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They looked the same because of course on the surface, James and Harry were identical; their mouths, the upturn of their nose, their brows, the slope of their forehead and even their warm brown eyes. Her sisters were constantly confusing them. They were cautious and jumpy around Harry while at ease with James and James was more than happy to use it to his advantage, feigning to be Harry until he was caught out. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure herself how she could tell the difference but there was something she could spot right away. It took her sisters a few minutes to really see it though.
She was obsessed with the idea of finding their difference and pinpointing it with a quantifiable fact. This intangible feeling, like smoke, of being able to tell them apart stirred something uneasy in her stomach. Days were spent sketching them, first Harry and then James. At first it was from memory, she could close her eyes and recall the way Harry would frown when he read something in his book he didn’t agree with or would stick his tongue out in concentration when he was writing something. With James, it was the way he would clench his teeth together making the tick in his jaw jump or his fierce look of concentration when he cleaned his hunting knives.
Sketches poured out of her, inspiration blooming beneath her eyelids every time she closed them. She drew their bodies too; the taunt muscular arms when one crossed his arms, a thigh restlessly bouncing, hands on a desk, a body lazing on a couch, slouched in a chair, walking in the distance. Her journal overflowed, stuffed with loose papers she’d doodled on absentmindedly, and she was terrified anyone would find it again. When her feelings had been revealed, caught like a child stealing candy from their own kitchen, Macy had felt wronged and embarrassed but Harry, ever the gentleman, assured her he would not press her until she was ready. James, of course, hadn’t given her the courtesy and pressed her daily by invading her personal space, touching her, hovering around her. It drove her mad and yet in a twisted sort of way, she welcomed it.
James had a look of intensity that took her breath away. His touch sent electricity coursing through her blood, straight to her brain making her feel lightheaded and he absolutely knew what he was doing. Harry was softer, gazing at her adoringly with that faint smile of his that made her heart flutter like a caged bird. He knew when to approach her, took his time to gauge her reaction, and knew from one look when she needed to be comforted. Macy was utterly confused. She loved him that much was clear in her head but which half of him? Did it matter? They were both him but they were so different like night and day, yin and yang.
Brushing her fingers over her latest sketch, Macy marvelled how to the untrained eye it would seem like she’d drawn just the face of the object of her affection but she had in fact split the face in half, the right half being Harry and the left was James. Perhaps it was because she drew it but Macy felt even in her drawing she could tell the difference. Harry operated under the impression he was half a man, scarred and irrevocably changed by the Elders but James elected to see himself as a free agent. He was jealous of Harry, hated having him around her. She’d seen the way his eyes would narrow when Harry hugged her, touched her shoulder or praised her and despite Harry’s protest, she imagined he must feel the same.
As ridiculous as it was, they were the same and they shared a lot-if not all-of their emotions. A laugh bubbled from the back of her throat, garbled and crazed. She was back where she started and no closer to finding that scientific cause of the difference she could see. James was getting restless. He wanted an answer. He wanted her to choose him. How could she love one version of him and not the other? Macy sighed, her choices weighing down her heart.
A knock on her door drew her out of her wallowing and with a quick and frantic toss of her sketchbook into her bedside table drawer, she answered the knock as unsuspiciously as she could muster. Harry entered with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands and she couldn’t contain the smile bursting forth on her face. Somehow he always knew.
‘Harry,’ she said, graciously taking the cup from him. ‘My saviour.’
Easily he returned her smile and then as always caught himself and was left in a half smile, his arm fell limply to his side. ‘Macy, how are you feeling?’
‘You spoke to James?’
Harry laughed, moving to sit next to her on the bed and she was struck momentarily how familiar this position was. This was the moment she’d read his mind to discover his blossoming feelings for her. ‘Spoke is perhaps an understatement. He sort of snarled at me.’
She shook her head, exhaling in a huff. ‘James is-’
‘-hurting.’ Harry finished for her.
Macy looked at him in surprise, the hot chocolate warming her hands had spread up her arms. ‘Hurting?’
‘I don’t profess to know how terrible my past was or the type of man I was when I was human but I know enough to know that I was not a good man. The Elders counted on using humans who awful beings in their life. The darker they were, the more darkness to remove and the easier it was to control what was left. I don’t have his memories. The past divides us but I know him now, through our bond.’
She could see where this was going. ‘Harry,’ Macy said, her voice low and dark. It was a warning he ignored.
‘If choosing him will ease that pain then I wholeheartedly-’
Before he could finish the sentence, she had placed the mug on her bedside table and surged forward to press a kiss against his lips. It was chaste at first and then it deepened as they melted into each other’s embrace. His hands skimmed her arms and shoulders, moving up to cup her face and hers found themselves lost in his hair. Macy had wanted this for so long; she had been starved for his touch and found herself letting out an impatient whine when he reluctantly pulled away from her, opting to rest his forehead against hers while he caught his breath.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he admitted, quietly. ‘I don’t really want you with him. I know, I know he’s me but my god, the jealousy aches.’
