I nod. It is. “It is possible. It is true.”
It’s his turn to shake his head. “Why are you saying this? You’re not making sense.”
“It makes as much sense as anything else in this world.” I stretch my arms wide at my sides. “It makes as much sense as a random witch cursing me. How likely was that? Not at all, it seems. It was me. I did this tome. Stupid me.” I knock the heel of my palm into the side of my head. “Me. I’m the witch.”
“No,” he says again, but this time there is less conviction in his voice.
“This aura you see?” I stab a finger all around me. “It is not simply because I’m under a witch’s spell. It is my aura because Iama witch.”
His mouth moves, attempting to form words before he finally gets out, “And what? You’ve tricked me, all of us, from the start. Why?”
I shake my head. “It was no trick. I didn’t do it on purpose. I did not realize this of myself until now.”
He snorts his skepticism. “But now you do?”
“Yes. Now I do.” I nod grimly and motion to the hole. “I fell through there, and harpies found me. They...live down there. They told me. They knew what I was right away.”
At this announcement, a sudden wariness enters his eyes. “Harpies? You met with...harpies?”
The thinness of his voice betrays him. As do his eyes. And body language...and the step back he takes, as though needing space from me. That single step speaks volumes—feels like a giant wall just sprang up between us.
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t kill you.” A statement of fact, and I know this damns me in his eyes...as well as giving some credence to what I’m saying. Harpies don’t spare humans. Or dragons. From all accounts, they are vicious creatures that don’t get along with anyone. Except now I know that witches are the exception.
“They don’t seem to share your hatred for witchkind,” I explain, wincing. “Apparently, we’re distant kin. They easily marked me as a witch and let me go.” No need to go into further details on how they, in fact, helped me out of the sinkhole.
Several beats of silence throb like the desperate pulse of a bleeding heart between us.
When I can’t take it anymore, I blurt, “You believe me now?” I nod for him, not even waiting for him to answer. “Yes. You do. I see it in your face...in the way you’re stepping away from me like you can’t stand to be in proximity to me anymore. It’s the truth. It was bad enough when you thought me a mere human—”
“Arden, I—”
I keep talking, my words flowing in a frenzied rush. “But now I’mthis. I am magic...Ihavemagic. Like you.” Even if I’m too ignorant to know how to wield it. “Only my kind is responsible for pushing your kind to the brink of extinction. We are enemies. Worse than that.” Is there anything worse than that?Thisfeels like it. The absolute worst. I wave a hand wildly as a new idea comes to me. “You think your pride hated me before? They wanted me dead before? Now? Well, now...they will not hesitate. They will not stop. Not even for you. Give them the chance, and they’ll kill me. And why should you stop them? I am this!” I beat my chest with the palm of my hand. “I’m—”
He closes the distance between us, clasps my head in both hands, and crushes his mouth to mine.
It’s not meant to be a gentle kiss.
It’s a kiss meant to punish, to shut me up.
And yet it still feels like a balm to my wounded soul.
His hands on my head, fingers delving into my hair, against my scalp, feel like the only thing keeping me from unraveling. His mouth, warm and sure moving over mine, parting my lips so that his tongue can slide inside to taste, to lick, completely consumes me.
He pulls back enough to mutter against my mouth, his lips still brushing mine as he speaks. “Does this feel like I hate you and want you dead?”
Then he’s kissing me again, hauling me, stumbling, closer against him.
I lean into him, relaxing, relishing the heat of his big body against mine, kissing him back with a scalding sob in my throat. Because I can’tnot. Because I’m weak. Because, wrong or right, deserved or undeserved, witch or human, enemies or not, I will always want him.
His hands roam from my head to my back, wrapping around me, folding me into his arms and lifting me off the ground so I no longer lift my chin and strain my neck to meet his mouth. My feet dangling, our faces perfectly level, we kiss like two starved souls.
After moments, a lifetime, he pulls back, his breathing ragged. “Whatever you are, hating you is not possible. And wanting you dead?” His hand smooths over my face as he shakes his head slowly, ruefully. “I would sooner die before I let anything happen to you.”
I suck in a breath, trying not to let his words addle my head. “Whatever I am?” I ask shakily. “There’s no mystery here. No what-if. Iama—”
He shrugs. “If you’re a witch, then you’re a witch.”
