Chapter 8 - Emily #2
“Don’t move,” I whisper, mentally battling the part of me that wants to recall a moment in time when doing this wasn’t from a place of detachment. It takes every ounce of inner strength to remain detached, even as I move closer, not wanting to be a coward about this.
“This isn’t personal. I just need to know how these powers work…
I need to know what triggers it,” I murmur as I reach out, hiding my eyes as I lower them, not wanting to be exposed in front of the one man I despise.
Sean remains still through this, silent, barely breathing as I do what I need to do.
Tentatively placing a hand on his arm, my breath catches when I feel his muscles flex beneath my palm.
Detach, Emily, I remind myself, closing my eyes and focusing on the sensations that spark from the touch.
Beneath his warm, tight flesh comes a burst of energy that flows into my palm, alive, awake, as if the energy has a life of its own. I concentrate on that feeling as it surges through me, my eyes flying open when I feel it in my free palm.
A gasp escapes my lips when I lift that palm up to inspect it, fine gold threads of magic now visible across my flesh and intertwining with my fingers.
“Oh, my…” I gasp out again and look up at Sean, half-expectantly, partly surprised that I’m feeling so powerful through physical touch.
“Wow…” he breathes in awe, eyes wide and fascinated as he stares at my palm glowing with magic. “It’s working…”
“Yeah,” I say, curling and uncurling my fingers, feeling how the motion moves the magic, as if I’m in control of it now.
Absentmindedly, the hand that’s on his arm drifts upward, and I’m too focused on the heightened tingling sensation in my palms to notice until I’m met with the brick wall of his chest.
My eyes flit with sudden realization and horror at the hand on his chest. But the power surging through me is too addictive to let go of if I remove my hand from his chest. I’m not ready to let go of it—the thrill of being in control, of wielding so much power in the palms of my hands.
My free palm is full of that magic now, ropes of golden threads curled around my fingers and swirling above my hand in the shape of a flame.
Mesmerized by the power bolting through my veins, my eyes meet Sean’s, and I suddenly forget everything that’s ever happened between us.
It’s a moment when the past disappears, fades into nothingness, and all I can see is the pair of ocean-blue eyes staring at me with innocent curiosity and boyish charm.
His full lips toy with a soft smile; the stark contrast of salmon-pink against his dark beard is tempting, pulling me in as if the magic itself is calling the shots.
The magic is only fooling me into thinking that I’m in control, because the truth is, I’m not in charge of what’s happening when I’m drawn in.
I might be making the worst mistake of my life. The absolute worst. Even worse than falling in love with Sean in the first place. But I can’t stop myself, drawn in by a force that’s stronger than my will to abide by logic, stronger than my will to resist Sean.
And that’s when I stand on my tiptoes, eyes leveling with his so that not even height can be an obstacle to what I’m about to do. The last time we were so close, I’d been afraid that he’d kiss me without my consent, but right now, not even our mating ceremony matters.
Nothing of the past matters, except this moment when our breaths mingle in the air, and I can taste berries and richness on my tongue. Like an addict who craves more, I lean in, pressing my lips to his and doing the most dangerous thing ever.
I kiss Sean.
It’s not a curious kiss, but one that speaks of lifetimes between us, a synchronized dance that only our lips and tongues know the steps to. The hand on his chest winds into a fist around a handful of his T-shirt, pulling him in as if I want to consume him.
I want to. Right now, caught in this kiss, I want to devour his essence with as much rigorous force as he wants to consume me.
His hands are suddenly on me, kneading my waist as he pulls me flush against his solid frame.
His rigid erection presses into my thigh, causing an indent so strong that it’ll probably form a bruise there later.
But I don’t care.
I want to be bruised by him. I want him to bruise my insides.
The moment his hands close around my waist, the magic explodes. It’s not just a tiny flicker or a measly spark. It’s a surge of energy that erupts from deep within.
White-hot gold floods my veins, racing from my palms through my arms, my chest, my throat. My fingers ignite like living embers, light pouring from them in violent ribbons that crackle through the air. The force of it drives a sharp gasp from my chest, snapping my awareness back into my body.
I break the kiss abruptly, shoving my hands against Sean’s chest and stumbling backward as the magic flares brighter, wild and erratic, lighting the kitchen in a molten glow of gold. My knees weaken, and I barely catch myself against the counter as the energy roars through me, demanding release.
Sean freezes, eyes wide, but not with desire now, but rather with shock. Awe. Fear.
“Emily—” he starts, but I lift a shaking hand to stop him.
“Don’t,” I breathe, trying to catch my breath.
The magic finally collapses inward, snapping back into my core like a rubber band with a violent tug that leaves my limbs trembling and my lungs burning.
The room falls silent except for my ragged breaths, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as if I can suddenly erase what just happened. Like I can pretend it meant nothing.
“That was…useful,” I say coldly, forcing my voice into something clinical and detached. It takes everything from me, almost knocking the wind out of me, but it’s for the best—for the sake of my sanity. “It confirms my theory.”
Sean’s face tightens, something wounded flashing behind his eyes before he schools it away and straightens up. “Your theory?”
“The magic responds to physical contact,” I continue, grasping for control. “Not you. Not just proximity, but touch. That’s all. It’s ‘cause of the spell, but that’s how closely it’s bound.”
He studies me for a long moment, searching my face like he might find the truth there.
Whatever he sees, or doesn’t, makes his shoulders sag slightly.
“If that’s what you need to believe…” he says quietly, stepping back and putting space between us with deliberate care, like he’s afraid of triggering something else.
Then he nods once, sharp and controlled.
“I won’t interfere,” he adds. “But if you need me for physical contact to extract your powers, you know where to find me. If you’ll excuse me…
” he says with a gentle clearing of his throat as he turns. And then he leaves.
A door closes somewhere down the hallway, echoing through the narrow passage long after he’s left, and I’m standing there alone, hands still trembling, heart pounding so hard it hurts. I lift my palms, willing the magic back, begging it to answer me now, but there’s nothing.
No glow. No warmth. No spark.
Just emptiness.
My stomach twists as the truth settles heavy and undeniable in my chest. It wasn’t the contact.
It was him.
And no matter how hard I refuse to name it, the magic already has. I know what I felt. Beyond the layers of denial and resistance, underneath the cloak of heartbreak, lies the fated mate bond that neither of us wants to acknowledge.