Macy chuckled. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘And I love him. You’re not the same, I know. There are countless differences and yet I find it hard to tell my heart to acknowledge it.’
‘I’m worried he’ll do something to you. Love can be very easily twisted.’
As Harry shifted to create distance between them, Macy removed her hands from his hair and rubbed his cheek in passing before resting them in her lap. ‘He wouldn’t harm me.’
‘I wish I could say the same thing with confidence.’
.
The hot chocolate had been a heaven sent as the rich sweet flavour settled her mind and took away her worries. There was no Harry, no James, it was just her and that gorgeous cup of cocoa. Somehow when Harry made it, it was like magic. She had no idea what he did or if he actually did use magic but either way, it didn’t matter because it always helped. A sketch of Harry’s hands rose in her mind and a fever gripped her, she had to get it out. Glancing down to the cup in one hand and the washing-up sponge in the other, she pondered how annoyed her sisters would be if she just left her dirty cup in the sink to sketch Harry’s hands.
‘Enjoyed yourself?’
The low gruff voice was unexpected. Macy jumped, dropping the cup in the sink before turning to face James. He looked angry; the tick in his jaw was jumping continuously and he couldn’t quite look her in the face. Her heart sank. It was clear to her that somehow he knew she’d kissed Harry and just like that her headache the hot chocolate had cured came back with a vengeance.
‘James-’
He took a long stride forward, pinning her against the sink, his hands holding onto her arms to keep her in place. His dark eyes searched her face, his lips previously pulled into a thin line morphed into a snarl. He was breathing heavy like he’d run a marathon to appear before her. The grip on her arms tightened.
‘James.’
It was him this time, this version of him, who surged forward to initiate the kiss. There was nothing comforting about this. It was angry, raw and passionate. He kissed her like a man drowning at sea and she was his lifeline. His hands left her arms to skim her hips, her breasts and then to her back to bring her closer to him while he parted her thighs with his right thigh. Macy couldn’t help it, she greedily drank in his attention and touches and gave as good as she got but in the end, she pulled away first.
He held her in the same position, unwilling to let go. ‘You kissed him,’ he said finally, his voice tinged with jealousy.
‘I kissed you,’ she pointed out.
‘I felt it,’ he confessed. ‘Ever since the whitelighter accessed our bond...’ James trailed off, eyes wandering down to her lips. ‘I want you so badly. Can you feel it? How much I want you?’
Macy could, of course, feel his erection against her thigh and she elected to ignore it. ‘We shouldn’t.’
He barked out a harsh and cold laugh. ‘He wants to fuck you too. Don’t think because he keeps it under wraps he doesn’t have dirty thoughts about you. I know all his fantasies.’
‘That’s quite enough, James,’ Harry called from kitchen’s archway. Macy blinked, unaware when Harry had entered and she wondered how much he’d seen or heard.
James turned his head to the side to stare at Harry and in doing so he’d obscured her view of him. ‘Does it bother you? Felt the way she reacts to my touches compared to yours? She’s so unbelievably wet.’
Embarrassed and angry, Macy shoved James to the side but he held his ground and it only served to have him tighten his hold on her. Harry stepped into the kitchen, now fully in her view and he looked for the better part of the word furious and even in anger, they were different. Similarities sprung to mind; the tick in their jaw, the darkening of their eyes, the furrow of their brows but ultimately, there was something darker about anger that came from James. His was electric, hot fire, it was a stifling aura that intensified the air around him but Harry’s anger was simple, quiet but dangerous.
‘Macy,’ Harry asked, ignoring his darklighter’s taunts. ‘Are you okay?’
She swallowed, her throat suddenly restricted and dry. ‘Fine.’
‘Of course, she’s fine. She’s with me.’
‘Please,’ she requested, trying to wiggle away from James and to her shock, he’d let her.
Unfortunately that meant he immediately turned and marched towards Harry. ‘You are nothing,’ he told him. ‘You are no one. A creation by the Elders, moulded to fit their image and their beliefs. I’m the real person here. I am James Westwell and you are a fabrication.’
Harry scoffed. ‘If you truly believe that, you’re a greater idiot that I gave you credit for.’
‘You are an imposter walking around in my image. How she can’t see this is beyond me.’
Macy rubbed the sides of her forehead. They’d been over this a thousand times and neither Harry nor James would budge in their beliefs. Harry had the research behind him, countless dealings with the cruelty of the Elders and she was inclined to believe him but she couldn’t write off the way James felt; imprisoned in a glass bottle for all the time Harry was out living his life. Whereas Harry pitied his darklighter, James had nothing but contempt and anger for Harry.
He swivelled around on his heel, turning his attention to her. ‘You’ll see one day,’ he said. ‘I know you will.’
How could she? They were different and she could tell but Macy knew they were the same, in her heart, in the way they both roused the same feelings from her in their touches, their kisses, their looks. She was no closer to obtaining her goal and she was more confused than when she’d started. Macy was at a loss for what to do.