“I recognize you’re a smart girl. You would’ve noticed. But, for as smart as you are, Princess, you just cannot get into your head that you have no chance here.”
Energy zipped from Balthazar’s palms through the absolute torture of Embry’s wrists, up her arms and down her entire body.
Suddenly,everyonecould see her.
“Em!” Rye cried out, but it died in a gasp as his divided attention meant his shield failed and a sorcerer’s stun spell nailed him.
He stumbled back, knocking into the nearest gravestone, gripping one shoulder that seemed as if it hung as limp as an empty sleeve at his side. Rye’s back hit the stone first, all breath knocked from his lungs. Disoriented and out of control now, his head smacked into the high obelisk of the tomb with a mighty crack.
He dropped like a curtain cut from its rod.
“Rye!” Embry tried to wrench herself away, toward where his body lay crumpled.
Unfortunately, her scream only drew the attention of two nearby sorcerers, who hurled twin spells toward Rye’s unprotected form.
“No!” Embry gasped, unable to escape Balthazar but also unable to look away as the magic arced toward the person who was her other half, and had been as long as she could remember. “I’m sorry, Rye, I’m—”
Fairfax dove in front of Rye, shields up.
The magic ricocheted away as Fairfax held his ground. Embry watched as—blood swiped across his face and dirt caked in his excellent hair—Fairfax hooked one arm around Rye’s middle. Then, with a mixture of hard-earned strength and timely adrenaline, Fairfax dragged Rye around the gravestone he’d smacked into, until they were both hidden from view.
Tears burst into Embry’s eyes at the sight, only to careen down her cheeks as Balthazar shook her in an attempt to regain her attention. When she groaned and snapped her gaze to his, he picked right back up with his stupid sorcerer lecture as if it were dress rehearsals forInto the Woodsand he was the needy, pigheaded Cinderella’s Prince in real life.
“We sorcerers may be small in numbers, but we are so very mighty,” Balthazar bragged, expression wild. “We can do things you and your witch friends could only hope to do. We’re lions, and you’re just a box of kittens. The sooner you understand that the sooner you’ll stop lying to yourself about winning this fight. You were never going to win, Princess.”
Pulling Embry into him, Balthazar twisted the flesh on her arms, pain torquing up her skin as her bones cried out from beneath. Pinned in place, Embry was forced to look up at him. To see the rage and chaos in his flaming sapphire eyes, smell the stench of his cinnamon scent mixed with bone dust, must, and dark magic.
“Now you’re going to see what happens when we try. I can guarantee you won’t like it.” He bared his teeth, and Embry took back every dumb joke she made about Bitches being feral. This shit was feral right here. Balthazar continued, gleeful, “The upside for you is you’ll decompose within spitting distance of the mighty Woodcross line you ended.”
Not if she had anything to say about it. With all the strength she could muster, Embry rotated her wrists in Balthazar’s grasp enough to press her hands to his too-close chest and shoot him with a double-barrel of the illegal spell she’d practiced only minutes before arriving at Raven’s End.
The change was instant.
His grip softened. His breathing went shallow. His posture swooned. When Balthazar’s gaze found hers, the feral ferocityfrom only a moment before flashed like oil in a hot pan, sizzling until the vibrant blue there was emanating nothing but a pure, tender emotion.
Love.
“Embry, my darling, you look absolutely radiant in this morning light.”
Balthazar’s tone had completely changed, the whole bearing of his body did, too, and he bowed toward Embry as if she held him and the rest of the world upright.
It was obvious now why this and every other love spell was illegal. Enchanting another person to fall so head-over-heels in only a matter of heartbeats was a terrifying prospect.
Balthazar was stunned, all right. Every fiber of his being was focused on his sudden, all-encompassing adoration for her, the spell-caster.
It was difficult to believe that only a few days ago Embry’s knees would’ve softened under their own volition if Balthazar had looked at her like that. She would’ve thrown every rule out the window, every worry about gossip, distraction, consequences. She would’ve done anything for that loving gaze.
Now Embry hoped it would set her free of him forever.
A heartbeat later, that hope got closer as Balthazar released one of her wrists—but only so he could brush a lock of hair behind her ear. As if he’d seen Rye do it and taken note. The pads of his fingers swept down her jawline, tilting the point of her chin, his attention running wind sprints between her gaze and her parted lips.
“I know this is forward,” he whispered, suddenly breathless, pupils blown out, “but I feel as if my heart might explode in my chest if I don’t kiss you right now. May I?”
The sorcerer loomed close, apparently uninterested in her consent even after requesting it. Embry whipped out her best smileand used her free hand to aimlessly—flirtatiously—coil the golden ends of her ponytail around her finger.
“Thatisrather forward, Balthazar.” She leaned in, eyebrows raising conspiratorially. “And I’m not interested.”
Embry slapped him with her free hand, her stun spell smacking his chiseled jaw on the moment of impact. At the same time, she slipped her wrist free of his grasp.
