“Of course not.” I look up at him like he’s the idiot. “Either someone royally fucked up or?—”
“You did it.” He smirks, but it’s not a pleasant expression.
The death stare I shoot his way would wilt most men, and I let out an unsatisfied, “Humph,” when he remains unfazed. “Or I’m being set up.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and his tone turns mocking. “So you’re saying they duplicated your spell signature?”
“Of all the idiotic, stupid…” I blow out a heavy breath, wishing the asshole were close enough to smack his smug expression off his face. My tone is waspish when I continue. “No one can duplicate a caster’s signature. There are always traces that remain behind that tell the truth.”
He cocks his head curiously, his superior expression melting away. “You’re saying someone managed it?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, searching for patience. It’s only when I feel a gentle touch on my knee from the big guy pushing closer that I release a heavy breath. “Fuck no. What I’m saying is it can’t be me. I don’t need to cast spells to use my magic.”
“That’s not possible,” he snaps back, not stopping his advance until he’s towering over me. “We have proof that it matches your intake signature.”
I gaze up at him like he’s the moron, my laughter bitter, and I’m unable to resist taunting him. “That would be impossible unless someone altered my records. You have proof of it downstairs. Go look if you don’t believe me. The proof is literally on the walls.”
I lean back with a smirk, but his expression doesn’t give anything away. After nearly a minute, he gives an abrupt nod, then steps back. “Soren, go check out the basement.”
The big man grudgingly lumbers to his feet, and I frown, barely able to stop myself from leaning forward and grabbing his arm to keep him from leaving. Soren drags his feet to the door, as if he’s reluctant to leave me alone with the other guy. I stiffen at his hesitation, wondering if this is some sort of trap.
I reach for my magic, then hiss in a breath when it feels like touching acid. While I usually run hot, the heat doesn’t typically harm me. I worry that I somehow hurt my connection to my magic when I used it while wearing those stupid cuffs.
I’m so distracted that I jump when the asshole speaks again. “Find Darby. If the files have been altered, then he’ll be able to tell.”
Then the big guy is gone.
As much as I don’t want to talk to my captor, I can’t contain my worry. “What’s wrong with my magic?”
The dark man leans against the wall, his unsettling eyes pinning me in place. When I don’t flinch, a flicker of curiosity and, dare I say, respect flashes through them. His eyes drop to my wrists, and he shakes his head like I’m a child. “The cuffs are meant to stop magic. They are pretty foolproof. Most people stop when something hurts, not double down.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not most people.” I clench and unclench my hands. Though I don’t have much magic, the thought of losing what little I have sends me into a panic. “Again, what’s wrong with my magic?”
Just when I’m ready to smack him, a shadow fills the doorway, and I automatically turn to see a tall man standing in the hallway. He’s six-three, lean but shredded, if the way his clothes mold to his form is any indication. Even indoors, he’s wearing sunglasses. He has thick, broad shoulders that make him appear as if he could take on the world. There is a stillness to him that tells me he is an apex predator, but I can’t help but notice the tension in his frame.
Could this intimidating man with gorgeous brown hair cut in a stylish fade be intimidated by little ole me?
“Your magic was overtaxed,” he murmurs, his husky voice carrying a little lisp…or slither? “I would suggest you not use itfor a few days. Give it time to heal, and it should be back to normal.”
I wilt with relief and flash him a grateful smile. “You can be my new favorite for the day.”
I expect him to recoil or roll his eyes, so I’m surprised when he actually stands up a little straighter. He ventures another step into the room, his body moving sinuously, and I can’t help but lick my lips as images of him naked in bed, ready to do my every bidding, bombard me. A man like him would know his way around a woman’s body, and I shiver at the mental picture.
The asshole against the wall huffs and crosses his arms, almost like he could read my fantasies. A massive scowl twists his face, as if he’s unable to contain his annoyance any longer. “If what you said is true, then why would anyone want to set you up?”
He looks me up and down, his gaze critical, and if the little sneer of disgust is any indication, he clearly finds me lacking. More and more, I’m tempted to smack him…or maybe light him on fire.
I reach for my magic without conscious thought, the action so instinctual that my body automatically does it. When my insides feel like they’re being scrubbed by the sandpaper-like scales of a leviathan, I hunch over with a shudder and curl my hands into fists, not even noticing when my nails bite into my palms and draw blood.
I grit my teeth and breathe through the pain. My bones feel brittle, and I detest feeling so fragile and exposed, especially in front of others. “Maybe they just needed a fall guy. Very few people know about my abilities. Those who know what I can do assume that I’m weak. They probably expected me to die in the blast.”
The more I think about it, the more I suspect I wasn’t chosen by chance.
Someone knows the truth and just painted a big fucking target on my back.
Jackass pushes away from the wall, leaning in close until I’m forced to lean back to keep him out of my space. The scent of warm rum and old books fills my senses, but it’s his eyes that capture me.
The orange and yellow glow brighter and brighter, almost seeming to flash in some sort of sequence. My head feels tight, like he’s trying to ram a railroad spike through my skull. Without thought, I give into the impulse that’s been riding me since I first met him and lash out with my fist.
