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Rochelle followed his instructions slowly, distracted by the flowers, until she was again lost in his piercing green gaze. This was it. If she were ever going to prove to herself that she could build a new, hopefully better, life, this was how it started.
****
Four Months Later
Rochelle held herself steady, arms partially outstretched, as the dust-laden debris of what had quickly become her favorite room in Aric’s oversized mansion swirled around her. Torn shreds of fabric, singed tufts of stuffing, splintered and broken pieces of wood, even shattered glass and long-cool ash danced through the air. It was sort of like something out of an old Disney movie, except it was her. She was the one causing these inanimate objects to lift unnaturally into the air and twist on a non-existent breeze. It was equal parts exciting and frightening … particularly when she considered that it was her fault the room was in such disrepair in the first place.
A strong hand rested on her shoulder, thumb grazing over the skin bared by her scoop-neck collar. His touch was warm and distracting, despite that it was meant to be the opposite. Aric’s voice was calm as he spoke quietly beside her ear. “Keep your focus,” he said. “You’re more than ready for this.”
She drew a slow, steadying breath and let a little more mana pour from her palms. For the past several months she’d been learning not just how to summon her magic, but how to master it, from the best teacher Yafae could possibly offer.
Moving into Aric’s home had been intimidating at first, but she’d settled in surprisingly easily. Less easily into the lessons … which was how, after falling into an exhaustion-induced nap in the reading room and drifting into an old nightmare, she’d wound up destroying the room around her. Aric said she’d nearly taken off the entire eastern wing. He’d restabilized the structure walls but chosen to leave the rest of the debris for her to repair when she reached the stage of control that would allow such a feat.
She’d thought it would take a year, minimum. Her dictator of an instructor, however, insisted it could be done before the flowers began blooming in the garden again.
As Rochelle watched drapery form out of tattered shreds and stuffing seal itself away inside what she remembered had been her favorite lounging chair, she accepted she’d lost that unofficial bet. She sort of hated that he had been right. Almost as much as she loved watching the destruction reverse itself with a little pulse of her energy. She had torn this room apart in her sleep. It was only right she put it back together.
Aric’s fingers trailed halfway down her spine before his touch fell away. “There. You did it. How do you feel?”
Rochelle swallowed, once again having to remind herself that she was not a blushing, hormonal teenager. Honestly, she didn’t ever remember feeling so self-aware and flush-faced around a man before in her life. He probably thought bright pink was her natural hue. Still, she turned once the last pieces were done and the magic settled and lowered her arms as she faced him. “I’m kind of mad that you were right,” she said, just to see if he’d react.
He did. His lips lifted in the sexy, confident smirk that had haunted her dreams for months on end. It did not make her feel better.
“It also makes me happy to put things right. Seeing the room so devastated, and knowing it was my fault, made me sad.”
Aric hummed quietly. His stare never left hers as he tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “It’s a good accomplishment. Being able to put these things back in proper order shows not just power, which we’ve known you have, but also that you’ve mastered finesse. And the more versatile your magic, the further it will take you.”
He’d told her that a few times, and though she couldn’t admit it, she suspected she knew exactly how he’d come to that conclusion. Although with every day that passed and every hour she spent in his company, it became harder and harder to see him as even the grown version of a character she’d watched on television in a past life. Aric Vardanyan was a man, real and annoyingly intoxicating.
Aric tipped his head toward the open doorway and started walking. “Now that you’ve passed today’s test, I think we should do something fun.”
Rochelle stared after him for a second before she finally got her feet moving again. “Fun?” She didn’t mean to make it sound as though the concept were foreign, but apparently she did, because his shoulders shook with laughter and a vibrating chuckle emanated from him. She pulled her lips between her teeth and averted her gaze to the wall.
“Yes, fun,” he said. “Have the girls taken you shopping yet?”
His line of questioning further confused her and Rochelle took a moment with her answer. He referred, of course, to his friends Mitzi, Viveca, and Cecilia—the women who’d come with him to Corast and been in the room when she’d regained consciousness after they’d left the town. Their group, as well as Mitzi’s fiancé, Darnel, had been close since their Academy days. As a result, Rochelle saw them often and had had little choice but to become used to—and ultimately friends with—them. Yet one more thing she’d never have expected.
But she wasdyingto know where the fourth girl of that original group had disappeared to. Surely the anime hadn’t made her up?
Rochelle shoved that familiar reflection aside and said, “I went through Market Street with Cecilia and Viv about a month ago.” It wasn’t that they didn’t go into the city often, so much as that they usually just wound up at the house the girls shared and all visited there. Or somewhere in the open, occasionally a restaurant where the group of them could all fit. She always felt a little awkward in those moments. The others were an established team. They were expected to be seen together, but she was new. Unfamiliar.
She looked like a Zrynian.
More than once a passing civilian had glared at her, or even muttered a curse and crossed the street entirely. One had gone so far as to spit on her, but strangely that memory didn’t upset her much. She’d been with Aric that day, and the civilian hadn’t been paying attention to her tall, dark-haired companion before letting the offense fly. Not only had it landed on her outer coat, when she suspected they’d been aiming for her face, but Aric had magicked it off in the same instant that he’d pinned the other man to the nearest wall. Rochelle still didn’t know what he’d said, exactly, but his tone had been low and dangerous, and the man had gone ghostly pale before scampering away. Then Aric had curled his arm around her shoulders, and that was how they’d finished their journey.
“I’m not talking about Market Street,” Aric said, dragging her out of her memories.
Rochelle blinked and tipped her head. “Well, Tinsley’s done most of my other shopping, so that’s pretty much what I know. Except for that corner with the competing restaurants.” She really felt bad for the added work Tinsley had on his shoulders because of her. She’d have understood needing to do her own shopping, or keep up with her own part of the cleaning or cooking, but the gentleman butler refused at every turn. She had no idea how he managed it all.
Aric turned and flashed her a grin. “Well, grab your coat, because today I’m going to show you something new.”
She swallowed hard and wondered, not for the first time, if he had some inkling as to what that damned expression did to her insides. If he did, she swore she’d find an opportunity to stomp on his foot or something equally juvenile. In the meantime, she ducked past him and rushed up the stairs to fetch her outdoor coat. Aric had funded a large enough wardrobe for her, though Tinsley had purchased most of the items based on the sizes and descriptions she’d offered up. So she had a respectable variety for regular clothing. It was certainly more than she’d had in Corast. In many ways, what she had currently was more than she’d hadever.
Bridget’s smiling face flashed through her mind and guilt stabbed her chest. It wasn’t as if she’d had nothing in that world … before Bridget’s death. But sometimes even then, Rochelle had been lonely. Even when her father had been alive, and once she’d met Bridget, she’d been lonely. Since moving to Aric’s mansion, Rochelle’s life had become so busy she rarely had the time for loneliness. Let alone the feeling.
Coat in hand, Rochelle glanced toward the window and the sunlight beyond and let a soft smile lift her lips. If she could somehow have spoken to Bridget, her friend would tell her to live to the fullest in this new world. She knew that. That made it easier to try.
Aric was waiting for her in the entry when she got downstairs. He’d slipped on a lightweight black coat of his own which hung to his knees and wrapped one of his trademark scarves, this one clean white, loosely around his collar. The ends hung forward over his shoulders and the entire visual had a rather regal effect. He smiled at her, and her stupid heart kicked up another dance in her chest. “Ready to go?”
