“That power—” Corbin wheezed. “Maeve, how did you…?”
“Not now, Mussolini,” Blake grinned. “Give us a minute to bask in the glow of our awesomeness.”
Maeve’s eyes met mine and understanding flickered between us. She would never tell Corbin the truth about how I felt. Instead, she had given me this chance to show him. As enraptured as he was by her, he might not notice it. He might choose not to notice because Corbin did have a history of choosing not to see things that challenged the way he saw the world.
Or maybe he would finally know what he meant to me, and kick me out of Briarwood, and I’d lose everything I’d ever loved.
Two of those three options I could live with.
I think.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ARTHUR
It’s no bloody use.
I took my sword into the orchard right to the back of the garden, hoping that hacking an apple tree to pieces might calm me down. But Maeve’s cries of ecstasy soared from the open library window and pounded against my ears.
My dick pressed against my jeans, hard and angry at me for leaving.
Well, damn him. Just because all the others were thinking with their dicks, doesn’t mean I had to.
I should have brought my phone down, plugged my earbuds in, and drowned out this bollocks with some fucking heavy metal. But I imagined somehow that she’d even cut through the loudest, angriest music.
I tossed the sword onto the ground, balled up my hands, and slammed my fist into the trunk of the apple tree. Usually, hitting shit helped me to cool the aggression that bubbled under the surface of my skin, but this time it wasn’t helping.
I hated them for agreeing to it, for taking away my chance to be with her. I wanted Maeve to be my girlfriend. She was the first girl I’d ever imagined I could have a life with, who couldaccept and understand me. Being with her was the only thing that seemed to quell the rage inside me.
I admired her strength, her determination. I loved the way she practised her sword moves again and again and again until she got them right. I loved watching her brain work, seeing her brow furrow and her eyes narrow as she concentrated on a problem. The adorable way her eyes lit up when she formulated a solution. I loved talking to her, and found myself telling her things I’d never told anyone else – things about my mum, and about the anger that built up inside me, the inferno that was part of my magic but also part of myself.
I wanted her to be mine.
And she wantedthis…gangbang instead.
I hated her for not choosing me, but that hate was different from what I felt for my dad. Maeve’s heart was too big for me – she was doing what she needed to do to heal herself, and that was something I could understand. I’d done far worse things in my life to try and drive out the anger I had for my dad.
No, the hate I felt was the love I had for her and the hate I had for myself. They were one and the same. I hated my friends because I wanted to be up there with them. But I couldn’t.
The others – they were reacting to the pull of the magic. Even though we made a pact when we found out Maeve was moving to Briarwood, swearing that none of us would make the first move, that we wouldn’t do anything to make the others look bad or to make ourselves look better, that pact seemed to have gone out the window. Corbin believed that he was the best person to lead the coven – which was probably true – and that him being Maeve’s chosen one was the right solution for all of us. Flynn’s competitive streak wouldn’t allow him to lose to any of us, especially me and Corbin. And Rowan…poor Rowan didn’t have the strength the rest of us did. I got the feeling he’d never been with many women. Of course, he’d struggle to resist it.
As for Blake…I didn’t know what his game was, but I could see the raw desire in his eyes when he looked at her. It made me want to smack him in the face.
I didn’t care about being the magister. I didn’t even care about the coven any more. But I was falling for Maeve. And that was why I couldn’t participate in what she and the others were doing, even though being pulled into those dreams of hers turned my cock hard, even though I pulled one off every night thinking about it?—
“Fuck!” I yelled again as fire sprung up on the grass beside me. I threw the rest of my water bottle on it, watching the flames splutter and sizzle and then die back. As long as resisting Maeve didn’t burn the castle down, it’d be fine.
I leaned against the tree and slid down until my arse hit the damp grass. My hand brushed the hilt of my sword. I stared down at the blade. My elbow itched.
It would be so easy. Press the blade to my skin and draw it back. Bleed out the pain and let the rush of relief flood my body. Bleed Maeve out of my system so I could be strong and stoic again.
No.
I hadn’t cut myself for two years. My eyes burned with shame that I’d even contemplated it. I’d worked so goddamn hard to not need the blood, the pain. That was why I took up swordfighting – to give me a way to vent my frustration and helplessness and need for control without resorting to scarring myself.
A fire burned in the back of my throat. I grabbed my elbow, running my finger over the raised scars.Remember…remember…
Remember your dad telling you how useless you were, how no woman would ever want someone as ugly as you. Remember how the kids at school acted as though you were invisible, asthough you could be scrubbed off the face of the earth and no one would even notice. Remember the whispers and the laughter and the taunts no teacher ever heard, remember how they looked at you as though you were no longer a person but a monster instead, and how that gave them license to treat you like one. Remember the relief of that first cut, because when you punished yourself at least you had control, but then you had to keep doing it, again and again, feeding the demon that lived inside you and made you shoot fire and do terrible things. No matter how much blood you fed it, the demon kept coming back, kept screaming that you were ugly and useless and evil and why hadn’t you died instead of her?—
