Page 48 of Ensnared
She grips my hands and blows out a long breath. “Okay. What do I do?”
Laughter escapes me. “Hey, you’re the witch, not me.”
She lightly nudges my boot with her own. “You’re the one who appointed himself my magical mentor.” Then she rolls her head from side to side, cracking the vertebrae in her neck. “Fine. I’ll try to reach for my magic, then see if I can feel yours as well.”
“Deal.”
I stand still, ready for whatever she’ll throw at me. If asked, I wouldn’t admit it, but there’s a part of me that’s apprehensive. It makes sense. I’m putting myself at the mercy of an untrained witch, and she could suck my power from me in seconds.
Skye grows silent, her breaths deepening. I wait for her to start glowing or something, but there’s not a glimmer to be seen. After several minutes, the evening’s long shadows deepen. As long as I’m not blindfolded, I don’t have trouble navigating the forest, but colors get washed out. It’s a pity: Skye is so vibrant in her red hat and yellow scarf.
Suddenly, her eyes pop open, and she lets out a great exhale. “It’s not working.”
“It was only your first try,” I say, doing my best to be supportive. “You just need to practice.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Yeah, I’m not the problem this time. You are.”
I pull my hands from her grip on instinct. “What do you mean?”
She fidgets with her sleeves, tugging them over her fingers. “I don’t know. I can’tfeelyou. It’s like…” She stares somewhere past my shoulder, her expression pensive. “It seems to me as though you have a wall around you. There’s resistance when I try to get through to you.”
“Oh.”
What the hell do I do with this info?
Skye steps forward, right into my personal space, and takes my hands again. “You told me to relax, remember? Do you think you could try to do the same? I mean, I know it’s uncomfortable to have someone prodding at you from the inside.” She stops, then groans. “And that totally came out wrong. I swear, I’m not uncomfortable if someone, er…” She shuts up again, hanging her head.
I laugh, and the tension inside me breaks. “Prodding, really? That’s what you kids are calling it these days?”
She slaps my chest lightly, grinning up at me. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
I do. And I guess Iwasbracing for disaster when she tried to reach for my power.
Dragging in a deep breath, I deliberately loosen my shoulders, then let out a long exhale. “Fine. Let’s try again. I’ll do my best to accept your, uh, prodding.”
Skye giggles, then closes her eyes. After a moment, I follow suit, willing myself to shut out the worries. She won’t harm me. Skye is a kind, gentle witch who’s genuinely trying to help us. I invited her here myself, and she’s been doing her best to protect my clan.
With each breath, my heartbeat slows. I become aware of the cold wind brushing my cheeks, of Skye’s firm grip on my hands. A bird squawks somewhere in the forest, and I smell the earthy scent of damp, rotting leaves beneath our feet.
Then I feelher.
A cool tendril of light brushes against the core of me, and I know it’s Skye. My magic sits deep in my belly, not to be used for spells but for my shifts. It’s into that deep well of fire that I dip every time I wish to change into a sea dragon, a process so innately natural that I don’t even have to think about it. I’d first shifted as a baby, so I don’t recollect learning it. It’s as easy as breathing and equally necessary to me.
But Skye’s presence is alien, the pressure of her magic almost too much. My first impulse is to push her out, to block her so she couldn’t steal those fiery embers from me, but a moment later, my dragon calms down. I sense no danger from her, no ill intent, only curiosity and awe.
I’m only dimly aware that Skye gasps when her magic touches mine. I’m holding on to her too tightly, my hands cradling hers, but she strives to get even closer. With incredible effort, I relax, offering her all of myself.Here. This is me.
I hope to all the gods that it’s enough.
She scoops up a tiny pinch of my magic, a nugget of orange flame. It doesn’t burn her fingers—it only illuminates her face, more beautiful than ever.
“Look,” she whispers, and it takes me a moment to realize that she wants me to open my eyes.
I blink, and still I see her bathed in a warm, reddish glow. Then I realize what she’s showing me, and breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
In our cupped hands, a flame dances merrily, hovering two inches above our palms. It doesn’t burn, and I even run my fingers through it, but it’s real enough: a spark falls from it to the ground and hisses as it extinguishes on the wet leaves.
Skye slowly brings her hands together, enclosing it. The flames glow for a moment as though she is holding fireflies, then suddenly wink out.
