Page 165 of Powerless

She wants to see me without a mask? Fine. Let her see it all. Let her see my frustration with the feelings she is to blame for.

She flinches.

The girl who has slain wolves, scaled mountains, and survived the slums justflinched. I’ve never seen anything like it. Never thought I would. The sight has my heart sinking, has me wanting to pull her into my arms and hold her there.

But instead, I find myself taking a measured step back, putting space between us. I don’t trust myself around her. Don’t trust myself not to reach out and touch her, taste her.

She opens her mouth, warring against the words she desperately wants to say. The ones I never get to hear because she clamps her jaw shut, sealing her thoughts from me. I watch her for several, slow seconds. Watch her take a deep breath before leveling me with a calm stare.

“You’re welcome,” she says softly. “For last night. No one should have to endure the terrors of their own thoughts alone. Nightmares can be our worst nemesis. I know what that’s like.”

And then she grabs my hand and drops the shoe into it before striding out of the room.

* * *

I’m contemplating getting drunk again.

The alcohol swirling in the glass gripped between my fingers is tempting, teasing me to finish it off before following it with a few more. All just so I can get through this last damn ball.

Couples have begun dancing now that the flow of women arriving has slowed significantly. It seems that this final ball will be the only hint of normalcy in this year’s Trials.

I traded Blair off to a young gentleman for a glass of wine, and I’m wondering why I hadn’t done it sooner. While contemplating whether to down the remaining contents of my drink, I look up to find a group of ladies surrounding me, all clad in varying shades of green. They are all giggles and grins while I nod and talk politely, boring myself with how bland I’m being.

I’m just about to make my exit from the conversation using a mediocre excuse when someone catches my eye.

Someone who has me stunned and staring.

Someone who is standing in a sea of black.

Draped in midnight fabric, the faint sparkles dusting her dress wink like starlight. Like a shadow, the fabric clings to her body. Like a second skin, it outlines her curves as she steps down the stairs.

Her tanned arms and chest glisten against the inky fabric wrapped around her. From her waist up, the dress is a detailed corset, cinching her in and displaying her chest and collarbones. The stomach of the corset is see-through, with designs of swirling flowers and beads contrasting against the tan skin showing beneath it. Loose strips of black, intricate sleeves connect to the top of the corset and hang off her shoulders limply.

Layers of satin spill from her waist to the floor in a wide pool around her. My eyes trail up her bare legs, exposed through the slits traveling up both sides of the dress and ending high up her thighs. And there, strapped and displayed for all to see is her silver dagger, its swirled handle matching her attire.

Her silver hair is pulled into a loose not near the nape of her neck, ringlets falling from it onto her back and around her face, tempting me to twirl my fingers through them, tuck them behind her ears.

Every bit of her body is clad in darkness, cloaked in night. I find myself silently thanking the Plague for her different, dark attire because I wouldn’t want her blending in. Wouldn’t want her lost in the crowd.

Not that she’s ever had that problem before.

Not that I’ve ever had a problem finding her before.

The sight of her in jet black is enough to make me colorblind, make me see nothing and no one but her.

Her legs slide through the slits in her dress as she steps down the staircase, dagger clearly visible. Hundreds of eyes track her every move, and I’m suddenly jealous that everyone else gets to witness her presence with me.

She won’t meet my gaze, and for the first time since I met her in that alley, I think this is the most cowardly she’s ever been.

She’s scared. Scared of whatever it is between us. She always has been. That’s why she chose to be my enemy, my rival, rather than let herself feel—which is something I’m not accustomed to myself.

I blame her for it. Blame her for cracking my carefully crafted mask, shattering it to pieces when she is around. I’ve never felt so much, never feared so much. But if I must endure the consequences that feeling something for her brings, then so does she.

It’s like a tangible tether between us, this consuming connection.

I will her to meet my eyes, and when they do—

Sparks.

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