I glare at him and take it, and he pulls me forcefully to my feet, bringing us chest to chest. Time feels like it stills, and I grip his hand tighter, daring him to give in to the fire burning between us.
“Again.” He steps back, but his voice is rougher now, his jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
This time when we clash, his fire burns hotter, and his blade moves with less restraint. He’s punishing himself. Or maybe he’s punishing me for making him feel things he doesn’t want to feel. For being the chaos he can’t control, the unpredictable variable in his perfect equations that refuse to balance.
Eventually, he disarms me with a move I should have seen coming, then uses his body to drive me back against the circle’s edge. His hips pin mine again, and the air around us hums with our combined magic, silver electricity tangled with his roaring flame that’s blackened at the edges.
“You’re angry,” I goad him, the frustration inside me wanting him toreactinstead of staying locked away. “What’s wrong? Did the perfect Logan Ashford finally realize he’s not as in control as he wants to be?”
“Stop talking about my control and focus on yours,” he growls, his hands gripping my wrists too tightly, his body pressed too close.
“Hard to focus when you’re?—“
“What did Oliver want you to think about?” His question comes out of nowhere, sharp as a blade between my ribs.
“What?” I blink up at him. “Are you seriously bringing up Oliver when you have me pinned against a wall?”
His jaw clenches. “I’m bringing up yesterday before I walked you back, when he told you to think about something.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, incredulous and maybe a little hysterical. “That’s what’s got you so worked up? Oliver Thorne asking me to think about something?”
“Answer the question.” His grip on my wrists stays tight.
“He asked me to the Halloween ball.” I meet his eyes steadily, in clear challenge. “As his date.”
Logan goes completely still. The kind of stillness that comes before a storm.
“And?” The air pulses around him, like he’s going to lose it if he speaks another word.
“I haven’t answered him yet.” The words taste like ash, since this morning, Oliver told me he decided to begenerousand give me another day to make my decision.
Logan’s eyes go distant for a second. It’s that strange blankness I’ve noticed before, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Then he blinks, and when he looks at me again, his expression is carefully neutral.
Somehow, that indifference hurts worse than anger ever could.
“You’re considering saying yes.” His fire burns brighter, orange bleeding into black at the edges. “So, tell me, Jade. Is there something going on between you and Oliver Thorne?”
My flames die as rage takes their place, electricity surging harder. “There’s nothing other than him pushing for an answer about the stupid dance. But at least he’s clear about what he wants. At least he doesn’t make me feel like some dirty secret he’s ashamed of. At least he doesn’t make me guess every single night before I go to bed if I matter or not.”
Logan stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which, honestly, maybe I have.
“You think you don’t matter to me?” His voice is dangerously quiet now, and more fire erupts around his hands, white-hot, making the air shimmer around him. “After everything I’ve done, you think you don’t fucking matter to me?”
“How am I supposed to know?” My own anger rises to meet his, silver light racing up my forearms like liquid lightning. “You kiss me like I’m everything, then treat me like I’m nothing. Gods forbid you allow yourself to feel instead of putting up your damn walls over and over and over again.”
“You don’t understand?—“
“Because you won’t let me!”
Pain flickers in his eyes—or maybe guilt—but his walls stay in place.
“This isn’t about what I want.” His voice is carefully controlled now, all traces of emotion locked away. “It’s about what’s best for you.”
“Don’t you dare decide what’s best for me. I’m not a child.”
“No. You’re a first-year with dangerous magic who doesn’t understand how many people would use you if they knew what you could do.” Something that looks like self-hatred flashes across his face, although it’s gone a second later. “There are some lines that protect you by not being crossed.”
“Protect me from who?” My voice rises again. “From the Council? Or from whoever killed Miles?”
