“JUST DO IT!” Rowan yells.
Heat envelops the room—heat andsunshine.Warmth. Hope. It chases the shadows away, but they’re still here, still trying to take me. They wrap their ethereal fingers around me, pulling me toward an empty hole.
And then glass shatters.
The coldness abates, vanishing, leaving me adrift in warm darkness that feels safe.
“Kit,” a man with a gravelly voice says urgently from the haze that’s lightening, sounding like he’s fighting his way to me. “KIT, WAKE UP.”
“For goodness’ sake, cover yourself first,” Ryder exclaims, sounding shaken.
I try to open my eyes, but I can’t remember how.
“Kit,” the man urges.
As the darkness slowly evaporates, I become aware of my surroundings. A hand clutches the back of my neck. An arm is wrapped around my shoulders. I’m on someone’s lap.
I lift my hand, touching skin.
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, I come face-to-face with a man’s chest. A man’sbarechest.
“How…” My voice sounds scratchy. “How did you lose your shirt?”
A gritty chuckle rumbles against my fingertips, drawing my attention up.
Gray eyes stare back at me—gray eyes I’ve never looked into but are instantly familiar.
I gasp, shaking myself out of my delirium.
“You’re awake.” The man clutches me close, his hair brushing against my cheek as he wraps himself around my back and hugs me tightly.
“Rowan?” I blink back tears, pulling back to look at him.
“Hi,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine. Seconds later, a crooked grin graces his face, stealing the last of my ragged breath.
“You’re…” I gulp, taking in his strong jaw and dimples, his expressive mouth and lowered eyebrows. “You’re…not eighteen.”
He laughs, helping me sit up and giving me space to breathe.
Seconds later, Ryder pulls me to my feet. Once the elf has me, Rowan lies flat on his back, breathing hard, naked except for Ryder’s jacket covering…well, it’s covering things that need to be covered.
“You all right, Tinker Bell?” the elf asks me, looking me over with a scowl, drawing my attention away from Rowan.
“I feel like I just drowned,” I admit.
“Dust pendants are supposed to stop drawing magic once they’re full.” Ansel’s hand is clutched to the back of the chair like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “This one malfunctioned. Even when your magic was spilling over, it kept siphoning.”
“How did you…” My eyes return to Rowan. Then, brilliantly, I say, “Rowan’s not an owl anymore.”
“We worked quickly,” Ansel says wryly, sinking onto the chair like his legs can’t support his weight any longer. “We couldn’t afford to let your magic go to waste, and I was afraid the pendant was about to shatter.”
I glance at the broken dust pendant lying on the floor next to Rowan.
“Is that the explosion I heard? Or was it the fire spell you used to deplete your magic?”
“The explosion was Ryder,” Rowan says from the floor, eyes closed.
Ryder winces, nodding.
