Page 73 of Poison Sun

So, making my way behind the cover of some nearby trees, I take a deep breath, grounding myself. Once certain there’s no one nearby, I draw my dagger from the sheath attached to my belt, its blade glinting in the first light of dawn.

I slept with the weapon on me.

Better to be prepared than to be sorry. Or worse, dead.

As I stare down at it, memories from last night play in my mind, making my heart flutter and my stomach fill with warmth. But the feelings don’t last for long.

Because I screwed up. Majorly.

It would have been one thing if Blaze learned the truth about my magic before we slept together. I’d like to think it would be understandable. We’ve only known each other for a few days, and I don’t owe him my secrets.

But this—being physically vulnerable with him before being emotionally open about something so important about myself—well… I don’t know how I’d feel if the situation was reversed.

I don’t think I’d feel happy about it. Actually, I think I’d feel pretty used. Maybe even betrayed. Or at least deceived.

But my time alone out here isn’t going to last forever.

I can work through my feelings for Blaze later. Right now, I need to focus on casting this spell.

I press the edge of the dagger to my palm, the sharpness a reminder of the reality I face.

“For clarity and foresight,” I whisper, a mantra to focus my intentions.

Then, I draw the blade across my skin, wincing at the bite of pain, and place my dagger back into its sheath. Blood wells up from the wound.

Just when I’m about to flip my hand over to spill the droplets onto the ground, a twig snaps behind me.

“Morgan?” Blaze’s voice, thick with sleep and concern, cuts through the morning silence.

I spin around to face him, cursing inwardly, my heart racing with panic.

He’s bleary eyed from the early wakeup—apparently, he’s not a morning person—but it somehow makes him look sweet and innocent. He’s far from either of those things, but it’s like his soul is open to me. Like he cares about me on a deeper level than I realized.

Seeing him like this makes the guilt twist in my stomach even more.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice softening as he walks toward me.

Quickly, I hide my hand behind my back and will the cut to heal. As a blood witch, I can keep my wounds open for as long or as short as I want, to give myself time to spill my blood to do spells.

I need this one to heal. Now.

I also need to say something before Blaze gets even more suspicious.

“It’s nothing. I came out to use the bathroom and… I fell.” It sounds ridiculous, so I give him a sheepish smile and add, “I’ve never been the outdoorsy type.”

The skin on my palm is already knitting back together. Soon, there won’t be evidence that the injury was from a swipe of my dagger instead of from a fall to the ground.

Even if he suspects something, he’ll have no way to prove it.

“You fell?” he repeats, not sounding like he buys it.

I need to switch tactics. Divert. Distract.

Anything to avoid being cornered into telling the truth. Because this—being caught literally red handed the morning after being intimate together—is far from how I want my reveal about being a blood witch to play out.

“Why are you following me to the bathroom?” I ask, switching the topic away from me and onto him.

He pauses, and for a moment, I worry I pushed too far. Underestimated his intuition.

---