just hearing their voices through the door sent me spiraling into one of my worst bouts, thinking of the manor, training, James' room. I wished we had never left that night for the cemetery. I wished so much could be different. And even with food and clothing appearing in the room whenever we required them, and regular showers in the attached bathroom, Malachi looked a wreck. I could hardly go more than a couple of hours without becoming a human pyre, and Malachi's burns were multiplying despite his protections.

Finally, I'd had it with watching him silently suffer, or, more accurately, I had it with seeing how he barely seemed to notice his suffering. I knew why and it twisted something sharp in my rib cage. Luckily, he wasn't the only manipulative one, so I focused hard on him and pulled his pain, gritting my teeth against it so I wouldn't make a noise at its magnitude. It only took a moment for him to look up, confusion on his face at first, but then his yellow eyes flashed deadly and plunged to black.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare. I don't need your help or your pity," he said each word slowly, his voice a low threat.

"You can either share the pain or let me heal it. Those are your choices," I replied evenly, not backing down from his tone or Shift in the slightest.

His nostrils flared, his hands clenched at his sides, and I felt my body tense like I still expected him to attack me, like he was still an enemy. But then he closed his eyes, cracked his neck, and took a deep breath in through his nose.

"Is that you working at keeping calm?"

When he opened his eyes again, they were yellow and held less murderous intent. His shoulders relaxed a measure more and he spoke.

"You're not the only one practicing control in here. The sooner I master remaining calm, the sooner I can shove it on you and we can leave this damn oven."

He still sounded annoyed, but no longer violent. I watched him a moment longer, waiting to see what he would decide. When it was clear he was going to try to avoid the subject again, I raised one hand toward him, not that I had to, my thieving power seemed to work without any physical movement, but it got the message across.

"Fine. Leave me to my feelings and you can heal these stupid burns, they're taking too long on their own anyway," he snapped and I tried to hide my self-satisfied smirk.

He pulled his sleeves up, showing his scarred and tattooed arms. And though I had expected the numerous blistered spots, the leathery band of thick, sunken skin that drew my attention was far larger and far worse. My triumphant smirk died on my lips. The burn spanned the inside of both of his arms, from just above his wrists to halfway up his biceps. Each arm had one solid band, red and cracked and blistered at the edges, but smooth and milky as it continued. They were far deeper than anything I could have done since waking, yet they were clearly recent, standing out against his older scars, layered over them.