She laughs, a sultry sound that sends shivers down my spine, a reminder of the pleasures had, and a promise of those yet to come.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Flint insists that I practice my magick with someone, at least a little bit, every day. Today, it’s him, with Betsy working in the shop and Annemarie sleeping in someone else’s bed. Not that I practice a lot with Annemarie — I need a practice partner who can put out a fire if I happen to accidentally start one.
The clearing is quiet. Even the birds seemto be holding their breath, leaving me peace in which to fail spectacularly.
“Okay,” I mutter under my breath. “Again.”
Jesus. Now I sound like Bits.
I draw in a breath so deep it hurts, hold it, and stretch my hands toward the open air. Nothing happens. The pile of tinder that Flint had put out does nothing. Not even a shimmer. No sparks. Nothing.
Last time I tried fire, the clearing seemed to hum. Tonight, it’s just humming with my own embarrassment.
Flint is leaning against a tree a few yards away, arms folded, pretending like he’s not watching super closely. He’s doing that thing again — acting relaxed while his entire body radiates attention. It’s infuriating and endearing and stupidly hot.
Gee, I wonder why I can’t focus long enough to start a fire?
Then I recall our little date night in this same clearing and start to feel hot for an entirely different reason.
Trying to distract myself, I call “I can feel you judging me.”
“I’m observing. Different thing entirely.”
“Feels the same from where I’m standing.”
“Maybe I just like how your ass looks in those leggings.”
That’s not helping my sudden feeling of over-heating.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He smirks. “Try again. You’re thinking too hard.”
“Did you ever consider that maybe thinkinglesswhile trying to start a fire isn’t the way to go?”
“I have.”
“So you realize it sounds ridiculous?”
“Only because you’re being so human about it.”
I throw him a look. “Last I checked, that’s still technically true.”
He doesn’t answer.
I grind my teeth and try again. Betsy said that power follows feeling and intent. I’m tired of feeling afraid of this. I picture the tinder. Try to focus, to bring the warmth into my chest, down my arms and into my hands. But what feeling? I mean, I’ve been scared, been terrified. Recently, even. Where the hell am I supposed to reach for?
“Okay. Stop.”
Flint strides to me and I let my hands flop to my side.
“Walk me through what happened in your last training session with Betsy.”
I explain, as best I can, since I don’t actually know what happened.
“You felt it?”
