“This place…” he says finally, “… it’s a sanctuary. For people who don’t fit what people would describe as ‘normal.’ Those who have gifts, curses, call them what you want, that make them different, dangerous, special.”
“Like Ronan’s luck-bending.”
“Among other things.”
“And you?” I ask, my heart pounding. “What’s your gift?”
His smile is dark and twisted. “That’s one of those things I can’t talk about.”
The words settle over me like a shroud.
Not, I won’t talk about it. I can’t.
“Okay… how old are you?” I whisper.
“Old enough to know better than to get involved with someone innocent like you.” But even as he says it, he’s moving closer. Close enough, I can see the silver flecks in his eyes. Close enough that I feel the pull between us. “Old enough to know this, whatever this is between us, it’s going to end badly.”
“Maybe I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“But I don’t.”
We’re inches apart, close enough to kiss, his breath cool against my lips, lingering there long enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Your hands are glowing again,” he murmurs.
I look down. He’s right. Crimson-gold light pulses beneath my skin, brighter than before.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“I think—” He stops himself. “I think you’re waking up.”
“To what?”
“To what you really are.”
Before I can ask what that means, before I can process any of this, he steps back, breaking the moment.
“Go home, Sloane. Sleep. And tomorrow night, come back. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
But I don’t want to leave.
I want to stay here in this alley and demand every answer until nothing is hidden anymore.
But I see the strain in his face, the war between what he wants and what he’s allowed to do.
So hesitantly, I turn and leave. But as I walk to my car, as I drive home through the empty streets, my hands won’t stop glowing.
And I can’t stop thinking about what Ronan said.
‘This whole place runs on magic you don’t wanna understand.’
He’s wrong.
