Page 39 of Blood Currents
Sunlight slanted across the navy rug, casting golden rectangles on the walls.This room had been my prison—the place where I’d cowered from my fractured magic, where nightmares had felt more real than waking.Now, for the first time since the corruption began, it felt like home again.
“Keane.”Marigold’s voice carried wonder and relief in equal measure, drawing my attention to where she sat curled in the wingback chair near the fireplace.Scout was perched on the chair’s arm, his tiny skeletal form motionless except for the slight tilt of his skull.“It’s beautiful.”
Beautiful.No one had called my magic that in years.Not since I was a child, before my parents died, before Uncle convinced me that my power was dangerous, unstable, in need of constant correction.
I let the portal close with barely a whisper of displaced air, feeling the warmth of clean power lingering in my magical pathways like sunlight after a storm.Every healing session we’d conducted had built toward this moment—each one carefully unraveling another artificial channel and teaching my magic how to flow naturally again instead of through the twisted corridors my uncle had carved into my mind.
The progress was undeniable, but more than that, it wasmine.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” I said, flexing my fingers slowly and marveling at the absence of pain.“Opening portals used to feel like my magic was tearing itself apart.Now it’s…”
“Natural,” she finished softly, uncurling from the chair to join me on the sofa.
“More than natural.”I turned to study her face, taking in the soft smile that lit her features despite the dark circles under her eyes—evidence of the countless hours she’d spent healing me, fighting for me, refusing to let me disappear into the corruption.“It feels like I’m myself again.Like my magic finally belongs to me instead of to him.”
Wisp stirred from her nap on the sofa’s other end, her silver fox form stretching languidly before padding over.
Marigold reached out, covering my hand with hers.The simple touch sent warmth spiraling through me—not magical resonance this time, just human connection.Over the past week, these small gestures had grown easier, more frequent.Her fingers tracing the faint scars at my temples where the corruption had been most visible.My hand at the small of her back when she leaned over spell diagrams.Trust rebuilt not through grand declarations but through countless small moments of choosing each other.
“Your healing technique has been incredible,” I told her, turning my hand palm up so our fingers could interlace.“The precision—the way you target the artificial channels without damaging the natural pathways.It’s like you can see exactly what he did to me.”
“I’m learning,” she said.“And I’m not doing it alone.The group sessions, when all four of our magics work together…”
She trailed off, and something twisted in my chest at the mention of the others.Not the familiar longing she usually tried to hide when she thought of Elio, or the confusion that crossed her face when Cyrus was particularly kind.This was different—quieter, sadder.Like she was grieving something she’d thought she wanted.
When she looked at me, something deliberate lingered in her gaze.Intentional.Like she was choosing to be here with me instead of simply drifting back out of habit or comfort.
“You’re choosing this,” I said quietly.Not a question.
“I am.”
I heard grief in it too—unspoken but felt, a shift from what she’d hoped to what she knew.
“I’m not asking you to make sense of everything else,” I said.“Just tell me what this means.Us.”
“I don’t know what any of this is supposed to look like,” she admitted, her free hand gesturing vaguely as if she could encompass the impossibility of our situation.“Part of me is still hurt by what Elio said at that dinner.Part of me is confused about what I feel for Cyrus.He’s been so steady, so present when everything was falling apart.But this—”
Her fingers tightened on mine, grounding us both.
“This is something I want.Not because it’s safe, not because it’s easier than dealing with them.But because it’s you.Because even when you were lost in the corruption, even when I couldn’t reach you, I never stopped believing in who you are underneath it all.”
Relief washed through me like clean water, carrying away doubts I hadn’t even realized I was holding.For so long, I’d been terrified that she was only staying out of pity, or obligation, or some misguided sense of responsibility for my healing.
“I love you, Mari,” I said, my voice rough with emotion.“Desperately.Completely.Not the way my uncle taught me love should be—possessive and controlling and afraid.I love you the way my parents loved each other, the way they tried to teach me before…” I swallowed hard.“I don’t want to own you.I just want to be part of this, part of your life, however it takes shape.”
Her smile wavered—small and raw and utterly real.“I don’t want to wait anymore, Keane.Not for the perfect moment, not until every scar is healed, not until we figure out what’s happening with the others.I want you.Tonight.Now.”
The words sent heat spiraling through me, but underneath the desire lay something deeper—gratitude that she was choosing this, choosingme, after everything.
“Are you sure?”My voice came out rougher than I intended, but my hands were already rising to frame her face, my thumbs brushing across the delicate skin of her cheekbones.“I need you to be sure because once we do this, once we choose each other like this…”
“I’m sure,” she said, leaning into my touch.“Even when I was angry, even when I was confused about everything else, I was never confused about you.”
And for the first time since before the corruption, since before my world shattered into jagged pieces, she kissed me.
It wasn’t desperate the way our kisses used to be—frantic and clinging, like we were trying to hold on to something that might disappear at any moment.This was slower, deeper, deliberate.A choice rather than a compulsion.Her lips moved against mine with quiet certainty, and I kissed her back carefully, reverently, like she was something precious that might break if I held too tightly.
When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.The space between us hummed with possibility, with the promise of intimacy freely chosen rather than desperately grasped.
