Page 25 of Mistake of Magic
River’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t trying, not truly. Wherever Leralynn’s mind was just now, it clearly wasn’t in the arena with him.
Most likely, it was still in Shade’s bed.
Before he could tell her as much, Leralynn stalked toward him, her boots impertinently smudging the line in the sand that River had drawn. Tipping her head back, she glared at him, the heat from her body saturating the air between them. “I don’thavemagic, River,” she said, her full lips enunciating each word as if it werehimwho was having trouble understanding reality. Stars. If defiance had a scent, River was certain it would reek of lilac. Leralynn tapped his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him. “Whatever you think you saw in the arena, it wasn’t me following in your bloody magical footsteps. So you might as well demand that I wag my tail or wiggle my horns for all the good it will do.”
River’s heart pounded against his ribs, fire simmering in his veins and rising to his face. He longed to grab the girl and shake her. Or kiss her. Or both. His breath quickened. “In the past week, you’ve tricked the quint into a full connection, singlehandedly accepted the Elders Council’s demands, and are now arguing with me over known facts because you find them inconvenient,” he growled instead, returning the reckless sprite’s glare with enough ire to make most fae warriors blanche. “You’re stubborn, you know that? A damn stubborn mortal.”
Not that it had any effect on her, stars take him.
Grabbing the hand Lera was jabbing him with, River leaned down until his face was inches from the girl’s. Their breath mixed, her stray pieces of hair tickling River’s neck, setting every nerve in his body alight. “You’ve a brash streak wide enough to make Tye pale in comparison, and so little sense of self-preservation, it’s a bloody miracle you’ve survived as long as you have. And just now, I’m fed up with it.” His words came hard and fast, a staccato of cold command. “Move. The. Sand. That’s an order.”
Leralynn narrowed her eyes, twisting her wrist free of River’s grasp. Her heart was beating hard enough to make the skin beneath her runes pulse, the coiled storm in her glare matching River’s own. “You want the sand moved?” Leralynn’s soft voice sent a warning shiver down River’s spine. Before he could answer, she stepped back and kicked the ground, her boot sending a fountain of sand all the way to River’s chest. “It’s moved. Magic.”
The tether River had on his temper snapped.
15
Lera
Lightning flashes through River’s gray eyes, his large body somehow bigger, more deadly than it was moments ago. His muscles coil against his deep-red shirt, the outline of lean power filling the arena. Pulsing through me.
For a heartbeat, I think I feel the magic he demanded, but then my eyes widen to reality as a whirlwind of sand rises from the arena floor at River’s silent command. The grains spin, faster and faster, each rotation building on itself as the male steps away, his chest heaving.
The sand rises, reaching my calves, my shins, my waist. I bring up my hands, warding off the grains now pelting my skin, and glare at River from the heart of the whirlwind. “Stop it,” I shout at him.
“You stop it,” River barks back at me, his shoulders rising and falling with harsh breaths. His face, with its angled cheekbones and strong jaw, is focused on me and nothing else. Centuries of dominance back each word he throws into my face. “This isn’t a dance, Leralynn. You have three runes on your neck now, and they will dissolve only through trials or death. Don’t like sand pelting you? Shove it back. Throw up a shield. Send out a raw bloody blast of magic to the sky itself. Dosomething.”
I open my mouth to shout right back at him, only to have the sand coat my tongue at once. My pulse races, mixing with my rapid breathing.
Bastard.Bastard.A royal princely ass who is so certain of himself, he can’t be bothered to consider that I may not fit into his rules. His world. Because I don’t fit. There is no magic inside me, no matter how impossible River claims that to be. The well of magic I felt in the trial arena isn’t empty—it’s gone altogether, leaving not even a shadow of what I once controlled.
“Do you know how little effort this is taking on my part?” River shouts while I struggle for each breath, the sand scratching my eyes. “I could do this all day. All night. Keep the sand pressing just enough to trap you here. No one can engage your magic for you, any more than they could take a shit on your behalf. So I highly recommend that you pull your head from Shade’s bed, or wherever it’s been for the past hour, and start fighting for yourself.”
Shade’s bed. I bare my teeth, heedless of the resulting sand coating my tongue. Blood rushes to my face, the skin on the back of my neck stinging from the onslaught. So that’s what this is. Retribution. River shoving his bloody weight around because he’s unhappy with Shade and me. Because he wants his damn orders followed, for the whole bloody world to do as he ordains.
I’m done playing this game.
Turning my head away from River, I find the ladder rungs worked into the stone a few feet away. The male can throw his magical tantrum all he wants—I don’t need to be around to witness it.
Keeping my face to the wall, I slide against the rock toward the footholds, each step a fight against wind and sand. My eyes water, the bits of sand in them irritating the sensitive tissue. A small whimper escapes my lips, but my hand closes over the first ladder rung in resounding victory.
Sand covers the metal rung at once, making me slip.
I fall to my hands and knees. My mind roars. Reaching inside myself, I claw for anything to block the assault. But there is nothing. No well of magic. No preternatural power. Only a little bit of pride that erodes more with each blast of sand in my face.
“I can’t!” I shout, my voice raspy.I can’t,the words echo inside me. I can’t tap into magic, can’t be what River wants, can’t be enough of a quint warrior to escape the Citadel.
River crouches beside me, just outside the sandstorm. “Yes, you can,” he says. So confident and certain that I want to punch him. “And when you truly want this to stop, you will.”
16
River
River let Leralynn climb out of the practice arena ahead of him, so she wouldn’t see him smash his fist against the stone wall. A disaster. There was no more accurate way to describe the morning, the vast rift that had formed between him and the girl. River’s head swam, and in the momentary privacy of the arena, he let his forehead press against the cool stone.
The last time River recalled failing so utterly was when he went to tell Daz about his newly forged quint bond, to beg the female he’d been in love with for years to stay with him. Daz had said no, and there was nothing in Lunos or the stars that River could do for it. And now, three centuries later, he was here again. About to lose the most precious thing in his life. A cold spike of fear stabbed his spine.
Maybe hewasjealous. Shade was Leralynn’s first true mate, and Tye was the one she trusted and played with. Even Coal had a tether with the female, something deep and primal that only the two of them shared—for good and for ill. And River... River had wanted to be her first too. The first to guide her through the magic simmering in her veins, to watch her face light up when she discovered the new ways her magic let her speak with the world.
