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“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Agreed. But something happened, something…” He makes a frustrated, half-aborted gesture toward his pants with one hand. Grass-stained like mine, a telltale twig caught in the fabric. “I rolled under the trees for some reason? I can’t recall what happened after lunch.”
“Same here. I must have been to the practice for tomorrow’s game but I’m missing time after that.” I try to calculate. “Quite a lot of time.”
He pushes off the wall and approaches me, his steps a little unsteady. It’s as if he’s drunk, only I don’t smell booze or even the bitter fae drugs on his breath. “I found a paper on my desk saying things I don’t remember at all. About a spell we’re under. About forgetting stuff that happened. About… Mia. Do you…?” He’s frowning. “Do you know who she is?”
We are sitting together on my bed, our heads bent together as we try to untangle this mystery.
“The name feels familiar,” Sindri says, rubbing his hands together as if he’s cold. “As if we’re supposed to know her. Mia.”
“I don’t remember her.”
He glances at me out of a corner of those dark sloe eyes. He has bruises under them, I realize. His jaw is splotched with black. “I have a drawing of a girl. It’s on the back of the notes I took. I think it’s her. It’s signed by her.”
I shrug. Not sure what to say to that. We obviously share a problem here. This memory loss. And though I don’t remember why I’m friends with Sindri—I vaguely recall fighting with him and his gang of Fae, nothing more—I feel comfortable with him.
“Say, are we buddies?” I wonder out loud. “You and me?”
“It feels as if… we’ve done this before,” he says.
“What, sit on my bed?”
“And talk. It’s as if we’ve shared experiences.”
It’s my turn to feel cold. “I don’t like not remembering stuff,” I mutter.
“Who does? Arawn, what’s wrong?”
Apart from this mess? I want to ask but my teeth are chattering. I remember the whistle of a whip as it comes down on my back, the lines of fire, laid one over the other, the bite of the ropes around my wrists as I struggle—
“Jax.” He grabs my arm, pulls me toward him. “Breathe.”
But I can’t, my lungs locked tight, my chest caught in a vise. I’m drowning, dying, I can’t—
His lips press against mine, and I gasp in surprise. His breath fills me, a cool wind, and it’s more than air. It’s his magic—the magic of air—flowing through me. I’ve never been given such a gift. One doesn’t gift magic easily.
I put my hands on his face, breaking the kiss—the offer. “Thanks, I…” This isn’t something you do for someone you don’t know, I want to say, but I’m caught in those starry eyes and can’t find the words. Handsome in the way only the fae can be—exotic eyes and perfect cheekbones and the way his mouth looks so tempting, soft and warm…
“You looked like you needed air,” he says, his voice low, stirring the magic in me, my magic and his, twined together in a loose embrace. “Least I could do. What happened?”
“It was only old memories,” I whisper. “I guess whatever spell we’re under, it can’t keep them down.”
“You were hurt by someone.”
“Who hasn’t?” I throw his words back at him.
“I won’t,” he says. “I won’t force you.” He lifts a hand to wipe at something on my jaw. “Wanted to help.”
“I know.” Not sure how but I know all that. This time, I’m the one who kisses him. Somewhere in my mind, the idea floats that boys shouldn’t kiss boys, that men shouldn’t lust after men like this, that men were the ones who did bad things to me and I’m never letting any man touch me that way again—but this is Sindri, my mind also says, and this is different, and in any case, everything I thought I knew has burned to the ground.
He tastes so good, his tongue fighting mine, sending shocks of need through my body. His stubble is light, barely there but enough to scrape pleasantly over my cheek, his lips are firm and warm and when he grabs my arms and hauls me against him, I groan.
Only then he jerks back and shoves me away with a curse, just as I was starting to think that I don’t get what could be wrong about this and why I ever thought it was—
“Ow,” he says, “fuck, dammit.”
That was succinct and clear, and the way he’s holding his ribs looks familiar. “Let me see,” I say and lift his shirt up only I draw a sharp breath in shock. “What the fuck? What happened to you?”
