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Only one way to find out.
Gripping my sword’s handle, I duck beneath his wing and spin to view his front. My boot slips on gravelly dirt. I lose balance and grab the closest thing to stop me from falling.Well-damn...that was close.Falling into hundreds of jars of manabeeze could be cataclysmic to my health.
I freeze, still crouched, blinking at the stone penis an inch from my nose—with my hand wrapped around it.
“Sorry,” I whisper, blushing like a teenager. “So sorry.”
I scramble to stand before him but cover my face, shaking my head. I almost broke his penis off. I peek through two open fingers. Styx is... yeah... well, he’s ripped. Every muscle and tendon is defined as he prepares to attack. Thatpartof him is definitely proportionate to the rest.
Get a grip, Willow.
No! Don’t get a grip.
He’s not standing here flaunting his body. He’s a statue. No penises were harmed today. I pat my flaming cheeks and reassess him like a mature adult. Dangerous curved horns sweep from his forehead, half buried in short, wavy hair. A row of conical spikes decorates the skin above his eyebrows as they’re smashed together in fury. Larger curved spikes, resembling Fox’s horns, erupt along his collarbone in two rows—more spikes along his knuckles.
Feeling braver, I step closer and inspect his face. Stone sharpens the lines into something fiercely dangerous. Stepping back again, I sweep my gaze over his wings. Something doesn’t add up. I need to tell Fox.
He jolts in surprise when I poke my head through the wards.
“He’s here,” I announce.
His audible exhale of relief tugs at my heart.
“There’s something else,” I say, still stuck halfway through the wards.
The fire ants scurrying over my body still feel oddly friendly. The notion distracts me, and I find my mind drifting inward, taking stock of the sensations. It’s almost like the magic knows me. I feel around the rock’s opening, testing more areas of the warding to check if the familiarity continues.
“Willow?” Fox breathes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”
Why would this magic feel like this? It’s almost as if it was... mine.
“Willow.” The concern in his tone startles me. I reach through the ward and take his hand, intending to allay his worry, but when we connect, tingling fire ants scuttle from my arm onto his. My lips part as I sense them continue to coat his entire body.
I gulp. “Are you okay?”
“Smashing. Areyouokay?”
“You don’t feel the fire ants? The prickle of magic all over you right now? Where we touch?” I squeeze his hand.
He gives me an odd look. “I don’t sense magic like you do. It’s not a visceral sensation against my skin. It’s more intrinsic.”
“Yes,” I muse, recalling how I used to connect with the Well when I had access. My inner well was filled with a personal mix of elemental mana. Then there was the Cosmic Well, the mana in nature. Sensing that magic was both inside my soul and a visceral, physical response. “I always thought this physical sense was how everyone reacted to magic.”
“We’ve never heard of it in anyone else.”
My intuition prickles as an idea forms. “So... you can’t get sliced in half or anything from walking into these wards, can you?”
His brow arches. “I simply hit rock... why?”
“Because you should come in here.” I yank him into the cave and grin when he arrives in one piece. “Ooh, I was right.”
“You were...” Utterly astonished, he blinks repetitively for a long moment. “You didn’t know that would happen?”
“I mean, I had an inkling.” I shrug. “What’s the worst that could happen? You’d face-plant the rock.” I point with my sword to the center of the cave. “Styx doesn’t appear to be sealed.”
He stares at me for another beat before turning.
