Page 239 of The Wishing Game

How can he not be affected by this? How...

"They should have poisoned her too," someone whispers, indignation bleeding from her voice. "Any female willing to share a table with the God Killer is just as bad."

I purse my lips, my breathing intensifying as the urge to do something—anything—overwhelms me.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's his whore." A woman steps forward, pointing her finger at me.

"She's too ugly to be anything but his whore," a man echoes.

My eyes widen.

"What did you just say?" Ze bellows, pulling me back and placing himself in front of me.

The crowd takes a step back.

Yet despite the overwhelming fear I sense from them, there's also the hate—so much hate.

Ze's expression changes, the air around him crackling as shimmery purple particles surround us. The ground quakes, the tables rattling furiously with each step he takes. His muscles are coiled, the purple of his aura becoming a deeper shade—the physical manifestation of his anger.

"Run! Run!" one man yells, but not before he takes his bowl of ice and throws it at Ze.

The others follow his example, flinging their ices at Ze before dashing out of the shop.

Ze could do more. I am sure of that. He could kill them with one finger if he wished. But he doesn't. Instead, he turns his back to them, letting them hit him with the bowls of sweet ice as he places his massive body in front of me, shielding me.

"Ze..." I whisper.

His mouth is a tight line as his nostrils flare, and I'm not sure whether he's in pain or not.

"They will be dead," he states in a rough voice. "They will beutterlydead."

I fit my hand to his cheek, brushing my thumb across his jaw and attempting a smile—more for his sake than mine.

"Let's leave. Please."

He breathes in and out, struggling to regain control of himself. His arms are around me, a protective cage as more bowls hit him, the flavored ice melting over his clothes, hair, and skin. He's thoroughly soaked and soiled, but he doesn't bat an eye at it. He might be out of his mind with anger, but his first thought is to protect me, not punish those who mocked him.

My heart squeezes in my chest, slow and steady, until my insides ignite with warmth.

"Take me back, Ze," I whisper.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and the purple mist around us starts dissipating.

FIFTY

Before I blink, we're back in my room at Thea's house.

A little dizzy, I take a step back.

"Oh, Ze..." I struggle not to laugh as I take a good look at him.

His black clothes are thoroughly stained by the melted ice, drops of it dripping down his body and onto the floor. His hair is utterly drenched in sweet ice, his black locks covered in a myriad of shades ranging from white to pink to brown—vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and all the flavors in between. Smudges of chocolate sauce are on his face too, streaked across his forehead and his cheeks.

There's even a messy dot on his nose—though I have no idea how that got there.

I circle around him, quickly assessing the damage.

Though the front of his clothes is soiled, it's nothing compared to the back, where he took the brunt of the blows.

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