Page 51 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“Relax. I was lying. It’s what I do.” Bez cackled. “It’s been two days, which is kind of dramatic considering my essence healed you in minutes. Basically, you’re milking the bedtime, but whatever.”

“What’s your problem?” I stomped toward him.

With him sitting, I towered over him for once, but he just stared up, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

“Nothing.” Bez stood, reaffirming his height. Had he gotten taller? Had I shrunk? I arched my back and squared my shoulders, breathing harder and invading his space because his gloating grin infuriated me to the point where my chest almost touched his. “I do find it funny the first thing you ask about is that mage who tried to kill you. Ian, was it?”

“I’m trying to prevent him from…” What was I trying to stop him from? Aside from framing me, which fell more to the Collective’s willingness to accept, did I care? I did. He’d used me. Set me up for Driscoll. I was just an easy Alden mark. The pathetic washout they could use to hurt the people in my family that mattered.

“I just think it’s funny, is all. You thought this attractive, powerful mage was interested in you.” Bez spoke with such venom in his words, they practically stung as they poured out of his mouth. “He’s the date night boy, right? The one you were swooning over. The one you stopped me from killing. Oh, the minute your command struck me, I felt your pathetic pining.”

“Stop it.” I trembled.

“You actually believed he liked you? Worthless Walter, the most tragic apprentice, all too neurotic, landing a catch like him? Obvious scheme.”

“I said stop.” I shoved Bez back into the wall. Rage consumed me, and mana funneled through my veins. I wanted to eviscerate him. Destroy him. Not because of what he’d said but because he was right. I was worthless. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

I backstepped and plopped onto the end of the mattress.

“No, you’re fine.” Bez leaned forward, exposing his chin and sharp jawline. “Strike me. Take out all that rage, Walter. I won’t even dodge. It’s not like someone of your caliber could harm me anyway.”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Go for it. It’s cathartic. Though, the walls might be softer on your knuckles.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re boring and tragic, and at least provoking you could offer a brief second of entertainment.”

“That’s not it.” I bit my lip because all I wanted was to call him out for saving me. He’d had the chance to get rid of me. Kill me. Let me die from my own mistakes. He didn’t, though. And he didn’t want credit. He wanted to vilify himself. “You saved my life. I saw it. I felt it. Felt you hollow out the last fragments of your essence, death right there, and you gave me the power to keep breathing.”

“I had an epiphany. You’d make a better hostage than corpse. That’s all.”

“Liar.”

He was infuriating, always intentionally provoking me. I wished he’d shut up and let me think. Figure out why he was… That was it. I could play his games, too.

Not games. Bez enjoyed picking and jabbing at me and knew how to do it because he knew me. He studied me. For three years, he’d observed me. Listened to my droning about anything and everything. He claimed to hate it. To hate me. Yet he knew the most minute things about me. He’d memorized them, down to my favorite breakfast I might’ve mentioned offhandedly once or twice. Not enough for me to recall the discussion. And I remembered too many times I’d lectured Bez on the histories of things I’d studied. Or embarrassing desires or dreams. He knew me and attacked because, perhaps for a Diabolic, the idea of feeling something frightened him. No. He had Mora. She had love. Right?

“Your fear of feeling is very mortal, Bez,” I said, settling all the quivering muscles in my body.

“What?” He chuckled, the hollow laughter of someone deflecting. “I fear nothing. And I am certainly nothing like you mortals.”

My body tensed and shook like electricity and endorphins and excitement all erupted at once inside me. I wanted to be bold. Honest.

Passionate.

“Fuck it.” I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His body collided with mine as we fell back onto the bed.

His eyes were wide in shock, but his lips never left mine. Every muscle of his was firm and stronger than metal, yet the skin I touched was smooth and delicate. His lips were soft and full. Also, forceful and biting. Our teeth and tongues touched and nibbled and licked. None of it should’ve worked. It did, though. I panted between long winding kisses as he lay on top of me. Bez’s hands found their way under my shirt, gently caressing me. I lost track of his arousing touch because I was lost in his intoxicating taste. His mouth was sweet and bitter, and something on his tongue burned ever so slightly in the most delicious way.

“Stop. What are you doing?” Bez pulled away, lifting himself off me and rolling over.

The warmth of his touch faded, and I craved it. Craved him.

“What’s it matter? It’s all games to you, right?” I rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. I planted a hand on his chest, forcefully keeping him pinned to the bed. I muttered, stopping myself from saying what I thought. I couldn’t hold him down. He willingly lay beneath me because he desired this as much as I did. Maybe. Probably. Yes. I hoped.

Every part of me yearned to explore these sensations. These urges. This hate which had blossomed instantaneously into passion. Not love. Not sure it was like either. Dammit.

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