"Good," he finished for me. "It felt good."
I looked up, startled by his understanding.
"Power always does," he touched my hand briefly. "Especially when you're using it to protect yourself or someone else." His amber eyes were steady on mine. "It doesn't make you a monster, Winter. It makes you human."
"Most humans can't disintegrate people with their minds."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Fair point. But most humans would if they could, given the right circumstances." He shifted, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his healing wound. "You think one little spatial rupture would scare me off? I've dated worse."
I blinked, stunned into momentary silence. "Did you just, uh, make a joke?"
"Don't look so shocked," his grumble was low. "I'm not a complete emotional desert."
A laugh bubbled up unexpectedly from my chest. "Rook the Comedian. Who knew?"
His expression softened, the perpetual furrow between his brows easing somewhat. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Firecracker."
The nickname sent a warm shiver through me, reminding me of how he'd pulled me back from the edge. How his hand had felt in mine, strong and steady.
Almost without thinking, I reached for his hand now, my fingers sliding between his. He stiffened momentarily, surprise flashing across his features, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers curled around mine, warm and solid.
"Winter," he was uncertain.
"You almost died today, Rook," I whispered, my eyes drawn to the lingering mark on his side.
"But I didn't. You were there."
Something in his tone made me look up. His eyes had darkened, the amber giving way to something deeper. His free hand moved to my face, his thumb brushed across my cheek with unexpected gentleness. The rough pad of his finger left a trail of heat on my skin.
I found myself leaning into his touch, drawn by a gravity I couldn't explain. He was so close now that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. His gaze dropped to my lips, and I felt my breath catch.
Just a few inches now. I could smell him, pine and earthy. My eyes began to close as I swayed toward him.
The apartment door swung open with a bang, shattering the moment.
"Honey, we're home!" Zane's voice rang out, followed by Fenric's more measured tones.
"Bureau protocol indicates that mission debriefs should commence within…" Fenric stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene before him: Rook shirtless, me practically in his lap, our faces inches apart.
I jerked back so quickly I nearly fell off the coffee table. Rook's hand shot out to steady me, his expression closed off like shutters slamming down.
"Well, well," Zane leaned against the doorframe, his mismatched eyes twinkled with amusement. "Looks like we interrupted something."
"You didn't," Rook and I spoke in unison, a little too quickly.
I blushed.
Fenric cleared his throat, his eye twitching rapidly. "Agent Rook, Bureau medical protocol 17-B clearly states that after sustaining a Class 3 magical injury, all physical exertion should be avoided for a minimum of…"
"We know, Fenric," I cut him off, my cheeks burning even more. "The medic already gave him the speech."
"Yeah, looks like she left out a few key details," Zane's grin widened as he sauntered into the apartment and dropped a file folder onto the counter. "Like 'no making out with the prophet you're supposed to be protecting.'"
"We weren't…" I began to protest, but was interrupted by a mechanical grinding sound from the kitchen. "What the hell?"
The vending machine that had replaced my old one was shuddering, its display flickering with strange symbols. Blue light, the same shade as the markings on my arm, seeped from its seams.
"Not again."
