“You won’t have to do anything. I’ll handle it myself. I can make the magic look like it came from you.” Then I understood. Luther never wanted to fight me. He wanted to lose to me. He sank to his knees. His head drooped, his hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs. “Let me do this for you,” he begged. “I could hope for no greater death than this.” Splinter by splinter, my broken heart began to rebuild.
