Page 29 of Magic in My Bones

“Dorian,” I said slowly, my heart doing a complicated little flip in my chest. “What are you saying?”

He looked up at me then, his expression a mix of vulnerability and determination. “I'm saying that the swell of emotion that drew the spirit to you... it wasn't yours, Ren. It was mine.”

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widening. “Yours?”

Dorian nodded, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “I…care for you, Ren. More than I should, more than is proper given our positions.” He glanced away, his fingers absently tracing a pattern on the quilt that looked suspiciously like protectionrunes. “You have this way about you, Ren. The way you see beauty in death magic, the genuine compassion you show to every spirit... it's rare. Precious.” His voice softened. “Like finding a light in what others see as darkness.”

I watched his hands as he spoke, remembering all the times I'd seen those same fingers demonstrate complex spells, carefully pour tea, gently tend to lost spirits. How many times had I dreamed of those hands holding mine? And now here we were, and everything was both simpler and more complicated than I'd imagined.

I stared at Dorian, my mind reeling from his confession. A part of me wanted to pinch myself, to make sure this wasn't some fever dream conjured up by my battered brain. Dorian Crowe, the brilliant, enigmatic necromancer who had captured my attention from the moment I first saw him, cared for me. More than he should, more than was proper.

It was everything I had ever wanted to hear, and yet the timing couldn't have been worse. Here I was, marked by some malevolent force, my very existence a beacon for dark spirits, and Dorian was telling me he had feelings for me?

“Dorian, I...” I trailed off, my tongue tripping over the words. What could I possibly say? That I felt the same way? That I had been harboring a crush on him for months, stealing glances at him during lectures and dreaming about the way his hands would feel in mine? It all seemed so trivial now, in the face of the danger we were facing.

Dorian must have sensed my hesitation because he reached out and took my hand. His fingers laced through mine, warm and certain, and I felt the subtle pulse of his magic against my skin like static electricity, but softer, more deliberate. His hands bore the elegant calluses of a scholar, small ink stains and tiny scars from handling magical ingredients, each mark telling itsown story. When his thumb brushed across my knuckles, the simple touch sent sparks of awareness shooting up my arm.

A tendril of his magic curled around mine, instinctive and unconscious, like ivy seeking sunlight. The connection made the mark on my forehead tingle, not unpleasantly, and the enchanted candles flickered in response.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said softly. “And I understand if you don't feel the same way. I want you to know I never intended to act on those feelings while you were under my direct supervision, and that I’ve never let my feelings color your learning here.”

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my racing thoughts. Dorian's hand in mine felt like an anchor, grounding me even as my world tilted on its axis. I couldn't deny the fluttering in my stomach, the warmth that spread through me at his touch. But there was also fear, cold and sharp, twisting in my gut.

“I... I don't know what to say,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Dorian, I've admired you for so long. Looked up to you, learned from you. And if I'm being honest with myself, I've felt drawn to you in a way that goes beyond just a student's appreciation for their teacher.”

Dorian's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope dancing in their green depths. But I held up my free hand, needing to get the words out before my courage failed me.

“But this... this changes things. I'm marked now, claimed by some dark force that we don't understand. I'm a liability, a danger to everyone around me. Including you.” My voice cracked on the last word, the thought of Dorian being hurt because of me was more painful than any spirit's touch. “I should leave Blackstone. Find some way to seal off my power completely. Before whoever is behind this finds some way to use me to hurt people.”

Dorian’s grip on my hand steadied. “Ren, listen to me. What's happened to you, it doesn't define you. You are not a liability or a danger. You are a brilliant, compassionate, talented young man. The world needs you in it. It needs your magic, your compassion, your voice. Now is the time to shine brighter, not to put out your light. And you don’t have to face this alone. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

I met Dorian's gaze, searching those emerald eyes for any hint of doubt or hesitation. But all I saw was unwavering conviction, a steadfast belief in me that made my heart swell with a confusing mix of gratitude and anxiety.

“But what if I can't control it?” I whispered, giving voice to the fear that had been gnawing at me since I first woke up in this cozy cottage. “What if whoever did this to me uses that mark to turn me into a weapon, a puppet for their own dark purposes? I couldn't live with myself if I hurt someone, especially... especially you.”

Dorian's expression softened, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. “You are stronger than you know, Ren Wickens. Your magic and empathy are not weaknesses to be exploited, but gifts to be nurtured. And I will be right here beside you, helping you every step of the way. We'll figure this out together, I promise.”

Together. The word hung in the air between us, weighted with unspoken possibility. I leaned into Dorian's touch, my eyes fluttering closed as I allowed myself a moment to just breathe, to soak in the comfort of his presence. When I opened them again, Dorian was watching me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.

“So, what do you propose?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach. “About us, I mean. This. Our…feelings.”

Dorian sighed, his free hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “As much as I care for you, Ren, I don't feel comfortable exploring these feelings while I'm still in a position of authority over you. It wouldn't be right, no matter how genuine our connection may be.”

My heart sank a little at his words, even as a part of me knew he was right. The last thing I wanted was for Dorian to compromise his integrity or for our relationship to be tainted by a power imbalance. But that didn't make the sting of disappointment any less sharp.

Dorian must have seen the crestfallen look on my face because he gave my hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a soothing caress. “I'm not saying never, Ren. Just... not yet. Not while I'm still your professor. It’s more important to me that you grow in your studies to be the best version of yourself you can be.”

He paused, his thumb brushing gently across my cheekbone. The touch sent a shiver down my spine, a tantalizing hint of what could be.

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. Around us, the cottage seemed to respond to our shared tension. The enchanted flames in their mismatched holders shifted from warm gold to deeper purples and blues, casting elaborate shadows that danced across the walls like spirits performing a waltz. Somewhere a clock chimed midnight with notes that sounded like they came from underwater.

Even Bones seemed affected, his skeletal form casting impossibly delicate shadows as he curled up by the hearth, the runes on his bow tie glowing faintly in response to the surge of magic in the air.

“I understand,” I said. “And I respect that, Dorian. I would never want to put you in an awkward position or jeopardize your career.”

“I propose we take things slow,” Dorian continued. “Focus on helping you control your magic and unraveling the mystery of this mark. And when the semester ends or Professor Reedy returns, whichever comes first, we can revisit this conversation. Explore what this connection between us could become, without accusations of impropriety hanging over our heads.”

As if to emphasize his point, I felt the subtle brush of his magic against mine—warm and familiar, like autumn sunshine on old stones. Our powers had always resonated this way, from the very first lesson. It was like finding a harmony I didn't know I'd been missing, a song I somehow already knew the words to.

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