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One moment, the man was lunging toward me, a brush of cool air skimming my ribs as the tip of his dagger snagged my tunic and ripped a hole in the fabric. The next moment, my limbs were flying in a choreographed war hymn my body could sing in its sleep.
His previous lovers had been the sweet, quiet girls. The ones with shy smiles and ribbons in their hair, who never said an unkind word and managed to get along with everyone. I’d teased him for it, but in truth, I’d been secretly jealous. Not only for their relationships with him, but for that delicate beauty a part of me wanted so badly to emulate.
Relatable
But I was made of swinging fists and rash words, my edges too jagged and my temper too hot. Nothing about me was delicate.
I might have left out that the lozenges were more medicine than candy, but that was one healer’s secret I’d take all the way to the grave.
“I’ll handle it from here.” Without breaking my gaze, Luther sauntered forward. The presence of his immense power hit me like a physical force, and I had to dig in my heels to hold my ground. His hands dropped from his chest and hovered in the air by my hips. “May I?” My brows arched. “Now you ask?” “I wouldn’t want you to think I wasn’t taught to ask for a woman’s consent.”
Love this trope of the MMC having to frisk search the FMC
No light, no heat, no air. True darkness can destroy even life itself.” Something stirred beneath my ribs. I looked at him. “That still doesn’t explain how you can make it solid. Even pure light and darkness can’t do that.” His lip quirked again—higher this time. “That, Miss Bellator, is why we call it magic.”
Her head tilted again, her expression going thoughtful. “I think he trusts you, though.” I snorted. “I’m quite positive you’re mistaken about that.” “No, really. I think he trusts you because you were mean to him. No one’s ever mean to him.” Her eyes twinkled. “I think he kind of liked it.”
We both froze in place as something ancient, something profound passed between us. It was a primal force that transcended word and thought, as powerful as a crack of lightning, a child’s first breath,
It was not of this world but entirely woven within it. It warmed my blood with a calming peace I’d never known, yet filled me with the terrible dread of a fate I could not avoid.
“If the death of innocents is a cost we’re willing to pay, then we don’t deserve to be powerful.”
“You think I fear my own death?” he whispered in my ear. “Every day I draw breath is as much a curse as a gift. I’ve been living on borrowed time for longer than you can imagine. If you’re the way my fate finally catches up to me, I can’t fathom a more beautiful end.”
Adrenaline set my veins alight. I fumbled for my training, racking my brain for some pertinent lesson on how to fight off an enemy you couldn’t seem to resist, but the only words of my father’s that surfaced were utterly useless and horrifyingly mad: The truth is that I just knew.
He fell preternaturally still. Any remaining shards of his icy veneer melted away under the heat of his rising temper, that blazing soul of his now burning beautifully, fearsomely unchecked. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. All this time, I’d dismissed Luther as someone ice-cold and heartless, too frosty to feel anything true. But Luther wasn’t cold at all. Luther was an inferno.
As I walked away from the center for what might be the last time, a fragment of my heart remained lodged within those four stone walls, forever to stay.
