Copying my move from earlier, he reached out and traced the symbols etched into my skin, the blue-black ink infused with my own magic, rendered useless by the mark given to me by the council.
“What do they mean?”
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pointed to the flames that started on my inner wrist and curled around either side. “This one is for fire.”
Dathal’s eyes widened, and my heart hammered at the curiosity there. “How does it work?”
My sigh of relief was shaky, and I knew the reprieve wouldn’t last long, but this I could answer easily. My hand brushed against Dathal’s as I traced the black lines, the familiar pang of longing making itself known. “How much do you know about witches?” I asked instead. Maybe if I strung out this explanation long enough, he wouldn’t ask for a demonstration.
Yeah, right.
“I know there are levels,” he murmured.
Instead of withdrawing, Dathal continued to trace my tattoos. Each gentle sweep of his fingers left goosebumps in their wake, the mark under my cuff throbbing with a slow, steady rhythm that should probably worry me more than it did.
“Three,” I said, watching his progress along my skin. “Level ones are the strongest.” I paused, then added, “Like Zane almost is.” Dathal didn’t react, this piece of information nothing new. “The strongest level ones don’t need to ink spells onto their skin. They can use their magic with thoughts alone. Others use a mixture of tattoos and mental ability.”
“Then there are level twos.” I pointed at my chest. “Like me. Level twos can use symbols to represent spells, incantations, anything they use magic for. Each one of my tattoos represents magic I’ve learnt over the years. One touch will activate it.”
“And level threes?”
I let out an unsteady breath.
He didn’t ask.
“Level threes draw their magic from objects. They need more powerful witches to imbue them with magic first, usually done by members of their coven.”
Dathal’s fingers trailed back down my arm. I watched, knowing what he was about to do, but making no move to stop him. When he reached the leather cuff, he traced the edge, thumb sweeping back and forth, slow and steady.
I inhaled sharply, hoping it went unnoticed, but Dathal’s head snapped up, his eyes catching and holding my gaze. In the dim light of my kitchen, illuminated only by the light from the hallway, Dathal had never looked more magical, morefae.Otherworldly in a way that brought home the fact that this wasn’t his home and his time here was finite.
I should put a stop to this… whatever it was. We hardly knew each other and yet the connection between us burnt strong and bright. If I’d had access to my magic, I imagined we’d see it pulsing between us. And just what the fuck did that mean? I wasn’t a shifter. Soulmates weren’t a thing for witches, as far as I was aware.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had this thought, but I kept coming back to it, because what other explanation was there?
I’d fucked enough people to know that sexual chemistry could vary greatly. Sometimes we connected in a way that led to mind-blowing orgasms, but this… we’d barely touched, yet I knew without a shadow of a doubt that if we took this further, it wouldn’t end well.
His grip tightened, and Iknew.
“What did Axel mean?” I asked quickly. Not ready to face his questions yet.
You’re a coward.
No, I was scared. Ashamed.Not something I was proud of either, but admitting that I couldn’t do what came so easily to Dathal, what should’ve come easily to me too, was harder than I anticipated.
Dathal frowned, fingers still clasped around my wrist. “When?”
I realised, belatedly, that Dathal hadn’t been present for that conversation. “He said that sex with a fae is different when they have magic like yours.”
Dathal snorted. “Of course he did.”
I bit my lip, hyper-aware of how close we were, how his thumb now skated over my skin rather than my cuff. “Is it true?” I wanted it to be, I knew that much. Wanted it to be different because it wasmetoo. And I guessed I’d made my mind up about where we were headed.
“Yes.”
My breath hitched, pulse racing like I was running for my life instead of standing in my kitchen.
Dathal’s grip tightened on me, fingers curling around my forearm as he tugged me closer, his other hand cupping my jaw. “Do you want me to show you?”
