Page 9 of Fractured Fates
I lower my hands and peer up at him. I’ve managed to soothe the burns he made with his magic yesterday, but the cut is as savage as ever. He examines it.
“Why haven’t you healed it?”
“I tried. It won’t close. I need to get it stitched.”
It’s the reason that damn gang found me in the first place. I’d risked a rare outing into the town to visit the clinic. I hadn’t made it through the door though, before I was spotted by those strangers, strangers who had somehow recognized what I really was: a magical.
He scowls at me. “I can heal the wound. Come here.” I scowl right back. “If I wanted to capture you, we’d already be halfway back to Los Magicos.”
I consider him as I chew on my lip. What have I got to lose? I take a step forward. He tugs off his gloves, grips my wrist with his left hand and hovers his right above the gash.
Tingles race across my skin where his fingers curl around my wrist. Apart from my aunt, nobody’s ever touched me before. Don’t get me wrong, plenty have tried. But none of those touches were consensual.
Occasionally I’ve imagined what it must feel like to have someone hold me, caress me, want me. Mostly, I’ve pushed those thoughts aside.
His fingers twitch and the comfort of his touch has my eyelids threatening to drift shut.
Am I simply touch-starved? Is that why it feels this way? Or is it something about him? That hook in my stomach tugs me towards him, and I strain against it to stop myself falling right into his body.
He swallows, eyes locked on my wound. His lips move. Plush-looking lips, rows of perfectly straight teeth stacked behind them.
Warmth radiates from his palm and then I gasp with a sudden sting. He lets go and when I peer down the wound is not only healed, it’s gone completely.
“It’s a simple spell. One you’d have learned if you lived in Los Magicos with your kind and had been to school.”
“My aunt taught me plenty,” I snap, running my fingers over the repaired flesh, the pain gone too.
She taught me everything she knew, but, if I’m honest, I’ve always known it wasn’t enough. My magic has always crackled in my fingertips as if it’s just itching to be used. I want to test its limits. I have no idea what I’m capable of.
Killing a man.
That’s what.
My gut twists again and I frown.
“Come with me, Rhianna,” my eyes dart up to his, “and you can learn everything you should have been taught.”
It’s as if he knows this is the thing that will convince me.
It’s tempting, especially when my options are looking severely narrowed.
My aunt told me I wasn’t safe with the authorities. It’s why she kept me hidden. But what if she was wrong? What if this is my opportunity to learn, to be who I’m meant to be?
I narrow my eyes. He may have piqued my interest, but I don’t trust him.
“No one is going to teach me. They’re going to lock me in a cell,” I say.
“How old are you? 19?”
“20.”
“All magicals your age are required to attend Arrow Hart Academy until they reach 21–”
“School? I’m not going to school. Can’t someone teach me?” Someone like you.
“This isn’t lord of the rings,” he says with disgust, his nose wrinkling like he caught a whiff of a bad smell. “We’re wasting time here. What’s your decision?”
What’s my decision?
