“Better be more careful from now on,” Hot Book Guy mutters, glancing up at the empty, foggy sky. And you’re not sure if he’s talking to himself, or to you. “I’m sure that’s not the last we’ll be seeing of him.”
So maybe Vincentius really isn’t dead, then.
“Can you stand?” Hot Guy asks, glancing down at you in his arms.
“Yes,” you say, but your voice shakes as you gasp, “You’re a wind mage!”
Mage. That word comes out, but the truth is, you don’t know what to call it.
He only laughs. “You could call me that, I suppose.”
Slowly, he sets you on your feet. You smooth the skirt of your little black dress, wobbling in your strappy high heels.
In the distance, sirens wail from all sides, screeching around the corner toward the crowd of terrified civilians streaming into the street, many with phones out like they’re filming.
Uh, oh.
“Hey.” You glance at Hot Book Guy. “We’d better get out of here, unless you’re prepared to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions!”
You grab his hand, dragging him behind you as you break into a sprint. But you barely make it to the end of the block before a gust of wind rushes around you and he scoops you back into his arms.
12
The Hot Guy Takes Care of You
You
“What are you doing!?” You ask with a yelp as the ground vanishes from beneath your feet.
“Taking you home,” he says matter-o’-factly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It’s a long way back—” you start to say, but your protest trails into the wind.
He’s fast.
Really fast.
It’s kinda a handy skill to have, and you can’t help but feel awe as your apartment building blurs into focus in front of you not two minutes later.
You’re expecting him to set you down, but he just carries you silently up the stairs. Your heart hammers in your chest.
What is he doing!?
Not that you mind.
You’re still shaking. Badly.
A middle-aged woman steps to the side as she sees him carrying you up, and you blush, muttering an apology, but she just laughs, waving you on.
“Have a good night!” She calls in a cheery voice, like she’s probably assumed you just had too much to drink and your nice boyfriend is carrying you home.
You blush harder. You’re never going to be able to leave your apartment again. Not without hiding your face in shame.
But Hot Book Guy carries you all the way to your front door, setting you down outside only long enough for you to unlock it.
Then you scoops you back up, a determined grimace on his face as he carries you to the kitchen table and sets you down on the edge.
“Don’t move,” he says, disappearing to your bathroom.
