Page 53 of The Blood that Binds Us

“Should I grab a twig and start practicing how to wave my wrists the correct way, Your Grace?”

He tosses his head back in laughter—reallaughter—and I smile to myself, hoping the joke will help ease the suffering of the burning man inside of him, even if for just a few moments.

Ever consumed with the feelings of others.I am a terrible bloodwitch.

“It was for your own safety,” he says, grinning at what I’m sure is a mental image of me waving the broom around like a lunatic.

“Maybe today I need to use pretend magic foryoursafety,” I taunt.

“If you’re going to be talking like that, you better be prepared to show up.”

I dip my knees in a mock curtsy. “I will go easy on you, Your Grace.”

“I was thinking we could warm up by channeling our magics together—get a feel of each other before we begin.”

Shutting my eyes, I raise my arms in front of me, my elbows slightly bent and my palms facing him. I roll my shoulders a few times, ordering my body to relax. Focusing on my feet, I sink my sandals into the grass, grounding myself with the soil. I breathe in and out through closed lips, stilling my mind, and as if on cue, my forearms begin to warm.

The heat spreads to my wrists, pooling into my outstretched palms, and shoots into my fingertips. I curve my hands towards my chest, holding the magic close to me for a moment and then push it away to merge with his. My power mulls over Sin’s, tasting it, flirting with it. Our collectives take turns dipping into one another and exploring all the pockets of the other’s source.

Sin’s magic is cold—a blanket of snow on my chest, the nip of winter’s wind on my cheeks—and the starkness of fresh mint coats my tongue. When I open my eyes and find his already watching me intently, I force my face to remain expressionless.

It was only the week prior we were flexing our magics and trying to overpower the other, before we had to cease fire, avoiding an explosion bigger than anything his magic or mine could accomplish alone.

An eruption that would have surely resulted in one of our deaths.

My warmer power skates around his, curious of its icy slopes, and scratches at its boundary. Our collectives flirt across the seam dividing his from mine, and suddenly, that line erupts into a white-hot flame, sending a lick of desire straight to my thighs. With a shared look, we drop our collectives and lower our hands, the magic sizzling out from both our fingertips.

“That was something,” he murmurs, the sound breathless.

“That was… something,” I agree, not having a better word to describe the surge of power we both felt when our magics tangled like new lovers lost in silken sheets.

Legion doesn’t stand a chance.

“Let’s duel. You wield, I’ll shield,” he says.

I back up several steps, creating an appropriate distance between us. Sin lowers into a defensive stance, bending at the knee slightly, and nods for me to begin. My collective bends to my will eagerly now, having been warmed up with our exercise. I weigh the magic in my hands, ensuring it is restrained—not strong enough to inflict any real damage if he somehow fails to block my assault—but strong enough for him to test his shields. Confident I’m in control, I take a steadying breath and push off a golden orb.

Sin catches it with his ward immediately, his barrier stretched in the space between his palms, and my orb bounces off it and disintegrates into nothing. Dragging his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, he flashes a devastating grin and motions with two fingers for me to continue.

You want more, Blackheart?

I chuck another, and another, and another at him, each one hurtling towards him with more speed than the last, and each one disintegrating as it collides with his conjured ward. We continue this for a while longer before reversing roles. Sin’s magic comes in rapid spurts, its surface slick with ice, and slams into my resistance again and again, coating my ward in layers of frost and peppery sweetness.

He casts from both sides of his body, and sometimes across it, forcing me to leap back and forth to concentrate my shield where his magic is about to hit. When he finally lowers his hands, my back is slick where rivulets of sweat bead across my neck and down my shoulder blades.

“Wield again. But this time, stop holding out on me,” he barks, wiping his own sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

I shake out my arms that are now rigid from casting and shoot him a stern look. “You know I have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says who? Says you and your stupid law!” My blood begins to heat again, but this time, it’s not in anticipation of dueling.

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone. I’m only asking you to embrace your power, and not this weakened version of it.”

“And what if you miss the block and I hurt you? I lose control and don’t stop?”

The Black Art’s stare strips me bare, and dropping his voice, he asks, “Do you think that will happen? Say you accidentally hurt me… doyouthink you would spiral out of control and kill me, and kill the entire godsdamned kingdom while you’re at it?”

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