Page 66 of The Cursed and the Broken
When he noticed me staring, he drawled, “Care to join me?”
His shirt slipped from his torso, revealing the wolf tattoo, the flowers encircling the sword slicing down his abdomen. I had to double check I wasn’t drooling. I thwacked him on that ridiculously hard stomach. “Just hurry so we can get started, asshat. You’re making me feel murderous.”
“As you wish.” He withdrew a blade from a sheath at his hip before stepping into the hollow, stretching lazily in the bath. I blinked at the dagger, fascinated by its make. The black hilt was carved in a figure eight of a snake eating itself, two tiny rubies inset into the eyes. The blade itself was wavy, rippling down into a sharp point.
It reminded me of the cultists’ weapons. Ceremonial in style.
I flicked my gaze to Dante’s as he offered it to me. “What are you doing?”
“Less mess in the bath,” he explained. “I don’t want the maids to think I’ve killed someone in here. It would be quite the scandal.” The mischievous glint to his eyes suggested he’d enjoy that very much, in fact. He patted the space between his legs suggestively.
Panicked, I gaped at his calmness. “How much blood do you think it’s going to take?” Shaking my head, I amended, “Don’t answer that. Let’s just get this over with.”
He nodded, pinning me with his stare as I wiped sweaty hands on my thighs. My skin flushed with heat, the nerves inside my stomach writhing once again. How different would this be, really? The magic was simple enough to conjure, easy enough to manage. Yes. I devoured positive thoughts, rifling through them one after another as I inhaled, exhaled, steadying myself through simple breathing.
Dante watched me all the while, head cocked curiously, but he sat perfectly still as I reached for the outstretched blade. Running a thumb over the snake, I swallowed my fear.
And then I cut.
Just a small slice to his palm. The blood welled and bubbled, sliding down his hand and plopping onto the bath. Pitter-patter. It sounded like rain as they dropped one after the other. My stomach roiled at the sight, so I closed my eyes.
Burrowing into my power, I focused on the energies within my core. The strength of my ancestors coursed angrily in the cage I kept locked and shoved down deep, the beast within leashed until the next battle would come. Breathing slowly, I shied away from that darkness, finding the subtle golden glow of my father’s magic. The gift of healing—and the curse.
I yanked the thread taut, finding the magic flexing in my fingers as I snapped my eyes open. Nodding to Dante, I held his bloody hand in my own, wincing as the simple movement sent pain down my arm and firing in my chest.
Once his fingers twined around mine, Ipulled. Soft, golden light filtered through our clasped fingers as his energy combined with my own.
My body tingled as his life trickled into my body, slowly, surely, little more than a steady drip. The tension in my ribs eased and the skin warmed as the bruises there began to melt away. I held my breath, waiting for it to course to my stab wound, but it sputtered out.
Disappointed, I glanced at Dante. “It wasn’t enough,” I said quietly.
Before I could blink, he took the blade from my free hand and sliced deep into his bicep. He gritted his teeth, but not a sound escaped his lips as he stared into my eyes, not shying from the pain. I had the vague feeling he almost welcomed it, as if … as if punishing himself. For failing to protect me? Or something else?
I slid my hand up his arm, slick with sticky, hot blood. Jolting at the power surging through me again, I gasped, blinded by the gold now flooding the room. I squeezed my eyelids shut as his energy soared into my veins, coursing towards the wound, cleansing it.
His blood was intoxicating, whispering like smoke, dark and dangerous and strong. A strange connection to the spiritual glided through me. Was this what táltosok felt when they called on their magic?
Giddy with elation, my mind blurred, skin heating under his touch, body singing with power and life. My eyes rolled back in my head as it surged into me, the hole in my chest knitting closed. I was drunk on his power, consumed by it.
More.
I drank him in greedily, feeling more alive than I ever had before. Taking, taking, taking until I was high with magic, withpower. When the wound was nothing but a memory, I at last opened my eyes.
“Dante!”
His head lolled back on the tub, eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. Blood soaked his arm, dripping from splayed fingertips and pooling into the copper base. So much red everywhere. The slash on his arm was deeper than I’d realised. How long had I drawn from him for? How much did I steal?
“Kitammnee.” My name was but a slurred murmur on his lips.
“Fuck.” I hurried to the stone bench, dragging a fresh rag from the counter, putting pressure on the wound. The rag quickly soaked through with red. “Fuuuckkk.” Running blood-soaked hands through my hair, I gazed at his sagging form, tears burning my eyes.
“No one is dying today, alright? You said so yourself, and you’re a stubborn ass so it must be true.” A single tear splattered on his cheek as I leaned over him. Desperate, I hefted his frame under my armpits, straining under the weight as I shuffled him forwards.
I squeezed into the space behind him, laying his head against my chest with one hand while I compressed the rag over his wound. He’d given too much. No. I’dtakentoo much, drunk on his blood and the vigour now surging through my veins.
Perhaps I couldn’t heal myself, but I now had more than enough power to at least seal his wound without inflicting damage on myself. Dante had spoken of an imbalance of magic yesterday and that’s exactly what I’d caused.
It was time to give back.
