Grayson has access to The Plain’s magic that flows for eternity, but their soul is like a prism: as magic flows through, their soul bends and shapes it perfectly, splitting it into a radiant spectrum.
It doesn’t merely channel magic; it interprets, amplifies, and reshapes it.
It sounds very much like what Nix sees when he looks inward at all his mates’ bonds. It’s a kaleidoscope of color: a fiery red, cool healing blue, earthy green, airy turquoise, and on and on. It makes him feel closer to Grayson somehow, to think that he may see his own form of magic when he closes his eyes.
Grayson’s scent goes sharp, the basil outweighing the usual sweetness of vanilla that’s been part of his scent since they bonded.
He shakes his head. “I can’t hurt Nix. I won’t let it free entirely, it’ll be too much. No, I’d rather sever my access than possibly hurt him. I won’t do it.”
His voice is firm, and the scent of patchouli grows suddenly, as if The Plain can hear Grayson’s words. Like Selinde’s metaphor, the puppy does not like the thought of its master leaving him.
The others wear grim expressions of shock and horror, because Nimue had told them that severing The Plain is an eventual death sentence for any magic user.
“Gray, no,” Nix says. “The Plain is as much part of who you are as I am. I think that’s what they’re saying. We can do this together. Our soul is designed to handle this. Right?”
Nix looks to the more experienced magic users in the room.
“I believe that to be true. The Plain would not be available to you without a means to handle it. That is my experience,” Emre says.
“My Affinity is Biological in nature. It’s actually a mixture of a few classifications, but it allows me to see your access to The Plain and see a visualization of your magic as you use it.”
“It comes in quite handy in his line of work, as shields are manifested as a response to The Plain’s frequencies and—”
Ignatius breaks off when Selinde clears her throat. “Oh, well, there will be time for that another time.”
Grayson doesn’t look convinced.
At his skeptical face, Ignatius pauses. “Can you tell us…have you accidentally hurt Nix before?”
Nix frowns, thinking back.
That first time at the safe house, Nix had been surprised, but he’d not been hurt.
Every other time he’d only felt tired or drained, but Grayson hadn’t known what he was doing then; he hadn’t recognized what was happening, and it had been in defense against Withers.
If Grayson is right, he’d been Dreaming for a long time, seeing their other lives since they bonded.
Nix hadn’t been hurt then.
The struggle has only been worse since Grayson knew he could draw vast amounts of power through their soul, but has been trying to hold it back—or in the library, when he’d let the leash slip so quickly when they’d met Nimue.
It makes Nix think about the unruly puppy metaphor again.
“Think about it, Gray. Have you ever really hurt me? So I’m tired or hungry, but you were, too. Even Nimue and Sasha were tired after protecting the apartment or freeing Ansel. Can’t we try?”
Grayson runs his free hand through his hair, pulling at the long strands in frustration. “I’m scared I’ll lose control.”
“Based on the story you told me about healing your partner, and from Sasha Lekarev’s report, you managed to do quite well at disassembling that invasive spell. Both require remarkable control. Would you let me see what we’re working with?”
Nix likes Emre more and more.
In truth, aside from Withers, there hasn’t been one magic user who hasn’t been kind.
Sliding his palm into Grayson’s, Nix tries to push love and calm along their bond. It must work, because his soulmate gives a short nod.
Emre rubs his palms together.
“Excellent. Your clamp is in place now? Yes? Then, I’ll begin.”
