I cross my arms. “I’ll sell it to a collector who’ll take much better care of it than you.”
Black swirls around me and then Bastian is there, a hand around my throat. The shock of his warm skin on my neck makes me gasp. I grab his wrist and tug, but it’s fruitless. He leans down and speaks in a deadly whisper.
“You will not sell the books from my hoard, or I will suffer the consequences of your magic when I break our bond.”
Right.
Hecanstill hurt me.
But what is my magic?
This really isn’t the best time to be asking, but I sort of want to deflect and also need to hide the fact that my nipples seem to betenting my night shirt because he’s looking straight down at where the brand is on my chest…
“What’s my magic?”
He snorts and lets his hand slide away. “If you don’t know, how could I?”
With abloopof ink, he’s back in his meditation circle.
“Can’t yousensethese things?” I ask.
He sighs in annoyance. “Only that you’re a witch.”
“I’m a witch…” The words tumble from my mouth. They don’t feel real.
“Meeeeeeeh!” Oscar gives no warning before his frustrated scream.
I snap to, put food in his bowl, and run to the bathroom while the words “You’re a witch” play over and over in my mind. I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a witch but if a dragon seems to think I am, maybe I am. How can I figure out what my power is?
I change into my yoga gear and get down on the mat where my mostly deflated mattress was as I consider how to exploit Bastian into helping me. There aren’t a lot of good options.
Maybe I could reach out to a community online? But how do I know if I’ve found an authentic coven?
What if he’s just fucking with me…?
I drink a full bottle of water while I bend and flex, making my body come alive and get ready for the day. I had let myself slip from my practice while we were traveling and it was a mistake, but we’re going to get back on track now.
The shower I take is brisk and brief, but it gets the sweat off.
And I haven’t brought a change of clothes in with me…
Ef.
Em.
El.
I tuck the oversized towel under my arms and pull it closed at my knees, then look in the chipped mirror over the sink. My unruly curls are piled on top of my head in a messy bun that leaves fiery strands falling past my ears. My green eyes are wide, and large, probably one of the things that screams “Take advantage of me, I’m innocent!” I’m jealous of those women with slits for eyes that say “Fuck off and die.”
I huff at the reflection that leaves me wanting. No amount of glaring at myself is going to manifest clothes or make my towel cover more of my body. So, I suck it up and open the door.
I keep my chin high and my eyes forward as I walk past Bastian in his ring of books. He makes a sharp, breathy sound. I know he can see—though I’m not sure by how much. He said he couldn’t tell whether I was blushing, but he could see my face, so I’d bet he can tell I’m not wearing much from afar.
I bet he can see the shape of my body.
The size of it.
Harsh, furrowed brows on a man too pretty for such a look comes to mind and I wince my eyes shut. His cruel jabs and swift rebukes batter me, pealing back the skin on a wound I’d thought had healed.
