Page 15 of Live To Tell

Rowan holds the stone above his head, and I reach out again, shoving him back until he almost falls from the bed. I climb onto him and pry at his fingers, but he keeps tight hold, looking up at me as I straddle him. My hair falls into his face as I lean across to reach his outstretched hand.

“What is your problem, Rowan?” I say through clenched teeth.

“Don't you think you’re overreacting?” he says and blows my hair from his face.

But I need to see this stone. Touch, even for a moment. Need, as if it would satiate a hunger I’m unaware I had. I move again, frustrated and on the verge of digging sharp nails into his fingers.

“I want the stone.”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” I shift positions against his body as I try to move myself upwards and closer to taking hold, and Rowan swears beneath his breath before attempting to get out from under me.

I’m so focused on the stone, he blindsides me when I’m flipped on my back across his bed, my wrists pinned above my head by one of his hands in a sudden grip, the stone in his other. “Rowan,” I snarl and pull at his hold.

“You don’t steal this.”

“I’m not stealing your stone! Don’t be ridiculous.”

Why can’t I move my hands? I’ve twice as much physical strength as this guy. I tip my head up and my heart jolts. Small tendrils of shadows bind my wrists to his fingers, their clammy cool spreading across my skin.

Shadows? If I moved now, I wouldn’t get far—I’m literally bound to him.

“Good grief, Rowan. What’s happening with you?” I say and buck against him.

He moves to sit on me, stone in one hand as he leans forward to keep my wrists trapped in the other. My breathing grows ragged, Rowan’s weight on my hips isn’t as big an issue to me as his decision to bind me with magic. That he can bind me. His lips are slightly parted as he looks down, and although I’m transfixed by him, I’m uneasy at the intensity in his expression.

My focus snaps to the stone and logic hits my mind. The stone wants my magic. That’s the desperation taking hold of me. I draw in a shaky breath. “You should take that thing back to the room and not touch it again,” I say. The glow spreads from the stone to Rowan’s hand and his heart beats louder, as if outside his body and audible in the room.

Magically stronger; physically weaker.

Taking a deep breath, I gather the vamp energy that’s my defense against his magic and buck again. The shadows drag like blades across my skin, painful as I tear my hands from his shadow magic hold, and I shove him hard in the chest.

“Fuck!” The word comes from Rowan along with his winded breath, as he’s pushed from me, almost whacking his head on the side of his bed as he falls to the floor, onto his back.

I rub my wrists, examining them for magic or injuries. No shadows on me—but they’re still on Rowan. He’s lying against the hard floor, catching the breath I knocked from him, stone still firmly glowing in his fist.

As the shadows crawl along his arm towards the glowing stone, a sick dread spreads from the depths of my soul. No. Whatever magic the stone contains, shadows shouldn’t touch it. Look at the effect the object’s having on him. Me.

How potent is Willowbrook magic?

In a heartbeat, I throw myself at Rowan again, pinning the tendril wrapped arm out straight against the floor. He won’t let go of the stone, and the shadows sneak closer. “Let go, Rowan!”

“Get off me, Violet!” As I try to loosen his fingers, they become vice-like, unnaturally strong for Rowan.

The shadows don’t slow in their aim, and my dread morphs into panic. Stop them. Now. “Sorry, Rowan,” I say, then lift his fingers, and bite.

He shouts out, releasing the stone, which I grab and hurl into the corner of the room, beneath his dresser. Rowan doesn’t try to move, completely still, staring at his grazed fingers instead.

“You bit me!” he says hoarsely.

I wipe the small amount of his blood from my lips, too scared to taste. “Only a little bite.”

He chokes a half laugh.

“The shadows wanted to join whatever magic your stone holds, Rowan,” I say hoarsely. “Or the other way around.” I’m still lying on him, refusing to move—if I’m here, he can’t escape, and there’s no way I’m allowing that stone back in Rowan’s possession.

I cast a glance to where the object glows beneath his dresser, and fight my own gnawing need to take hold. Why this reaction now? I was fine in the artifact room. Because I wasn’t as close? The further I am from the object, the less I want to take hold. Or is this because Rowan and his magic aren’t attached to the stone now?

“Didn’t you see?” I ask him. “The shadows aimed for the stone. I’ve told you to never use shadow magic.”

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