Page 41 of Magpie
“How did you do that?” I ask, startling him into dropping the rock.
He grins easily at me, pointing his finger and drawing the rock to him again. “It’s a trick an old friend taught me,” he says, a frown creasing his brow when he mentions his friend, his eyes far off.
“Can you teach me?” I ask, still standing in the doorway. It’s one thing to leave the attic; it’s another entirely to leave the House without Alister.
I learned the hard way to never set foot outside without him. I was wandering the halls aimlessly when the House deposited me in front of a wide-open door. The moonlit night was calling my name, and I couldn’t stop myself from strolling out. Turning, I found the House was a large cabin situated in the middle of the woods. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to walk the forest at night.
I barely took three steps before Alister was screaming my name, running up behind me and dragging me back inside.
He terrified me that day, yelling at me for hours on end. It didn’t matter to him how much I sobbed or pleaded. No amount of hastily repeated apologies or promises to never disobey him again were enough. He was a man consumed by rage, and I huddled in on myself to weather the storm. I was an empty husk of myself by the time he stopped yelling. I was pressed into thefar corner of his room, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, my head pressed into them, a crumpled mess on the floor. My ears rang in the quiet aftermath of his explosion.
He knelt in front of me. He had to push aside the books and objects he had flung at me, littered on the ground around me. Nothing had struck me, though they came very close. I got the feeling he didn’t want to hurt me; he just wanted to remind me that he could.
“I am just trying to keep you safe as only I can, my darling,” he cooed, tugging my face up, meeting my watery gaze.
“I know,” I whispered, my voice scratchy and raw from begging him all night to stop.
I let him pull me up and carry me to bed, a ragdoll in his arms. I was detached from every feeling and sensation. There was no warmth to be found in his lips as they pressed against mine. The only thing I felt was the overwhelming lesson seared into my brain: do not go against his wishes.
Do not leave the House.
His bellows of rage fill my mind now as I look at the porch in front of me. Sean is holding his hand out, the rock sitting within it, waiting for me to step forward and take it. The night air is cold, the smell of autumn thick on the wind. Sean is bathed in the light of a crescent moon, illuminating the skeletal tattoos accentuating his naturally harsh features. I’m tilting on a precipice, the burning pain of Alister’s aggression branding me, reminding me not to go against him.
He will be lost in a stupor of power and energy for hours still. I could creep back up to the attic far before he realizes I’m gone. Besides, I tell myself, standing on the porch doesn’ttechnicallycount as leaving the House.
As Sean stands bathed in the moonlight and the crisp autumn breeze, I find the courage to step over the threshold. He beamsat me, and I grin in return, a heady thrill filling me as I leave the interior of the House behind.
I walk forward and take the pebble from his palm. As he comes around behind me, I am rigid, every nerve ending alive in his proximity. His warm breath travels down my neck as his arms curl around me. I let him take me, mold me, as he grips my free hand gently and positions it. I thought it would be as easy as pointing, but there is a particular way I have to hold my fingers. He plucks the pebble from my other hand, rubbing his fingers gently across my palm, the featherlight pressure eliciting a small gasp from my lips. I’m rewarded with a deep chuckle from him before he tosses the pebble. It bounces down the four small stairs, rolling to a stop a foot from the House.
“Now, pretty bird,” he whispers, pressing his lips directly to my ear, “let’s see what those fingers of yours can do.”
“Ass,” I say, jabbing him in the ribs and earning another laugh, before he positions my arm until it is pointed directly at the stone. He doesn’t pull back when he is done instructing me; instead he curls an arm around my waist and tugs me against him. I’m reminded of all those nights we’ve spent entwined together. Many have been spent sleeping, or talking for hours on end, but then there are those other nights…
The ones that leave me breathless.
I feel myself heating, intimately aware of every part of my body that touches his. I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but the feel of his firm chest pressed into my back, or the way his fingers idly move and stroke my hip. I bite my bottom lip, desperately trying to force myself to focus. We may have spent countless nights together in varying stages of undress, but he has never once attempted anything more than teasing touches outside of the ritual. This is the boldest he has ever been with me outside of that blue candlelit room.
“Call the stone to you,” he says, and I open my mouth, inhaling deeply. He cuts me off, chuckling. “Not with your voice, pretty bird. With your will.” He trails his fingers achingly slowly down my arm before he curls them around my extended finger and coils it in. “Thenpullit to you.”
I do as he instructs and fail miserably.
Sean is patient as a saint as I try again, and again, andagainto get the damn stone tolisten to me. He adjusts my grip, giving gentle prods and instructions on how to move, how to call the stone. He remains a solid wall behind me, his hand gripping my waist and tracing his fingers over it in turns.
After nearly an hour of failure, I pull out of his grip, flustered and trying to hide it. “How am I supposed to focus if you keep distracting me?” I snap, turning and leveling a glare at him.
“I didn’t hear you complaining all the nights I’vedistractedyou,” he says, his voice dripping with seduction. My toes curl at the sound alone. He grins, the moonlight shining on his skeletal tattoos, before he nods to the pebble. “Try again, pretty bird. I promise I won’t touch you.”
I look at him for a beat longer, finding myself caring less and less about mastering the trick. I’m only focusing on the cold that is seeping in at the loss of contact, and how desperately I want to feel his heat again. Giving myself a shake, I turn away from those thoughts and from his wolfish grin and force myself to study the pebble.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my hand, focusing. I push out the sounds around me, even the feel of Sean’s presence burning bright behind me. I focus only on the pebble.
Come here.
I pull my finger, like pulling the trigger of a gun, and to my utter surprise, the rock comes soaring into my hand. I catch it, nearly tipping backward with shock. A wide smile spreads across my face as I turn to Sean, letting out a burst of giddy laughter.
“Did you see that?” I shout, jumping up and down with joy, and without a second thought, I leap into his arms in pure excitement. He laughs with me, hoisting me off the ground and spinning me in wide circles across the porch.
Our laughter dwindles when he sets me back down, dying out into chuckles as we stand in front of each other. My arms are still around his neck, and his hands are still on my waist. All at once, I feel my cheeks burning. It’s impossible to look away from his rust-colored eyes. He puts a hand on my cheek, slowly, as if waiting for me to reject him.
