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“I’ve made this for my house more than once.”
I bite the inside of my lip, hesitating for long enough to exhale before letting the question blurt from my lips. “Why? Who were you keeping out?”
Davis stops moving, his fist gripping the pestle he’s using to crush up herbs and seeds so hard that I’m afraid he’s going to snap it. The quiet stretches for so long I’m sure he’s not going to answer. He’s not the most outgoing person as it is. I doubt he shares his private information with many people.
I nearly jump when his voice breaks through the stillness.
“My father.”
I push aside my bowl. My concentration is anywhere but on the mixture, and I don’t want to mess up the spell by having my intentions all cocked up. I keep my mouth shut, waiting for Davis to continue. Or not. If he wants to tell me more, he will. If he doesn’t, then there’s not much I can say to make him spill.
He pushes his bowl aside too, his hands landing on the counter and gripping the edge. “My father is not a good man. He’s fucked up.” Davis looks up at me, his eyes appear darker as the demons from his past rear up. “My mom and dad both had magic in their family lines, but my dad’s power was minimal. He was part of Anthony’s little group that tried to form an Axis.
Whatever they did broke something in him. At least, according to my mom. She said he never used to be the angry, controlling piece of shit that I knew growing up, but I think that’s bullshit. You don’t change into a completely different person overnight. In my opinion, there was always something rotten deep down in his depths. Whatever happened with Anthony just let the rot out.”
He takes a deep breath, his fingers relaxing fractionally on the counter. “I moved out when I was sixteen. My dad used to try to break into my house. I learned real quick how to tell if he’d be waiting there for me when I got home.”
Holy shit. There are so many unspoken words in Davis’s story. He doesn’t mention abuse, but it’s implied. I get the feeling that even the little bit he’s shared was hard for him. Dredging up his past and talking about his feelings does not seem natural for him.
“Thanks for passing along the expertise.” I pull my bowl back and the tension rolls out of his shoulders when I don’t press for more information.
“Sure. And to answer your other question, potions, alchemy, whatever you want to call it, is not my forte. I have an affinity for the elements. Rain, wind, fire, that sort of thing. I can control them to some extent.”
“So when there’s a rainy day I can blame you?”
“I said I can control them, not that I create the weather.”
I bark out a laugh, and the barest hint of a smile touches Davis’s face.
“Alright, these two are ready to be combined.” He grabs my bowl, his fingers brushing against mine with the movement. Tingles shiver from the tips of my fingers up through my arm. Davis jerks his hand back and sucks in a breath. It takes us both a minute to control our rapid breathing.
“Mix them slowly.”
I stand back, letting him do the work since I’m not familiar with the magic. The finely ground grains pour through his fingers as he tips his bowl into mine. He sifts the mixture with his hand, gently mixing it together.
“Water,” he murmurs, and I quickly fill a glass from the tap and set it on the counter next to him. He dips his fingers in and flicks it into the bowl, making the dark grains sizzle and fizz. A slight incense smell flavors the air. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s got a churchy scent.
“Come here,” Davis commands, and I turn to face him as he does the same. The bowl is cupped in one hand and he dips a finger in with his other. “Stay still.”
I nearly flinch when he presses a thumb on my forehead, expecting the mixture to sting or burn, but it doesn’t. It’s mildly warm, but that could just be from Davis’s hand. “In my domain I reign, no one shall pass unless I will it.” His finger dips into the mixture again and brushes against one temple, then floats over my face, hovering over my mouth before he draws a line from my top lip to the bottom.
Magic builds in the air, flickers of light like glitter sparking around us. My pulse pounds at the sensation. Of him touching me, of our magic mingling, dancing around the other’s like a playful sprite.
“Mark the trespasser.” This time his fingers skate over the back of my hand, marking it with the spell before he lifts my hand and places it over his heart. My breaths are heavy, my head fuzzy with the heady magic of being so close to Davis, of touching him, of him touching me. His pupils are blown, and his own breathing is uneven. We sway toward each other, two magnets drawn together. “Warn the keeper.”
With that, he draws a finger over my earlobe, his hand sliding down to grasp the back of my neck. He drops his forehead to mine, both of us out of breath, like we’ve been sprinting for miles. “I will it.”
I repeat the words on a whispered breath. “I will it.”
The magic culminates with a throbbing pulse and I shudder, lust, need rocketing through me. I don’t know how we haven’t collapsed onto the ground. Davis must have super strength, because I’m barely standing. His rainstorm scent wraps around me and his heart thrums beneath my hand where I’m now clutching his shirt.
“Davis.” His name is a plea, the whispered vow of a devotee. This connection between us, I always wondered if I invented it all those years ago. It’s thrilling and fucking scary to realize that was only a taste of the intensity of feeling swelling between us.
Davis pulls back to look me in my eyes, heat flashing as the temperature in the kitchen notches up a few degrees. Holy shit, is that his power? The temptation to fall into him, to tumble down to the ground and pull him down on top of me, rides me hard. Hell, I want him to flip me around, bend me over this counter, and smack my ass before he yanks down my pants and—
“You should leave the island.”
“What?” This a-fucking-gain?
