JADE
The flames wraparound me like liquid heat, drowning out everything beyond their light. The warmth presses against every inch of my skin, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of my body, of the way the ceremonial robes cling to me, of how alone I am in this academy full of witches who’ve known what they are for their entire lives.
When I step through the veil of flames, Logan’s standing less than two feet away in the center of the fire, and my pulse skyrockets. His eyes lock on mine, as intense as they were immediately after the kiss, but he blinks the emotion away in less than a second. Like he was remembering what happened between us, then made a conscious decision to wipe it from his brain.
Like it wasnothing.Which is exactly what he told me it was.
The word sears my heart more than fire ever could, and I hate myself for it. Because I’ve only known him for a few hours. I’ve had one conversation with him, max. Not even, given that we did a lot more touching than talking when we were alone in the forest.
One kiss—no matter how heated and intense—doesn’t create a true bond. At least, it logically shouldn’t.
Maybe he was right about it being an adrenaline-fueled psychological response, or whatever it was he said.
But in here, in this cocoon of heat and shadow, it feels like there’s no one else in the world. Just Logan, me, and fire that wants to swallow us both. Then there’s the electricity humming in the air between us, urging me to close the space between us…
Hopefully I’m not the only one feeling it.
I shift slightly on my feet, and the flames shift from orange to bright yellow.
“Nervous.” His voice is low and controlled, but his eyes tell a different story as they track over me like he’s cataloguing every secret I’ve ever tried to hide.
“No,” I lie, and the yellow burns even brighter, as if it’s calling me out.
“You’re apparently unable to hide your emotions from either your faceorthe fire.” He holds up a quill that glows white-hot, and I realize through the insult—was it an insult?—that he’s about to carve into my skin with it. “Your right hand.”
Energy buzzes through me so intensely that it feels like it’s going to burst out of me, and I hesitate, unsure what will happen when I touch him. Will the fire burn down the castle? Will the world implode?
“Jade.” He releases an impatient breath. “Your hand.”
“Right. Sorry.” I straighten, not breathing as I place my right hand in his.
“Relax.” He speaks the word far sharper than its meaning implies, jolting me back into focus.
When my gaze meets his, there’s exhaustion in his eyes. Or annoyance. Likely annoyance. But it’s gone before I can tell.
Slowly, he turns my palm up, his thumb brushing the place where the sword cut me. His touch lingers a beat too long, and his breathing hitches, so slight I almost miss it.
It feels like time is frozen, and I let my hand melt into his, not wanting to break the moment.
“Interesting.” He leans closer, looming over me, close enough that I can see the dark flecks in his gray eyes and the orange-red glow reflected in them from the fire. “This healed faster than it should have.”
“What?” I ask, quieter than intended.
“The cut. It’s gone.” His thumb lingers, feather-light, and I shiver, the air around us cooling slightly. “Witches heal faster than humans, but notthisfast.”
He looks back at me, and his pupils dilate, turning his eyes dark and stormy.
My heart races, every bone in my body buzzing at the sudden realization at how intimate this moment is, and the flames around us flicker, yellow bleeding toward?—
“Control yourself.” He jerks back, the movement too sharp, too sudden. Like someone yanked him with invisible strings. “Now.”
“I don’t know how?—“
“Breathe with me.” His eyes flicker to my mouth before snapping up again. “In through your nose. Hold. Out through your mouth.”
I try, but his thumb keeps circling my palm in maddening, gentle patterns. The touch seems unconscious, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and that makes it worse somehow. Makes it feel real.
“Focus on my voice.” Sweat glistens on his brow, the hand not holding mine clenching and unclenching at his side, wildness burning in his gaze. “We need orange flames. Neutralones that won’t give away what you’re feeling. Think of something dull. Something boring.”
