Page 62 of Spark of Sorcery
“An accident with a knife,” he says, examining the wound that is slowly healing.
I shrug. “I was cutting an apple.”
“Aren’t you right-handed?”
“Not when it comes to slicing apples.”
“Hmmm,” he says, stroking his fingertips against the wound, shadows racing across my skin and knitting together the damaged flesh, warm tingles racing up my arm. When my hand is completely healed, he meets my eyes with his chaotic ones. “You’re a stubborn little kitten, aren’t you?”
I don’t even get a chance to reply, he’s already skipping away.
I’m left in the hallway feeling like I was just sucked up into a tornado.
A few minutes later, Thorne comes striding down the stairs and into the hallway. I wasn’t sure if he would agree to see me, but after that confession out there on the field, things have changed, shifted. I can tell by the way he meets my eyes as he comes towards me. Although, he still stops his obligatory pace away from me as if the air I’m breathing might be toxic.
“It’s Beaufort you need to talk to–”
I’m aware of that. The conversation we had and the things I learned in the library have been pressing on my mind, but right now the stone is more urgent.
“I can’t come tonight.”
He blinks. “Aren’t you here?”
“Yes, I know, but I have to get back to my room.”
“And you had to tell me this because …”
“I want you to come with me, back to my room.”
“No,” he says.
I peer up into his face, trying to read him.
“You said you’d do anything for me,” I whisper.
Beaufort would have frowned if I’d caught him in a trap of his own making like this. Dray would chuckle. Thorne’s face remains completely blank. He is impossible to read.
“This isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” I ask, tipping my head to one side.
He swallows and I think he is considering his next words. “That if you ever needed me, I would be there to help.”
“Well, I need your help now.”
“What with?”
I peer around him. I suspect Dray is lingering in the background somewhere, listening in on this conversation.
“I can’t explain it. I have to show you.”
He shakes his head.
“Fuck, Thorne, dude,” Dray yells from somewhere – my suspicions proven correct, “she wants to show you something. What the hell are you waiting for?”
Now emotion finally registers on his face: displeasure. He frowns and shucks his chin my way, I hurry through the door and he follows after me.
“It’s not like Dray is making out,” I clarify, blushing.
