Page 76 of Princess of Thieves

At that, Will raises his eyebrows with intrigue. Rob makes a shushing gesture at him, while LJ cracks a smile. Tuck, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice.

“Um, right there’s good. We’re just going to try to get you to focus a bit. The power is already in you, Maren. You just have to learn how to guide it. Like... steering a river, rather than letting it flood.” He squints, tilting his head. “If that makes sense. So...yeah, you’re there. And Rob...”

“Me?” Rob points to his chest. Tuck nods.

“Yeah. You just go, um, here.” He pushes Rob to a spot half an arm’s length in front of me. “And you’ll need to take off your shirt.”

Now Rob’s eyebrows go up. “Whoa. Buy me dinner first.” But he obliges, reaching for the edge of his burgundy thermal and yanking it over his head, leaving his hair slightly askew.

That, plus the morning stubble and sheer surface of his chest ten inches away from me, gets my pulse going.

But at the same time, my eyes are drawn like a magnet to his shoulder. The scar is pink and smooth, almost shiny, but unmistakably an old wound, the flesh uneven where it closed.

“So you...oh, yes. That’s it.” Tuck looks up from his book, which he snaps shut. “Rob’s shoulder.”

Rob strains his neck, peering down at the spot where my eyes are fixed. “What about it?” he asks.

“We’re going to see if Maren can...do something about it,” Tuck explains. “If my theory is correct.”

Rob lets out a low whistle, then shrugs. “Well, I spose she could hardly make it worse at this point.” He flashes me a smile. “Right, pretty lady?”

I make a face at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

But inside, my heart is racing. What does Tuck expect me to do?

I glance at Tuck, but he’s already at my side, positioning me while LJ and Will look on in silent curiosity.

“So just...here. You’re right-handed, right?”

I nod, and Tuck circles his fingers around my right wrist and places my palm, already damp, against Rob’s shoulder.

“I feel better already,” Rob jokes. Tuck shushes him.

“We’re focusing here, okay?” He looks from Rob to me, and both of us nod.

Rob’s skin is warm under my hand, and it’s hard to just stay there, touching him here and only here. The memory of him, hurt and bleeding, flashes in my mind, making my chest tighten, and I briefly flutter my eyes closed.

“Okay, Maren. Take a breath,” Tuck says, placing a hand gently on my arm. “Now, focus on your hand. Think of it like a funnel, and everything inside you is pouring out of that one point.”

I nod, eyes still closed, and try my best to do as he says. I’ve never been one for yoga or meditation or anything like that, and it’s surprisingly hard to think about just one thing.

But then I feel it. A little buzz flickering down my arm, from elbow to thumb, like I’d lightly whacked my elbow on a doorframe.

“Yes,” Tuck whispers. “Good. Good. Don’t force it—just let it happen.”

I nod, still feeling stupid, but try to dig inward, to focus. A second burst, a zap, zigzags through me, this time coming all the way from my chest, like I’ve been defibrillated, and skitters down my arm like a loose spark. And then another, and another, building until it feels like my palm is humming against Rob’s shoulder. The sensation is wild, just the edge of painful, a hotkind of crackling like I’m barely holding onto the edge of a lightning bolt.

But I steady myself, remembering Tuck’s words. I guide it.

And then, a sudden surge.

It rushes through me, rocketing through my muscles and veins like a punch, and slams out of me where my hand meets Rob’s skin. There’s a flash of light behind my eyes, and I hear Rob let out a sharp breath. His muscles tense under my palm, but I don’t stop, even as the energy blasts through me like a wave.

When I finally pull my hand away, my heart is pounding. I blink, expecting a scorch mark or a smoking crater where the upper part of his chest used to be.

Instead, I’m staring at blank, smooth, golden skin.

The scar is gone.

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