Page 54 of The Sorcerer's Thief
His magic swirls around him, orange and furious. And then he’s fully dressed, boots and all.
Realization strikes a sour note. He’s going to gate away from me!
He shuts his eyes. I think about grabbing him, making him stay or risk taking us both, but nothing happens except the coin emitting an angry, high-pitched whine and practically vibrating itself out of Julian’s hand.
He clenches his fingers around it, knuckles white.
“Maybe you should hand that over, thief,” I snap. “How could you?”
Rather than listening to me, he tries again. His magic tingles against my skin, a bright, glowing amber that’s fizzling out before he can gate away like the coward he is.
I don’t know why the coin is preventing him, only that I’m grateful for its help. Again.
My anger simmers low, threatening to bubble over at any second. But I’m not the only one who’s angry. Julian howls with rage and flings the coin away like it burned him.
For all I know, it might have. Would serve him right.
I snatch the coin from where it landed on the floor, along with my clothes, and begin to dress. “I can’t believe you.”
“I did say sorry.” He sits there, blinking stupidly, glaring at his hands like they’re the traitors in this room when that role is filled solely by him, Julian the traitor. “I told you all along I was going to steal the blasted coin.”
I tuck the coin into my inner vest pocket, where it’s safe from him. “But even after what we just shared?”
“Even after what we just shared.” He sounds defeated.
“I thought things had changed.”
“They haven’t.”
I decide not to care. I’m so angry I could spit. Hurt too, definitely that, but it’s easier to be angry than hurt, so I lean hard into the fury. “You utter ass. You terrible, nasty, awful person. I trusted you.”
“You shouldn’t have.” He waves his fingers at me. The protective barrier of his shield shimmers and forms around me.
I try to wipe it away, but Julian’s magic is so much stronger than mine. Nothing happens. I can’t get rid of it. “What did you shield me for?”
“Testing a theory.” He waves his fingers again, and the barrier evaporates.
“I’m mad at you.”
“You should be.” More finger-waving, little sparks that flame bright, then sputter out before hitting me. “I betrayed you.”
“You did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that. I don’t care.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “What are you doing?”
He sends more sparks that fizzle to nothing. “Trying to set you on fire.”
My jaw drops. “Well, don’t.”
“I can’t.”
“Good.” I huff and fling myself onto the other side of the bed. “Why, after all this time, would you still try to stealmycoin?”
“That thing”—he sneers as he says the word—“belongs only to itself.”
“Why, Julian.” It’s not a question so much as a demand. “Tell me.”
