Page 81 of The Sinner and the Scholar
On her knees, she lifts my fallen shirt and presses her staff to my stab wound. Bright light fills it, then her, and then the street we’re in. Darkness is obliterated. Hot energy scolds me where I’m touched. It burns. An inferno in my veins. I try to hold it in, to be brave, but end up bellowing. Her hair blows up from the force but doesn’t break her concentration.
And then I feel myself heal. My flesh itches and knits together. The sores on my body melt away. Blood renews in my veins like it springs from an internal well. I inhale sharply, taking in air that is now fresh and clean. Weakness evaporates from my limbs. Everything blurred is now laser-sharp. I swipe my bloody stomach. The wound is closed. I pull the bandages from my hands—my old burn scar is gone.
I’m lost for words. I’m…
Her eyes glimmer as she meets my gaze and whispers, “Don’t overthink it, Wes.”
A shaky laugh rocks out of me.
But she used the staff on me. Not Zeke. Not Prue. Her palm lands on my cheek, and I push into it, crumpling my face.
“No,” she says.
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do. You don’t think you’re worth it. For whatever reason, you’ve always put other people’s needs before your own. This was my choice, Wes, and I chose you.”
I let that sink in.
I let her words wrap tendrils of warmth around my heart as I recall two more words she shouted at Vepar when she arrived.He’s mine.
I cover her hand and say with conviction, “You’re mine too, love.”
Her lips curve on one side. “You don’t have a choice. You got me now.”
She straightens and offers me her hand. I take it, happy for the lift. When we’re both on our feet, she gives me this look that says she’s worried she’ll offend me with what’s next.
“What?” I prompt.
“The staff isn’t a one-hit-wonder.”
“It’s not?” My mind reels at the potential. “But…”
Why didn’t she tell me?
“Didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t pick you,” she mumbles, a bashful blush staining her cheeks. “That I didn’t choose you because I did, and I would put you first every time.”
I see the truth in her eyes. “I know.”
“Also didn’t want you to feel bad that a girl outsmarted you.”
My eyes crinkle. “I’m sure I can manage.”
“And you, dumbass, you pulled the dagger out.” She scowls and raises her brows.
“Because I chose you, too.” I touch her cheek. “I would do it again.”
The writhing demon draws our attention. Wine still spills from its mouth.
“Now, I’m not ungrateful or anything,” she says to me as she strolls toward the demon. “But is that wine?”
“Yeah.” I scratch my head. “It was the first spell I learned. A tester, if you will. Didn’t want to start practicing sorcery with something potentially dangerous.”
“Guess I know what I want for Christmas,” she jokes.
Every time water gushes from Vepar’s scales, it darkens to wine. But it’s not killing her. We circle the demon, studying her as she gapes and gasps for air—or water. I’m not sure. Her eyes roll and glare at us as she tries to choke out words.
“The spell won’t last,” I say.
