I put that aside for now. “You said the color of aura indicates which parent a daemon favors, Light or Dark.”
“It means essentially the same. Light is generally good, and dark is generally bad. But again… remember, all creatures can change. Nature versus nurture doesn’t just apply to the human world.”
“So essentially, fae and daemons are a lot like people. You don’t know what they’re like unless you get to know them?”
Zaid nods. “That’s not a bad way to look at it. But the danger in not knowing what you’re dealing with is that, unlike humans, fae and daemons are incredibly powerful in strength, and most have some form of magical ability.”
I remember Zaid slamming his hand down on the granite to get my attention, and something tells me that he wasn’t even using full strength. I make a mental note never to get on his bad side.
Or any daemon’s or fae’s bad side come to think of it.
“Is Carrick fae?” I ask, wondering if he’ll give me the answer I’ve already tried to get from the man himself twice.
Not a muscle twitches on Zaid’s face. “No.”
I tilt my head. “Daemon?”
“No.”
I want to growl with frustration. He’s just as bad as Carrick. “Well, what is he?”
Zaid doesn’t answer, and just like Carrick has done twice to me before, he segues into something new. “Stand up,” he orders.
I do as commanded. With one hand, he motions for me to sidestep around the table and join him beside the chairs. We stand face to face, and I realize Zaid’s not but maybe an inch or two taller than me.
This close to him, I realize he has more fine lines around his eyes and mouth than I had first realized.
“Now,” he commands, lifting his chin. “Break through my glamour and tell me what you see.”
Rolling my neck, I shake out my hands, loosening up like I’m about to spar with Duane. I suppress the urge to spring from foot to foot, dancing around my opponent.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and then pin my eyes not to his, but to his face as a whole. I subconsciously demand his face to disappear and show me what’s below.
What feels like a bolt of lightning shooting straight through the center of my forehead nearly drops me to one knee. Clapping my hand to my brow, I curse. “Holy shit, that hurts.”
“You barely tickled me,” Zaid replies blandly.
I open a bleary eye, my vision a little hazy, to see him smirking.
“Try again,” he orders.
“No,” I grit out, dropping my hand from my head. “Not until you tell me how to do it.”
Zaid purses his lips, shaking his head slightly as if he’s disappointed. “You’re not trying hard enough.”
“My headache says otherwise,” I grumble.
“How did you see past Marcus’ glamour yesterday?” Zaid demands.
My mind races, thinking back, and it comes to me quickly. “I was discombobulated. Carrick threw me off when he came in the room, and my defenses were down.”
“And why do you have defenses up?” he intones.
“Because I don’t like seeing those things,” I reply without hesitation.
“More, Miss Porter.” He sneers. “I need more than that. Why don’t you like seeing those things?”
I bite hard on my lower lip, knowing the answer but loathe to admit it to this small man who intimidates the hell out of me.
“Why, Miss Porter?” he barks, and gone is the raspy, grating voice. Instead, he booms with authority.
I’m jolted into action. “Because I’m scared of them,” I yell back. “And… I thought the more I saw them, the more likely it was I’d end up committed to a hospital again.”
Zaid smiles. Not in praise I just admitted a shameful secret, but because I gave him the exact answer he already knew. As such, the twist of his lips is beyond smug. “Exactly,” he says with a superior lift of his chin. “The reason you can’t break through my glamour is you’re scared, so figure some way to relax and just do it.”
I huff out a breath, using my inside voice to bolster myself. You can do this, Finley.
Once again, I roll my neck, shake my shoulders, and just because it’s what I’d do before a sparring round, I jump lightly from foot to foot. Zaid stares at me like I’m a nut job.
“Feel the fire,” I murmur to myself. It’s the same words of encouragement I repeat before stepping into the ring. “Ride the storm. You are a warrior.”
With a burst of confidence, I steel my spine and focus my stare on Zaid’s face, ready to peel back his secret layer and expose him.
Blinding pain sears everything inside my skull and this time, I do drop to a knee. “Shit. Christ. Damn it.”
Zaid doesn’t say anything as I grumble, throw more curses out, and stumble to my feet. I glare. “You threw up some type of shield.”