Page 171 of The Shadow Wand

“They’ll be normal scorpios here,” Valasca counters with a dismissive wave of her knife. “We’re likely to eat a few.”

I raise a brow as her eyes flick to mine, mischief in them, as if gauging my reaction to this.

“Fine,” I tell her unflinchingly. “I’d like my scorpio well seasoned.”

Valasca cracks a smile. “That’s the spirit.”

“So, this cave is to be our home?” Lukas asks Chi Nam. He angles his head toward its sapphire-lit entrance.

“It will be, Young Mage.” There’s some friendly challenge in Chi Nam’s tone as she sips her tea.

“Welcome to the Resistance, Mage Grey,” Valasca crows to Lukas with a laugh as she carves up the snake. “Did you expect a Valgard level of luxury?”

Lukas gives her a tight smile. “No. But a glass of Issani wine would be good right about now.” He shifts his position slightly and gives a sharp wince. Chi Nam’s line of blue sorcery still burns bright along the diagonal wound that spans his bare chest and shoulder, and I can read how much pain he’s feeling in the spiking flare of his magic around the scar.

Valasca pulls a flask from her tunic’s pocket and hands it to Lukas, her expression more subdued now, as if she can read the pain in his gaze. “Tirag,” she says.

Lukas gives her an appreciative look, accepts the flask, unstoppers it, and takes a surprisingly long swig for someone who’s told me he drinks spirits in careful moderation.

He lets out a long, shuddering sigh as I survey his wounds. Lukas’s gash looks much improved, the edges cleanly knit together now. My eyes snag on his muscular chest, lingering as I take in his handsome form. A prickle of heat rises in me, independent of my lines, and I’m instantly embarrassed to be noticing him in this way at this time, but when I meet his eye, he’s smirking wickedly at me, as if he can read my mind. Despite the pain he’s in, he intentionally sends a rippling pulse of heat through me, and I color hotly then look away.

“You shouldn’t do that,” I murmur to him, almost in a whisper. “You should conserve your fire for healing.”

He gives me a sultry look, grins, then throws back another long drink of the tirag.

Both unsettled and drawn in by him, I hold both my palms up to the firepit’s blaze, surprised anew by the storm-gray color of my hands, and of my entire self.

When I glance back at Lukas, his expression appears once more strained from physical discomfort. He takes another long swig of the tirag, and the chaotic force of his fire power around the wound dampens a bit.

Valasca lays the branch-skewered meat over the bowl-shaped firepit, shiny globules of fat dripping from the white snake flesh to crackle and pop on the flame.

An owl’s sonorous call reverberates in the distance.

After a time, Valasca hands me a skewer that’s pierced through several large chunks of meat. “Go ahead, Gardnerian,” she says, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. “It won’t bite. At least, not anymore.”

It smells good, I have to admit. I take a small, hesitant bite and am immediately filled with surprise. It’s like a buttery, greasy cross between poultry and white fish. “It’s...good.”

Lukas eyes me with slight humor. He leans into me as his fire reaches for me with sudden, untethered boldness, possibly loosened up by the sizable amount of tirag he’s consuming.

For a moment, my vision feels blurred by the heat he’s sending through me as it caresses my lines in an enticing rush. I struggle to keep my breathing even as Chi Nam pours more hot tea for everyone.

“Are you drunk?” I ask him.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “But the pain’s more tolerable now.”

“You’re sending huge waves of fire power into me.”

His lip turns up. “That I pulled from you.”

“You seem a bit restored,” I archly observe.

He breathes out a laugh and gives me a smoky look before growing serious. “Does the fire bother you? I’m not sure I can hold it back.”

I consider this. It’s a whole new experience, being around a Lukas who isn’t so tightly controlled. “No,” I tell him. “I’m glad you’re not in so much pain.”

“You saved my life,” he says, suddenly intense.

I hold up the inside of my wrist, the bumpy scar from the Icaral attack in Valgard visible through the glamour. “It was well past my turn.”

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