Page 37 of Gifted Destiny

I might be a guardian thanks to Zo’s case of Stockholm syndrome, but I’m not their equal. Zo’s voice follows the thought.Kodi!Now isn’t the time for a pity party. Bren can make you solid or collapse the entire East Coast into the ocean. Focus.She’s not actually speaking to me, but it’s exactly what I’d say to her if our positions were reversed. I shake off the momentary distraction.

The visible magic travels from Bren’s shoulder to his fingertips, and his brow furrows with concentration. I’m not corporeal, but I still sense the shift in the air. I remember this sensation; it preceded bad thunderstorms or tornadoes.

Each second seems longer, and the blue magic draws me like the hypnotic swing of a pendulum. “I am a sponge,” I mutter. I focus on beingnothingwhen I’m hiding my ghostly form from prying eyes, and it’s more difficult to imagine myself assomething. For Zosia, though, I can beanything.

Blue sparks fizzle against the incorporeal substance of my fingers. Bren’s magic affects me when nothing else does, and the idea almost scares me into reacting defensively again.

“I am a dead sponge.” Determination makes my words louder this time. I’ve already endured the worst. At least I had the chance to tell Zo that I love her. If Bren doesn’t erase me, I’ll tell her again. Fierce pigheadedness has prevented me from leaving her side for seven years.

I will see her again. I will kiss her again.

The mantra repeats as I continue to imagine my sponginess. Bren’s magic tickles the edges of my ghostly energy, but I don’t feel any more than that. Something is wrong. The mage seems calm, but I don’t know how long he can maintain this level of control.

The goblin mentioned instinct and intention. Instinct prompts me to close my eyes. I have no word for the bizarre state of detachment that I’ve unwittingly tumbled into while lying beside Zosia, but I try to mimic the same calm. I imagine her soft breaths beside me and stop trying so hard. I let go.

My fingertips prickle. I almost jerk my hand away before I remember where I am and what I’m doing. The strange sensation unearths a memory. ‘Pins and needles’ is the name my mom used.

As the tickling pain creeps from my fingertips onto my palm, I again imagine I’m a sponge. I embrace the discomfort because it makes me feel alive. Prickling heat seeps onto my wrist and forearm. I’ve never felt the temperature in my ghostly form.

The assault on my senses is the most I’ve felt since I died. My brief moments of solidity offered a brief caress of air, the impression of Zosia’s touch, and an increased awareness of the space I occupied. Other sensations remained muted.

This is different; it’s a rush.

When something flutters inside my chest, I nearly scream aloud. I’d forgotten the feel of my heartbeat. At the same time, my lungs inflate with air and little bumps rise on my skin. The fabric of my shirt and jeans scratch my skin and my boots pinch my feet; they were a size too small when I died. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for seven years. What if …?

I examine my body with alarm and am relieved when my visual inspection doesn’t reveal my death wounds. I decide to accept the confusing bizarreness. Wearing the same outfit for a decade is better than meeting Zosia with my insides on my outsides.

When I think about removing my clothes to replace them, I automatically think of Zo. My unfulfilled hunger for the sphinx rushes through me. My eager cock swells with need.

I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that it hurts. Giddy with sensation and overcome by an adolescent male’s libido, I focus on not coming inside the pants I’ve worn for seven years. The magic continues to flow, and I’m worried I’m going to burst – in more ways than one – when the magic abruptly stops. I squint through slit eyelids, trying to determine the cause.

Bren still glows slightly, but it’s a hazy aura instead of a consuming flare. His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he studies me. An unexpected, ecstatic whoop of triumph soon follows. Without warning, he leaps toward me and engulfs me in his arms.

I lose my balance as unfamiliar gravity assails me. Bren manages to keep us both upright, but I cling to him. He’s warm, solid, and alive. Other than Zosia’s phantom caresses, it’s my first touch in nearly a decade.

My eyes sting as I try to swallow around the growing lump in my throat. The need to cry is both familiar and foreign. I push the urge away and silently scold myself. I might be solid, but I’m still dead. I shouldn’t get too excited. My lungs and heartact functional, but not everything is online. I’m not hungry or thirsty, and my digestive system doesn’t offer any indication of restarting. My body realizes this is temporary.

“Yes!” Bren’s expression and tone are equally exhilarated when he pulls away. “We did it!”

With my feet flat on the floor for the first time since I died, I notice that I’m approximately two inches taller than Bren.

“Your hair is red!”

I roll my eyes. My childhood wasn’t normal by any means, but I observed more than one bully at the orphanage. For some reason, kids with red hair were more likely targets. I hadn’t realized that my subconscious desire to defend the redheads emerged from our similarities.

“Yep. I’m a ginger.” Before my sister was born, I’d possessed so many freckles that my mom would trace patterns on my face. My hair had been the color of boiled carrots. While I’d always enjoyed her attention, I’d also envied her sleek golden hair and unmarked skin. As I aged, my hair turned darker and many of my freckles disappeared because my skin never saw the sun.

Bren’s touch distracts me. He grips my biceps and then my forearms, perhaps confirming that I’m actually solid. My face heats. Can I blush? I’m hyperaware of his touch, but my libido is more likely to blame than my sexuality. After years of pining for her, I will probably come the second Zosia touches me. I’ll make the one-minute man look like a marathon runner.

“You did great. How did it feel?” I fire questions at the mage, trying to distract myself from his invasion of my personal space and my downward spiral of thoughts. “Were you able to release enough energy?”

I regret asking when Bren’s giddy excitement morphs into a frown. “The process wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. Years of controlling my emotions helped, but ….” The mage mumbles his answer as he steps away from me and leans againstthe wall of our enclosed space. His eyes have returned to pale green, and his sapphire aura has faded.

“There’s still too much magic inside me. I feel like I gave you a tablespoon out of a gallon.” He rubs at his face, displacing his dark bangs. “It was enough to take the edge off, but I’ll need to give more to the library soon. When you’d reached capacity, I tried switching, but it was like pushing against a locked door.”

My expression falls to match his. I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I can guess the cause of the blockage. He needs to bond. Neither seemed ready the last time it was mentioned, but I’ve learned a valuable lesson in the last few weeks. Change can happen rapidly.

“Should I wait …?” I force each word between my tight lips, afraid he’ll say yes.

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