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“Are you blind?” I growl. “Can’t you see me, right here, in your bed?”
“Don’t do that. Deflecting. You didn’t speak to me for days and now you want to fuck me? What’s going on in your head?”
I frown down at her. “I told you, I’m not with Ophelia, I’m…” Again the magic flares and tugs on every part of me, stealing my breath, painful, burning like the flames in my nightmares, searing my flesh, my bones, choking my cries. “Ow. Dammit.”
“Rys?”
“I’m… not…” Scales surface on my skin and sink back inside of me. My bones shift. I growl as pain slices through me, as my magic sparks, pushes through me like jagged blades. “God…fuck…”
“Rys, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m…” My breathing is ragged, and my ears are ringing, but at least, the pain is receding. I sit back on my heels, suck on the stud in my tongue. Try to find my wits. “You’re right. We shouldn’t be doing this. I’m with Ophelia. I made my choice.”
If anything, her eyes widen more. “What’s happening to you? You sound like two different people. You’re having arguments with yourself. You don’t even curse when you’re like this. Is she doing that to you?”
“No, she isn’t,” I say, gritting my teeth. “She’s good. She’s here to help me. Her magic is strong and she’ll use it to take the spell off me.”
She snorts. “Come on, Rys, you believe that? I’ve known her for so many years but as it turns out she’s not who she always claimed to be.”
“And you are?”
“Okay, you’re right.” She folds her arms under her breasts and damn if my gaze doesn’t return there. “But Ophelia—”
“You don’t know anything,” I snap and climb off the bed, glad I didn’t undress. “See you in class, princess.”
“Rys—”
I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. Shaking my head, I march out of her room and close the door behind me—then stop to catch my breath because it feels as if I’ve just pushed a knife into my own chest. What the fuck is this feeling?
What the fuck’s wrong with me?
10
MIA
We are learning how to tell the time in French and I wonder if you can simply die of boredom and frustration. My mind can’t stay on the topic, jumping all over the place.
Sorting through yesterday’s memories.
Through all the emotions.
Sindri being playful, then protective, later returning exhausted from his meeting with the others. The escape from the Academy, the blood dripping from their wrists, soaking into the ground, the city, the hospital. Ashton’s little brother hooked to machines, the sadness in Ashton’s eyes, his sister’s odd behavior. Emrys’ protectiveness, Jason’s injury. The nightmare. Emrys in my bed, in my arms.
His sudden departure.
I rub at my eyes. They feel puffy and itchy from all the crying and the few hours of sleep I managed to catch.
In Emrys’ embrace.
Crap.
“Quelle heure est-il?” the teacher says for the millionth time and I want to throw my notebook at the wall and walk out.
And do what? I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do, how to fix the boys’ issue with magic, whether what I sense is actually magic, and what I can do about it. I still don’t know who I really am and what Ophelia is after—and talking to her doesn’t seem to help.
I have to talk to Sindri and Ashton, though, about this weird split personality thing that Emrys was rocking last night.
Come to think of it, Jason behaved in much the same way. Sure, he has a history with Ophelia, obviously, and that sort of masked the fact that he seemed so confused, but still…
