“So I’ve been told,” he drawled. “But at least I don’t pretend to be anyone I’m not.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means stop arguing and take the fucking skirt off so I can treat your leg.” Xander’s brow raised as she followed his command, her skirt barely hitting the floor before she felt his hands grip her waist.
“Hey!” she squeaked, struggling against his hold as he placed her on the counter. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Xander looked up, his eyes such a pale blue that they reminded her of ice and frost. He kept the eye contact as he reached forward and ripped the tights clean from her legs.
“Xander!”
“What happened?” he asked in a cold, detached voice, the complete opposite of the full body flush that had started in her cheeks, and now reached her toes. “Kyra?”
“It’s a self-sacrifice,” she said, struggling to swallow as he carefully traced his fingers along the scars that decorated both her thighs. The light above made them glow against her skin, and they were something she would not apologise for. “It’s better me than something else.”
“Ah yes, a blood sacrifice,” he said with a curled lip. “How noble.”
Kyra tried to ignore the sarcasm that dripped from his words. “Don’t judge a whole Breed because of your ignorance.”
“I’m not ignorant, I’m aware witches require some sort of sacrifice, the severity depending on the spell. I just don’t understand why you would choose magic that requires death.”
Kyra hissed as he pressed something against the wound. “Do you think I chose this?” She gestured to her scars. “Do you think I chose to have the whole magical community hate me on sight?”
“You could have chosen another specialisation…”
“No!” she snapped. “No I couldn’t.”
His hand paused.
“Any witch with a large enough chi can try black magic, but unless they have the natural instincts the spells will fail or cause irreversible damage to the caster. You have to be born with the ability to practice black magic properly. Our chi is different, a mutation that makes our power stronger, but toxic.” Her voice cracked. “If we don’t practice some sort of black magic our chi could become overcharged, and that can be fatal for more than just us. So no, I couldn’t choose another specialisation.”
“Should we be concerned that some of your blood is black?” Xander asked, reaching into the tin for a salve, the medicine cold against her almost fevered skin. “It may be infected.”
A clove oil and chamomile scent drifted strongly, the salve having an anesthetic effect. “It’s not, it’s just my body rejecting the effluence.”
He gripped her knee, keeping her in place. “Stop moving.”
“You know nothing of black magic,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “A black witch is someone who uses their ability to manipulate blood and death for their own gain. They embraceand savour the mortality because in return it gives them power. Then there are dark witches, those who use their natural born ability to manipulate blood and death for good.”
“For good?” Xander smirked as he began to wrap a bandage around her thigh. “Sure, Princess.”
Kyra lifted her leg, kicking him back with a frustrated cry.
Xander shot her a pointed look, his hand curling around her foot to hold against his bare chest.
“For good,” Kyra repeated. “Black magic is stronger and has more possibilities, but dark witches don't embrace the death. They find ways around it.”
Xander lifted her leg before she could pull it back, bending it until her shin hit his warm skin. Kyra sucked in a breath, but before she could move he had pulled her to the edge of the counter, legs parted to almost wrap around his waist.
“So you’re telling me you’re not a black witch, but a dark one?” he whispered, his thumb brushing over her scars, his lips near hers.
Her mind went blank, unable to concentrate with him so close. She tried to scoot back, but was met with resistance. “My magic is simply a coincidence of birth.” She pushed against his chest, needing space between them before she combusted at his touch. How could a man who openly hated her pull such a strong reaction from her?
Xander’s eyes blazed with challenge, his irises shifting into a liquid silver that made her burn hotter.
“You hate me, remember.” The words came out husky, not like the accusation it was meant to be.
Xander smirked, his thumb stroking down on her thigh as if he knew her internal struggle. “I need to finish wrapping your leg,” he said with a rumble that sent a vibration to places that didn’t need attention.
