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3
ASHTON
“Come,” she says and I follow, content to give her what she wants from me. Her hair is long and dark, her hand small in mine, her voice soft as she repeats my name, and with every repetition calm spreads through me, my thoughts settling into the placidness of a lake, its waters opaque, the worries and concerns sinking into the deep, leaving small questions floating.
Will we eat? Will she let me see the others? Will she kiss me?
Another thought tries to intrude. I see a rolled-up piece of paper in my hand and I open my fingers, stare at my empty palm. I frown, wince as a sting is delivered to my magic and it travels through my body like a drop of poison, making old wounds and bruises ache.
“Ashton, look at me.” She takes my other hand, too, so now she’s holding both in hers. We’ve stopped behind the refectory, where there are only trees and no people in sight, and she’s smiling at me. “How was your day?”
I’m still frowning, though the image of the rolled-up piece of paper starts to slip from my mind. “Good.”
“Anything exciting happen?”
I shake my head.
“All boring, huh?” she whispers. “Don’t worry, we’ll have fun together. Smile for me?”
The corners of my mouth tug up.
She nods. “Much better. I hate to see you displeased. Was the teacher a bitch?”
“He was worried that I’m lagging behind.”
“Oh. Boo-hoo. He’s not the one who has to spend his every free minute working to control the flares of magic, is he?”
“No,” I say because a pull on my magic tells me it’s the right answer.
“That’s right. You and me, baby. We’ll change the world.”
I’m drowning in her dark gaze which reminds me of another—and fuck, there’s another sting, another wince—and then she’s kissing me, her mouth soft, her taste bitter and unfamiliar. I try to pull back and this time the prod on my magic makes me groan.
Her hands release mine only to cup my cheeks, fingertips pressing into my cheekbones, and her mouth sucks on mine, darkening my last thoughts. The ache flows through me, again and again, pulling on my magic, my element, pulling the water from my body, from my power, draining me. And yet I can’t move away, don’t want to, my hands coming to rest over hers, and I’m kissing her back, letting her have all she wants from me.
I belong to Ophelia. She came to help us. She came to save us. All she asks of me belongs to her. My life doesn’t matter. She’s doing this for all of us.
She’s the one I want, the one I need. She’s the one…
After an eternity, she breaks the kiss and smiles at me. Dazed, I gaze back, my knees weak and my pulse deafening in my ears. Her hands drop from my face to my shoulders. Something familiar about her face makes its way through my clouded-over thoughts, something I keep forgetting over and over when it’s damn important, and…
“Say my name,” she says. “Say my name, Ashton.”
“Mia?” I whisper.
“Wrong answer.” Her face twists into something ugly as she draws her hand back and slaps me. The pull on my magic this time sends me to my knees. “Never,” she says, “ever mention her name again. I see that there’s some more disciplining I need to do…”
I don’t know what time of the day it is, though outside my window it’s dark. When did night fall? I blink and start to turn, freezing as pain jolts me. There’s no specific part of me that hurts—or doesn’t—though there doesn’t seem to be a source for it, an open wound or bruise. It’s an all-encompassing ache, gripping me from head to toe.
What the hell happened?
Try to remember, I tell myself, sitting up carefully, biting down on a moan. You have to remember. Your memory is slipping.
I was in class. And then…
A girl with long dark hair.
A rolled-up piece of paper.
