He had no idea what he was supposed to do with a mage now that he had one.
Chapter 6
SETTING HIStoothbrush on fire was Max’s first clue that his control was slipping.
He dropped the plastic stick into the sink and drowned the flames in water, gripping the counter as he breathed.
In, hold, out. In, hold, out.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the cool marble under his fingers and the sound of running water and the lingering scent of smoke.
A few minutes passed before the panic eased its grip, but he was relieved when he didn’t lose himself to it like he sometimes did. He’d never been allowed a real therapist, because that was a sign of weakness, so he’d had to research how to get through panic attacks on his own in a desperate bid for any control over his own life.
He shut off the water and collapsed onto the bed, pressing the fresh ice pack Quinn had dropped off to his chest, intending to stay there all day. If he couldn’t even brush his teeth without catching fire, he definitely didn’t want to be near others. Even if part of him wanted to be.
He wasn’t sure if it was the binding or what, but something had changed. He still knew deep down that he should have run. Gotten on a plane and disappeared to the other side of the world. But Quinn and Caius had healed him. Called him pack. Promised to protect him. And if staying meant the Order couldn’t take him, maybe he should find a way to deal with that.
He couldn’t deny he was curious about shifters, and all three of them were gorgeous. Even Caius’ salt-and-pepper hair didn’t detract from the warm butterflies in his gut. He was pretty certain Quinn had a thing for Lukas, if the few hooded looks he’d caught the redhead throwing last night were any indication.
Not that he should care. Except he did, because Lukas seemed completely oblivious, which was either a tragedy or a blessing, and he hadn’t decided which.
With a groan, he rolled back and forth on the bed. His entire body felt like tiny flames were licking along his nerves. It didn’t exactly hurt, butit wasn’t the most pleasant sensation either. He needed to set something on fire, but there was nothing in the room. No trash or anything. Except for the toothbrush.
He rolled out of bed and stalked back to the bathroom, eyeing the partially charred plastic in the sink. Well, it was already ruined. Not like he could make it any less usable. He bit his bottom lip and stared at it, willing it to burst into flames again.
It remained stubbornly fire-free.
With a sigh, he picked it up, turning the melted plastic between his fingers. Almost immediately, he felt warmth crawl from his hand to the toothbrush and watched with fascination and unease as flames erupted from his fingertips.
The toothbrush warped and crackled as it melted further, but the flames didn’t hurt him. His skin didn’t blister or even turn pink. He maintained the flames until he held an unrecognizable clump of blackened plastic that he tossed in the trash. He shook his fingers to put out the flames, but they didn’t go out. They clung to his fingers like living superglue.
“Fuck,” he hissed, shoving his hand under running water.
The flames sputtered and hissed, slowly dwindling before they finally snuffed out.
Max slumped against the sink, keeping his hand under the water until he couldn’t stand the cold any longer. Seriously, how was this his life? He pressed his palms against his face and breathed. In and in and in until his lungs refused to hold any more. Held until his chest ached and gray shifted at the edges of his vision. Then out and out and out.
It didn’t do anything for the certainty that he’d burn this house down in his sleep, but at least his fingers stopped shaking.
He flinched as someone knocked on the bedroom door.
“Max,” Quinn called.
With a sigh, he pushed himself out of the bathroom and found Quinn leaning into his room without stepping inside.
“Hungry? Cap brought back some pastries and egg croissants.” The question was followed by a change of clothes being tossed at his face.
Max caught them by reflex, then hesitated despite the rumble in his stomach. He didn’t trust his control of his magic, and he was used to lurking in his own room most days. As much as he’d liked pissinghis father off, he’d never been actively suicidal. He opened his mouth to decline, but Quinn held out a hand and wiggled his fingers.
“You’ll want a full stomach.”
He eyed Quinn with a suspicious, “Why?”
“You’ll see,” Quinn said with a grin, then turned and galloped down the stairs.
Unable to resist his curiosity, he changed into the jeans and sweater before following. When he found Quinn alone in the kitchen, he relaxed. Of the three of them, Quinn seemed the most harmless.
He settled at the counter and accepted the plate of food Quinn set in front of him, tearing off small pieces of croissant without eating most of them. He tried to keep focused on his plate, but his eyes kept getting drawn to Quinn. To the shift of lean muscles beneath his thin shirt, the flex of his shoulders and back as he moved, the trim waist and very nice ass.
