The fire in his gaze dies, and he stares at me, lips wet. He peels his hand from my chest, and I can’t help voicing a small pained cry as the contact breaks. My skin is blistered and swollen where he touched me. So the stories are true. He is every bit as dangerous and wicked as they say. I release the water-wielding part of my magic and tap into my healing ability. The two skills are different, and I can’t use them at the same time. It’s one or the other. Golden curls of light emanate from the handprint on my chest, swirling through my skin, repairing the burnt cells. I can’t quite see it
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