Chapter 2 #2
The mark on his chest flickered with forks of violet lightning. It was strangely beautiful to watch. “I think it’s my magic.”
Byron snapped his gaze to mine. “Your magic?”
“Yeah.” I reached out and placed my palm on the sigil. My skin instantly hummed with the vibration of magic, familiar and warm. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this.”
“Like what?”
How could he be holding it? And more importantly why? I didn’t understand why my magic needed to leave me during a vision. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure that they were visions if this was the result.
The bigger question was, how did I get my magic back?
Byron placed his hand over mine. His skin was warm and rough, and I had the sudden urge to know what his hands would feel like brushing over my chest. Would he be gentle or would he leave marks?
I turned my gaze up to his and felt a chill roll down my spine. There was something so off-putting about his eyes. They were so empty. How could they be so bright, but project so much darkness?
“Like what?” he repeated, his thumb brushing along the length of my forefinger.
My brain stuttered for a moment, my thoughts fixated on the feel of him.
Oh God, I was touching him. I yanked my hand away and wiped it down my thigh, trying to remove the remnants of his touch.
He scowled at me as I did it, like he was annoyed that I’d wiped him off my skin.
“I’ve never heard of a human holding witch magic before. It shouldn’t be possible.” My voice trembled as he stared at me with all that darkness lingering in his gaze.
“Yet here we are.” The softness in his voice had disappeared.
Great. I’d pissed off the hitman.
Well, it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have followed me in the first place. Urgh, why couldn’t he just let me be?
“Will it kill me?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How do you get it back?”
“I don’t know.”
Byron scowled, his dark brows making it seem more severe and intimidating. “You don’t know very much, do you?”
“Fuck you.” I stood from the sofa, thankful my legs were feeling steadier, and stalked towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“To find my sister,” I shot over my shoulder.
“So, you’re just going to walk away?”
I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face him. “What? No.”
He stood and casually slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Looks like it to me.”
I scoffed at him. “Are you twelve now? I’m going to speak to the head of my coven to see if they know more than I do. Since I apparently know nothing.”
Byron cocked his head in that infuriating way, his cold gaze assessing. “I thought witch magic was instinctual.”
“So?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t that mean you should subconsciously know exactly what to do?”
In theory, he was right—asshole—but I didn’t even know where to start. I hadn’t lost my magic before.
A faint memory stirred at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. Something from my childhood… something painful.
I shook the memory away. I had so many gaps and blank spots in my memories that I feared if I went down that road, I’d get lost and never return.
If Byron was holding my magic like a siphon, then in theory, I should be able to take it back. The magic belonged to me, it should want to return to me. I needed a way to pull it out of him.
But how?
And did I even want to? My mind had never felt so quiet.
I stared at Byron and for one split second, I thought about the consequences of leaving my magic burrowing away in his chest. Would I miss it?
Would it do him any harm? He seemed fine and the temptation to just run away was there.
But what kind of person did that make me?
A coward?
Dammit, I couldn’t do that to him. Even if it was Byron. How was I going to do this?
Ah, fuck.
I could only think of one way.
He was never going to leave me alone after this.
Fuck, fucking, fuck.
Why did it have to be him?
I’d best do it quickly. Like ripping off a band aid. That was going to make it less painful.
Right?
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said as I closed the distance between us.
His frown deepened over those beautiful blue eyes. “What doesn’t—”
I grabbed his face and pulled his lips to mine.
Electricity instantly flowed between us, alive and vibrant and jeez, was a kiss supposed to feel this euphoric?
Byron froze for a mere moment before taking control, because of course he would.
He wasn’t a man to submit to anyone. His hand wrapped around my jaw, his fingers sinking into the hollows of my cheeks and forcing my mouth open wide.
Byron thrust his tongue deep into my mouth and fuck, he tasted like bad decisions and dark decadence. It was addictive. He was addictive.
And that terrified me.
As I sucked on his tongue, I felt my magic returning to my core through our connection. It hummed through my veins and settled in my soul like a warm embrace. I was so relieved that it had returned to me because for a moment there, I feared I’d never get it back.
So why was I still kissing Byron?
His other hand sank into the hair at the base of my skull, and he pulled on the strands hard, twisting them between his skilful fingers. I gasped deep into his mouth and my back arched as he bent me to his will.
I couldn’t do this. Byron was a killer. A psychopath.
A monster.
I thrust my hands hard against his chest and pushed him away.
His chest heaved and his lips were swollen. He looked dishevelled, so unlike his usual put together self and a zing of desire went straight to my cock as I realised that I made him look like that. I made him lose control.
The scary thing was, I wanted to do it all over again just to see how far I could push him.
Byron licked his lips and hummed, his eyes brightening as he tasted me again. “That was better than I imagined.”
I couldn’t do this. I dragged my hands through my hair, my mind running a thousand miles a minute. “I have to go.”
He snorted. “Of course you do.”
“I’m not running away.”
He started to button up his shirt. At least the mark had gone from his chest. A pang of disappointment flittered through me at that, but I wasn’t going to analyse why. I pushed the thought aside and looked deep into his eyes.
He maintained eye contact with me as he strode towards me, looking every inch the notorious killer I knew him to be. Byron took every step with lethal intent and closed the distance until the heady scent of his cologne surrounded me.
“You can run, Wilder,” he said softly, his voice laced with threat. “But you will never be able to run anywhere that I won’t catch you. Know why?” He leant closer, so close that I could feel his breath across my lips. “Because now I know what you taste like, I’m never going to let you go.”
And with those ominous words, he brushed past me, leaving a whisper of a dark laugh behind him as he left the room.
What the fuck had I done?