Page 51 of Dead Wrong

“You want to know if the necromancer—Bastien—is still yours,” Cirian purred, cupping his unbloodied hand under my chin and lifting it so I match his gaze. “Or has the end of your first life changed that fact?”

I yanked away from his touch, my face alight with heat. “Must you always touch me?”

Again, I felt the gentle pressure of Cirian’s hand guiding my gaze, my chin pinched between his thumb and index finger. He was close enough now that I could feel his breath against my skin.

“You’ve never protested my touch before.”

Once again, I felt the caress of Cirian’s aura stroke the walls of my mind.

Memories burst through the surface from obscurity—flashes of pale skin pressed into my own, the thrill of lips trailing my inner thigh, a mop of red and white-blond hair vanishing between my legs, and the wet heat of?—

I gasped, shuddering at Cirian’s touch.

“There it is.” Cirian’s eyes narrowed, wisps of his fair lashes obscuring the dark brilliance of his pupils. “All of those days we spent sparring with one another. I was starting to worry you’d forgotten about me, Toto.”

“How long—when did—” I sputtered, my pulse racing as more memories rose to the surface. Our trysts stretched through adolescence. Mornings spent sparring till my muscles ached, then Cirian following me up to my room where we would linger between silken sheets, practicing all the ways our bodies moved together that only two men could know.

“There’s a good boy,” Cirian whispered, the warmth of his words against my cheek. “Now, I’ll ask you once again to reconsider my offer.”

I shuddered once more, a molten heat building at the base of my spine. I couldn’t think clearly, not when Cirian was so close, and our history was resurfacing in such vibrant detail. Without the will to resist, I finally sputtered, “F-Fine.”

He released his grip on my face, taking a half step back and relishing in a knowing smirk. He offered the gem to me, the edges still wet with blood, darkening the color into more amethyst than sapphire.

Taking it, I ran my thumb over the smooth facets. It was warm to the touch, and beneath the surface, a thrum of power vibrated against my skin. I closed my fist around it, exhaling relief as a spike of warmth radiated through my limbs, easing the aching fatigue.

So far, so good.

Reaching for my aura, it reacted immediately, and I braced myself for the splitting pain in my head to return. But there was merely a pleasant humming in my ear as I wrapped myself in the magic and, with little effort, projected my aura outward, focusing it on the space at my palm. I held up my hand, a small flame bursting into existence and hovering over it.

“That’s my boy,” Cirian murmured, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. “There you have it. The experiment is a success.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, snuffing out the flame and allowing my aura to retract around me.

“There are a few possibilities to consider,” Cirian replied, turning his back to me as he moved toward the altar. “One, the grimoires have been lying about the Magi-King’s downfall as a way of controlling mortals and preventing them from revolting. Why would they ever think to rise against the rule of the Magi if the only weapon they could use against their oppressors twisted them into horrific monsters?” He paused once he reached the dais, taking a moment to round the altar before continuing. “The second possibility lies in the assumption that you are special in that you can somehow utilize the magic of other Magi without suffering any of the adverse side effects.”

I couldn’t help but snort a laugh. The theory that I was anything other than ordinary amongst the Adored was dubious at best. Mother had reminded me of my inadequacies at every opportunity. If there was anything more than mediocrity in my veins, Mother would have put it to use years ago.

Cirian braced himself against the altar, shaking his bloodied hand gently as blue light spread across the skin, sealing the wound. “And yet there’s still another possibility…”

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or should I leave you alone with your thoughts?”

Cirian’s eyes found me once more, his confident demeanor peeled away for the first time since he’d found me amongst the wildflowers. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw something I recognized glimmering behind those dark, calculating eyes.

Fear.

“The other possibility,” Cirian continued, his words stretching between us. “Is that you’re Soul-Bound to more than one person.”

“Azzy, is that you out there?”

I peeked through the cracked door of my bedroom and into the empty hallway. The sconce closest to me flickered with warm light, casting shadows along the floor that made the pattern on the carpet appear to dance. It was customary for the curtains to be drawn this time of day to block the harshest rays of the afternoon sun. Mother often complained that sunlight gave her headaches, so the curtains stayed drawn more time than not around the chateau.

Checking the hallway once more, I chalked up the noise I’d heard to my imagination, shutting the door behind me as I returned to my desk. But as I pulled my chair away from my work, a quick knock roused me once more. Scurrying back, I thrust open the door just in time to catch a glimpse of purple hair and the gentle squeak of the boy who dashed down the hall.

“I saw you!” I shouted, laughter bubbling up along with the words. Abandoning my coursework, I tore down the hallway, giving chase to the other boy. Around the corner of the hall, I skidded to a stop, finding no evidence of my target. Sucking in a deep breath to calm my thundering pulse, I panned my gaze from left to right, moving slowly down the stretch of hallway. I was almost at the next turn when something caught my eye—a glimmer of light from around the corner—and I reached out, grasping the boy by the shoulder as his image flickered into reality with a blur. “Got you!”

The purple-haired boy scowled. “Not fair! I had to scratch my nose! That’s the only reason you saw me.”

“Do you really want to get into what is and isn’t fair, Azzy? We’re playing hide and seek and only one of us can turn invisible.” I gave him a playful shove. “Or at least mostly invisible.”

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