The boy nodded. “I know.”
She shoved him. “You aren’t supposed to admit it!”
He smiled. “Why not? I’ve seen inside your mind. I already know you’re nervous.”
She scoffed. “Look. I need to know. Today? Are we going to?—?”
“No!” The boy held out his hands. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No.”
He flushed, and the woman laughed.
“Lia . . .” The boy sent his hand though his hair, making the ends stand up. “I’m here because I want to do something you’ve never done. I want to give you something no one else has. I want . . .” He paused. “I want . . .”
“You want . . .?”
He nodded. “Exactly. It’s a surprise. A gift. I want to give you a gift.”
The woman studied the boy’s pink cheeks and his earnest expression. She reached out and brushed her fingers across his flushed skin.
“Jacob?”
“Yeah?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really nice?”
He smiled. “No.”
She didn’t seem surprised. “Well you are, but I won’t let anyone know.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She took the boy’s hand. “Okay. You have until lunch.”
57
The first mistake I made was forgetting Ragnor Bard wasn’t anything like his brother. It was an easy mistake to make. They looked so much alike they could be twins. Same thick black hair. Same dark brown eyes framed by long eyelashes. Same full mouth that tilted up at the corners. And same perfectly symmetrical features that mesmerized millions.
That was where the resemblance ended, because while Luvic tended toward pretty (at least before he’d become part-jackaltooth), Ragnor leaned toward ruggedly handsome.
It was in his expression. Luvic tended to look like he’d just played a practical joke and was waiting for everyone to catch on. Ragnor looked like he’d been marooned on a deserted island for years with only a guitar to keep him company. He was rough-edged, melancholy, and magnetically beautiful.
Still, for a millisecond, I hesitated. My gut saw a face that looked like Luvic’s, and I unconsciously reacted in the same way I’d react if Luvic held a knife to my throat.
That was my second mistake. I didn’t react. I’d always give Luvic the benefit of the doubt.
But Ragnor was not Luvic. In fact, Luvic had told me on more than one occasion to be careful of his brother, because he didn’t fight fair. Ragnor Bard was a sneaky, tricky, dirty fighter.
He used his image as a golden-voiced, love-song-crooning, world-touring, sex-idol musician to disarm enemies and make them forget he was actually the third most powerful Bard alive.
Hence my third mistake. I’d forgotten the Bard siblings would do anything to protect each other. I’d seen the lengths to which Luvic would go to protect his siblings. And I’d witnessed Celia’s wrath when anyone tried to harm Luvic. But somehow, I’d forgotten that (melancholy, quiet, rugged musician) Ragnor was a Bard too. And he saw me as a threat.
As soon as he said “little monster under my bed,” he conjured a knife and slid it across my throat.
I hesitated. Stupidly. But the sting had me yanking the blood knots free. The knife disappeared, but it’d cut my skin, and the bloom of warm blood circled my neck.
Ragnor’s hand hung suspended over my neck. He was gripping thin air where the knife should’ve been. For one second, he looked at his empty hand with shock.
I didn’t hesitate a second time. He’d crouched over me, his knee on my chest, his hand on my throat. I reared up and slammed my forehead into his nose. There was a sharp crack as his nose broke. Blood splattered over me. His head snapped back, and I kneed him in the groin and flipped him off me.
