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Her clothes are bathed in layers of white essences, and the only differentiation between her magic and her flesh is the mystical sparkle of her skin that glimmers of glistening gold.
My transfixed gaze is met by eyes of red, the shade a few hues lighter than my eyes, which mimic crimson blood. Within those spheres of rose red are slits of green that remind me of a snake or even a dragon who’s ready to acknowledge the threat in their line of vision.
Or, in my case… potential dinner.
The hairs on my arms rise in warning, but I don’t dare move. Even if I could, I already know that if this was a game of survival between us, my chances of survival would be wiped out.
I can’t imagine fighting against Guinevere.
I could be digging my own grave.
This being of infinite power could be a fae using spellwork to disguise themselves as someone I’ve previously carried a connection with. Then again, if that were the case, the person who’d most likely be used against me would be Asher.
I just met Guinevere… she can’t possibly have such a stronghold on my emotions.
I’m double-guessing myself because I’d be lying if I denied how those haunting eyes of emerald with specs of gold hadn’t followed me straight to my dreams. Seeing her shed tears and hearing the defeat in her whimpering sobs yesterday made me want to drop everything and find who hurt her. It may not have been any of my business, but for this stranger of delicate beauty, grace, and obvious smarts, I was going to fight until the culprit who pushed her to tears felt a hint of my unrelenting wrath.
That’s a reaction I don’t pull.
I’m an emotionless tool.
A being who invites the shadows many are frightened of to use my body as a temple for their own mischief games in exchange for power and clairvoyance.
It’s the reason why no one wishes to mingle with me.
Why is this woman changing me?
Realizing I’m a target for this woman who stares at me as though she’s peering into my soul, I can only kneel here and wait for my end. My nerves spike when her left hand moves close to her lips, a single finger rising while the other four lower to her palm.
I brace for a spell, incantation, or some type of magical combustion that will lead to my death, but I’m rewarded with something else.
A quiet ‘shh.’
My disbelief, matched with my confusion, makes her lips curl in delight, a foreign sight on this woman’s face when she’s normally acknowledging various things around her or giving a taunting expression that makes more than one male’s cock twitch in irony.
Including mine.
“Our little secret.” Her voice is the most whimsical I’ve heard it. The tone is at a higher pitch than her best friend with blonde hair and pink eyes and makes me feel as though none of my problems should stop me from achieving my dreams.
A sensation of freedom without barriers?
There’s no way I’m imagining any of this now, but I go along with spinning wheels because what do I have to lose keeping a secret?
At a school where everyone has troubled pasts and secret societies, this is nothing.
All I can manage is a nod, the action pleasing her enough to encourage the lowering of her hands to her lap. She admires our surroundings for a few more seconds, and I’m unsure how to describe the various emotions that flood her expression of flawless beauty.
Confusion, sadness, uncertainty, and hints of anger.
The last expression, which leaves me feeling unease, is the flickers of regret that flood her predator eyes, which begin to shift in color.
The emerald shade is back, inviting the normal round pupils of black and the twinkling glimmers of gold. The oozing layers of pure magic begin to extinguish, leaving a floating trail of white sparkles as her black strands begin to return to their silk texture.
By the time every hint of that infinite magic has depleted from the atmosphere, Guinevere is left to stare blankly upward.
“Guinevere?” I manage to croak in concern.
She doesn’t answer me.
