Page 100 of The Art of Exiley

“Now you try.”

Sparks.I forget to frame it as a request.

There are no sparks. Instead, the air between my hand and Rafe’s buzzes like a magnetic force, pulling our palms together. His hand presses into mine. It burns—a pleasurable burn that rocks through my whole body. I look up at Rafe and see that his eyes are transfixed on the union of our hands, his brows pulled together in confusion. He looks up, and our gazes meet.

I can’t breathe.

We both look back at our hands, and Rafe twines his fingers into the empty spaces between mine. One by one. Causing all sorts of fluttering feelings in my fluttery parts. Our clasped hands are humming with an intense and tangible energy, and neither of us seems to be willing to break the connection.

Every particle of my body is now feeling the magnetic pull toward Rafe. Like I want every inch of us to be in contact and like that would not be close enough, like I want us to merge into one being.

I take a breath and force my hand out of his. But when I look up into his eyes again, I see raw want. I dread the knowledge that the same look is probably mirrored back to him in my own eyes.

“You’re not really my type,” he says in a breathy voice, “but apparently our Ha’i is highly compatible. I’ve heard of that happening but never experienced it before.”

His expression makes the fluttering in my belly turn into a full-on swarm. And not of delicate butterflies. More like moths and bats and other night things with wicked intentions.

He takes a step forward, his eyes hungrily exploring my body. I’m aghast at his arrogance that he actually thinks it would be appropriate to make a move right now, as that’s clearly what he has in mind. I open my mouth to tell him off, but my dismissal dies on my lips as he closes the distance between us, and my body only wants him closer.

“Stop.” I gasp, backing away from him. I bump into the wall behind me without anywhere else to go. “You’re doing some kind of trick with your Ha’i.”

He laughs. “Me? Little Weed, you can’t blame this all on me.” He trails his pointer finger along my arm, and we both watch in amazement as sparks light up where our skin meets. A physical, electric hum seems to buzz under my skin, and every part of me feels warm and tingly. He leans over and murmurs huskily in my ear, “Your Ha’i has definitely come out to play too.”

I may not understand it, but I know he’s right.

A moment passes when all that can be heard is our ragged breathing, and then we give in at the same time. I reach for him as he presses forward, grasping my hand and restraining it above my head against the wall, then leaning in to kiss up my neck. His fingers curve around my throat, and I gasp as he tightens his grip, the metal of his rings pressing into the soft flesh. His mouth trails up to nip at my ear, and everywhere we touch is on fire. Not the licking flames of a candle, but the destructive blaze of a forest in flames. I feel parts of my body reacting, parts of me that I never even knew existed until this moment, now all deliciously aflame. My free hand makes its way up the back of his shirt, my nails digging into his solid, muscled back. I can feel his heart hammering through his chest pressed up against my breasts, and I involuntarily buck my hips against his with a delirious whimper.

He speaks, almost in a whisper. “I’ve been with other Sires before; it’s not usually like this. My Ha’ireallylikes your Ha’i.” And then his hand is on my thigh, hitching my leg up so he can press even closer, making me moan. His open mouth is skimming my cheeks, warming my skin with his gasping breaths as his lips move closer to mine, and I swear I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than this kiss that I know is coming, but I turn my face away at the last second, and his mouth catches the side of my neck instead. He moans in frustration and bites down. I feel each tooth pressing into my skin, as if he’s about to tear into my neck and drink out my soul. It is not a gentle bite. It hurts. Fireworks burst behind my eyelids, which have fluttered closed. I’m dizzy and light, as if all my blood has been replaced with helium. Then his tongue is gently swirling around where he bit me, soothing, causing me to moan again.

“Rafe, stop, we can’t,” I gasp.

He emits an agonized groan but stops and replies breathlessly, “You’re going to kill me.”

“No.” I gently push him away, and surprisingly, he doesn’t resist. I work to catch my breath, then say, “I’m going to walk out of this room… and then I’m going to avoid you.” I woozily wobble to the door, unsure how I’m managing to stay upright. I turn back and add, “And no more touching during training.”

He looks almost drunk as he replies in a breathy voice, “I was wrong.” He grins. “You are totally my type.”

29

The Equinox is humming with energy. Even though the island is on lockdown, nothing can take away from the excitement of today being May Day and the start of the hoverjoust tournament season. Everyone is wearing their guild colors and emblems and the occasional mismatched token to support their favorite players from other guilds. (The Bioscience team is clearly favored to win; their emblem––a hand of muscle and a hand of bone holding a double helix––seems especially common among the fans.) All the league players are getting a lot of attention, myself included.

I’m waiting for Rafe under the tree in the lobby where a giant Galilean thermoscope is set up to track hoverjoust player rankings. Inside a glace tube float small colored bubbles that represent each player.

Hopefully today I’ll get the chance to see my bubble rise, but that could be as high as it will ever go. Rafe and I are planning to leave the island tomorrow. We should be back before either of our teams compete again, but I don’t know what will happen in New York, and I can’t say for sure that I’ll be coming back at all. The thought of that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. I’ve always known this could never be home. And yet…

“Good morning,” a silk voice whispers in my ear as I’m hugged from behind.

I immediately get all awkward and stiff-limbed.

“Relax,” Rafe scolds. “Everyone is watching.”

The whole Rafe-and-Ada-are-a-thing has been relatively subtle until now, but today is going to be the full-on Oscar performance.

Rafe may be a prince and all that, but what he is most celebrated for by the youths of Maker society is his hoverjousting prowess. With today being the opening games for the tournament season, every single eyeball on the island will be trained on Rafe. And therefore on me by his side. I’m really not looking forward to the attention, but everything we’ve been putting on this charade for comes to a head today.

As we navigate the crowded room, Rafe’s arm is warm around my waist. Too warm. But not in a bad way. In a too-good way.

“Why can’t we stay with our teams and just, like, blow each other kisses across the room?” I whine. “This feels like overkill.”

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