The possibility that Antonin would discover her connection to Max had always been a risk. His insistence that they bond had also been a real threat. But never, not in all her anxious imaginings, had she thought they would go hand in hand.
She assumed that he would simply kill her once he found out who she was, but perversely, it seemed Antonin actually found pleasure in the connection. He chatted amiably as they ate their meal and praised her several times fortaking the initiativeandstepping upwhen her uncle faltered.
He casually mentioned that he considered getting rid of her after his discovery, but she impressed him so much that he changed his mind. “Who am I to snuff out such a bright light?” he’d asked. “I figured it would be a waste, especially when I could just bind you to my side instead. A win all around, wouldn’t you say?”
Petra endured it all because she had no choice.
There was no escape, not when the only viable exit was blocked by two armed guards. Her alternative was a quick tripover the railing of the tower — an option that’s appeal grew with every word out of his mouth.
Her panic was a thick, blanketing thing. It didn’t scramble her brain with a frenzy of possibilities and plans. It didn’t tell her to run, no matter how futile that might be. It held her there in her seat. It quieted her mind. It was a perfect sort of helplessness that allowed her to continue spooning mousse into her mouth. It was an acceptance that she imagined one might feel on a sinking ship — yes, she was afraid and wished there was a chance to escape her fate, but if she couldn’t do that, what was the point in screaming?
There was perfectly good food in front of her. She might as well enjoy it while the water rose.
Petra didn’t want to die, but a part of her had always assumed she would never get this far. Disbelief mingled with heavy, sluggish panic as the tart, sugary sweetness of the dessert melted on her tongue.
She wasn’t even aware that she’d finished it until her spoon clinked against the cut crystal bowl. Petra stared at the reflection of candle flames in the streaked crystal. Cool wind kissed her bare shoulders and exposed skin of her back. At any other time she would have bitterly wished for her jacket, but just then she didn’t feel the discomfort of the temperature. She barely felt anything at all.
“Absolutely delightful,” Antonin announced as he set his folded napkin onto the edge of the table. “Your kitchen staff is superb, my dear.”
She must have made some sound of agreement or appreciation because he clapped his hands together and pushed his seat back from the table. “Well, I think it’s about time we got on with the rest of our evening, don’t you think?”
A jolt of disgust ran down her spine, rattling her out of the haze that had insulated her.
The delicate silver spoon slipped from between her fingers to clatter onto the table. Petra sat back in her chair and watched as Antonin stood up. He passed a hand over his mustache and beard, smoothing both to perfection, before he stepped around the table to ease her chair back.
Her fingernails bit into the armrests, as if a good grip would save her from the Protector’s plans. As if anything, anyone could.
Silas’s face flashed in her mind, his lambent eyes burning with intent. Something deep within her twanged, a plucked chord of pure, nauseating yearning. It was absurd to imagine him as any kind of savior, but that didn’t stop her pounding heart fromwishing.
A too-warm hand peeled her fingers away from the armrest. Petra forced the joints of her fingers to unlock as he helped her stand. He turned her to face him.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, stepping close enough that their chests brushed. His cologne, spicy and cloying, filled her nose. He skimmed the pad of his thumb over her clammy cheek. “I didn’t realize until tonight that you glow. The camera simply doesn’t do you justice.”
Her voice sounded thin even to her own ears when she asked, “You’re a luminist, too. Don’t you?”
His smile was wry. “I’m afraid I’m not nearly the same caliber as you, my dear. I’m but a humble brightling. A spark to your star.”
In the modern world, one didn’t need to boast the incredible magical power of a gloriana to be respected amongst witches, but still, it was shocking to hear that a man who so many feared sat at the very bottom of the power scale. Perhaps that was why he’d become so cunning.
Magic wasn’t necessary to become a member of Glory’s Temple, but the gifted were considered Glory’s favorites andtherefore tended to have the most pull. Luminists even moreso. While Antonin had that on his side, she doubted it was common knowledge that he probably couldn’t even light a candle with his abilities, let alone burn so brightly from within it was as if he contained his own personal sun.
Ambitious but lacking in raw magical talent, Antonin had clearly turned to a different kind of power.
He cupped her cheek and leaned in close, until she could feel the tickle of his beard against her cheeks and chin. “I can’t regret it, though,” he whispered, “when it allows me to forge a bond with someone like you.”
And it won’t hurt having your own abilities boosted by my magic, I imagine.
Repulsion skittered down her back on light insect feet. It was like a thousand little bugs crawled out of his sleeves and over her, seeking a way in.
Her breath came faster. Her vision narrowed.I can’t do this.
Antonin picked up her limp hand and guided it into place just above his heart. Picking up on her obvious change in mood, he crooned, “Easy now, my dear. There’s no need to be nervous. We’re going to make marvelous partners, you and I.”
A scream was trapped behind her locked jaw — a primal, agonized sound of pure grief and the desire to escape a fate worse than death.
When his lips brushed hers, she tasted wine and apricots on his breath. Her stomach lurched. Everything in her rebelled against that familiar touch, the scent of him, the taste, thefeelingof his body so close to hers. Even her magic, which had been so volatile around Silas, seemed to have curled in on itself, retreating into a protective ball in the core of her being.
It left her feeling cold, shaken. Helpless in a way that she hadn’t since she was a little girl huddled under trash in a stinking alley in Los Angeles, crying herself to sleep because thehunger pains were too much, her parents were dead, no one cared if she lived or died?—
