Page 51 of Bound By Darkness

He inched forward, the slow movement alluring as a smile crossed his lips. “You’re a caster, aren’t you? The stench of death rots underneath your skin. The same way every caster I’ve ever encountered reeks of it. You’ve seen and tasted death’s vices, and it runs”—he pointed toward my neck— “in your blood, boiling you from the inside out.”

His hands pressed against the table at my silence. “What casting do you have?”

He had to have made a guess. There was no way he could smell the casting lingering in my body, right? “How do you know?” I asked, my eyes following his movements.

Fin shrugged. “You casters all give off a smell. Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but each one I meet smells like a rotting corpse.”

“Lovely,” I muttered.

His eyes flicked to me. “What casting do you have?” he asked again.

Swallowing, I spoke, “Dark.” My throat struggled to state the word I had so carefully hidden since birth.

Fin blinked, his face frozen as his hands gripped the table’s edge. “Impossible.” The sound was barely audible. “No one has that elemental casting. The only ones to possess that were the Fae gods, but they have all vanished.”

“You asked. I told you the answer,” I said as my eyes narrowed. He would not find weakness in them.

He seemed to mull over the statement, his brows furrowing into a deep arch until a look of shock appeared among his sharp features, his eyes widening. “Gods, you’re not—“ His words stopped as he gaped. “But it can’t be you.This…thischanges everything. Everything about casting, about Cethales… about the war.”

It clicked, his face twisting into a tight line as he slumped back against the chair, his hair spilling from the messy bun in dark waves. “You’re her, the half-breed sentenced to prison, aren’t you? Because?—”

“That’s enough.” He needed to stop.

How was he so good at guessing? How were both of these men able to figure out my past in seconds when I barely knew myself?

He continued, delight shining in his eyes. “You’re a legend. Ivan collected you from the prison, didn’t he? And I bet he roped you into the war. What does he have on you? Money? A promise of a future? Perhaps someone?”

My eyes flashed with contempt, but it edged Fin further. His guess had been correct again. “You’re on a suicide mission.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“The person you’re doing this for must be exceptional to throw away your life.”

“I’m not throwing away my life,” I snapped. “He’s the one chance I have at breaking back into Armas.”

“You want to go back to Armas? A place filled with psychic casters? You are suicidal.”

“Maybe, but it’s my deal. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

He held up his hands. “I hear you, but I’ve worked with Ivan for years. He’s not as helpful as he seems,” he added. “I’m not sure what deal you made, but any deal with him is stupid.”

“Stupid deals are better than none.”

“Not when he’s going to kill you. Where’s he taking you anyway?”

My brows furrowed as my bones grated against each other. The words flowed fromme, hot and heavy. “Laias.”

Fin stayed deadly silent, his knuckles white as he gripped the chair. “Laias?”

“Yeah.” My head angled at the lack of color on his face. Almost as white as the pieces of dust continually raining down on my skin.

“Why?” he commanded, the song-like lull to his voice gone.

“Ivan says there’s a possibility of an attack?—”

Fin stood, knocking over the books from the table as his knee slammed into it. He didn’t seem phased by the injury as he stormed over to the couch, his body lingering above mine.

“Tell me everything. Now,” he growled, the airiness in his voice replaced by a heaviness I hadn’t even seen Ivan use before.

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