I snort. “See, not a baby.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No, your grandmother certainly isn’t.”
Shit, he’s got me there.
He pulls open the door to the pantry and runs his fingers along the frame. Fire curls through the wood, lighting up the cracked paint and peeling it back. The shapes on my page appear in glowing orange as his hands slide down farther. He moves with slow, smooth precision, ensuring each shape is delicately carved.
But he’s gotten one wrong.
I put my fingers over the mark and press down on the comforting warmth.
He hisses in a breath. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I say.
My astral body follows my fingers through the motion, pressing his magic into shape with my will. The curling tail of the mark wraps tighter, mimicking the drawing on the page.
He’s stopped, but there are still more to go. I touch his hand, marveling at just how much bigger it is than mine. Pulsing veins of fire etch through his skin, pushing his magic into his sharp talons. That’s what he’s using to craft the wards.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice soft with curiosity and something else, some deep part of him that’s been deprived.
“Finishing it.”
I grasp his fingers and scrawl the next symbol. Sparks fly from the wood as the protection takes form. The wards set deeper, farther than just the doorframe on this physical plane. I sense it seeping into the astral realm and across the planar barriers.
His other hand falls to my hip as he steps behind me, letting me use his body to scrawl the runes. My heart thuds heavily in my chest as we shape the magic together. It feels right. More than right. It feels designed. Destined.
Rhazan’s wings have reappeared. They curve around us, pinning us together against the door. I put the flourish on the last shape, and the doorframe comes alive with light before it settles. The shapes are blackened scars on the wood that somehow bring out more of its character. It’s beautiful and functional.
And I’m still holding his fingers like a paintbrush.
“Sorry,” I murmur as I slide my hand away.
Rhazan snaps to attention and pulls back. The sudden loss of his heat makes me shiver. His retreating footsteps turn me around, and for some reason, I’m desperate to ask him to stay for tea.
“Is that all?” I ask.
He doesn’t stop walking toward the portal of smoke and embers. “These are more than adequate to keep you safe for the time being.”
“But—”
“I will work on my wards. You won’t see me again unless there’s another breach.”
He steps through and the gateway snaps shut behind him, leaving little embers floating on the wind of his departure, and fluttering through my stomach, too. The heat from his hand lingers on mine. I turn my arm and see the mark burning there on the inside of my wrist.
I know he told me not to abuse it, but what if it doesn’t actually work? What if when he’s on a different plane, he can’t sense it?
I swish my thumb over it. Rhazan’s arms merge through the air in smoky wisps and he grabs my wrists. His chest presses against my back, and he whispers searing words in my ear.
“You’re starting to make me regret this.”
I relish his return, that I could call him. I know it makes me a little bonkers, but that worry is far away right now.
“Just starting to?” I ask.
He grunts, the sound evocative and thrilling.
I turn my head to look at him. His black hair is escaping its hold at the top. Curling strands of it fall in front of his burning eyes. His gaze dips to my lips and his hold on my wrists tightens. The tension between us is palpable, charged with more than anger.
