Page 25 of Wrongfully Magicked
Again.
I hop around on one foot, then drag it on the ground to scrape off the muck, probably looking like some deranged zombie shuffle. I don’t know if I should wish for the gunk to be shit or not. Just thinking of the alternatives sends a shiver of revulsion down my spine.
I ignore the squishing between my toes, deciding that it’s better not to look. If I didn’t know better, I would almost think Porter selected this route just to make me miserable, and I narrow my eyes on his back.
“If you tell me your nickname, I’ll help you with your…er…little problem,” Darby wheedles, his gaze dropping to my feet, and a little grimace curls his lips.
I huff under my breath and give him a nasty look. “A gentleman would offer to help without bribery.”
“Well, I never claimed to be a gentleman.” A devilish smile crosses his face, and my breath catches at the roguish look, the studious man suddenly turning into a pirate ready to plunder my bounty.
A different type of heat flashes under my skin, one I’m not used to feeling, and I’m not sure I trust the new sensations. Flustered, I drop my eyes.
Only it doesn’t help.
I can still feel his gaze caressing me.
Desperate to get his attention off me, I latch onto his question. With a sigh, I shrug and look into the darkness. “Spark. She called me Spark.”
I hold up my hand and flick my fingers, and a tiny spark flares like hitting a stone against flint. I quickly lower my hand before Porter notices, then shrug. “I tended to set things on fire when…”
Dark memories try to force their way from the abyss where I locked them away in the back of my mind, and I shake my head to get rid of them. “When things got tough.”
When the beatings became too bad, my fire would take over to protect me. Scorched walls and rugs were often repainted and replaced at least once a week in my house. They built a fireproof room for their extracurricular fun, but they soon discovered that my fire would not be contained. My powers saw the room as a challenge and burned hotter and brighter.
In retaliation, they would beat me more frequently, leaving me bloody and broken, but they were never able to kill me before my powers emerged to protect me. It infuriated my family that I refused to bend to their demands. That they couldn’t control me. They tried drowning me in ice water, used spells to dampen my powers, but my fire learned how to consume whatever they threw at me.
Then his sister arrived.
Just the thought of her banishes the yawning darkness hovering at the back of my mind. “Charlotte was the opposite of everything I was taught to believe—she was so genuine and…happy. No lies. No subterfuge. I called her Pixie because she was like pixie dust, shiny and bright, and she left a lasting presence much like glitter—you just couldn’t get rid of her.”
I wave a hand in the air to brush away the fanciful thoughts. “Oh, I know she had a darker side. She was a trickster, oftendoing her best to sabotage my family’s nefarious plans. I’m afraid it put a target on her back.”
Darby listens intently, inching closer the more I speak, until his arm brushes mine with every step. Sorrow darkens his blue eyes, and a sad smile touches his lips. “A pixie—pure mischief. It describes her perfectly. No one could control Charlotte. She was very much like a will-o’-the-wisp—a bright spot in the darkness, and often going wherever the wind took her.”
His expression turns rueful, and love shines in his eyes as he talks of his sister. “There was nothing you could have done that would have stopped her when she set her mind on something. Trust me, I tried many times. If she’s still out there, we’ll find her.”
He steps in front of me, stops and hunches down, then looks at me over his shoulder. “Jump up.”
I stop abruptly, heat warming my cheeks at the thought of climbing him, and then more inappropriate thoughts spring into my mind of what we could do in a different position. I have to pinch myself to banish those naughty images.
Reluctantly, I step forward and do as I’m told. I’ve seen children carried this way, but only in movies. I awkwardly climb up and wrap my arms around his neck. A squeak escapes me when he reaches back, loops his arms under my legs, then drags me closer until I’m snug against his body. The action drags up the shirt until it’s barely covering my important bits.
Flustered, I cling to him when he stands and starts walking, afraid he’ll drop me if I breathe too deeply.
He doesn’t pay the least bit of attention to my too tight grip, just carries me like I weigh nothing and hurries to catch up with Porter and Cassius. Soren catches sight of us first, and he almost stumbles over his own feet. The silver encircling his eyes expands, the metallic color swirling as he watches us intently, as if memorizing the position so he can offer to carry me next time.
A low growl rumbles in the air, more felt than heard, and my whole body tingles. Soren edges closer, no doubt getting a good look at my granny panties, and my body sags with mortification. Instead of making fun of me, his black eyes glitter possessively, and I can’t help blushing at his nearness.
I quickly face forward before my daft brain can delve further into that thought. Beastlings can often smell strong emotions, and the last thing I want is for them to think I’m interested in something more.
I’d die of embarrassment.
The way Darby’s body shifts beneath me is so distracting that I can’t focus on anything else. I forget about the outside world until only the two of us exist. He’s surprisingly solid and so warm that I shiver and cuddle closer. The scent of crisp winter nights in front of a crackling fire infuses the air, and I realize that it’s rising from his skin.
The writhing fire under my skin calms to a gentle glow, and contentment permeates my very essence. I sigh in pleasure and nuzzle my face against his shoulder, feeling like I finally found what I’ve been searching for my whole life—peace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
