Chapter 37 Azalea
Azalea
He’s cursed. He’s actually fucking cursed. This whole time.
I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what Braxton told me only moments ago before we started scouring the different books I’ve found on curses. Although, it isn’t doing me any good as I have to keep rereading paragraphs due to me being distracted at finding out that Braxton is fucking cursed.
“I can practically hear the questions humming inside that head of yours,” Braxton says, not looking up from his book.
“Well, it’s not like you’ll answer any of them.”
He told me the rules of this bargain were that I’m not allowed to ask any questions about the curse. Of course, I immediately asked him my top five questions upon hearing this:
What the fuck do you mean you’re cursed?
What is your curse?
Who cursed you?
How did you get yourself cursed?
Does any of your curse have to do with my curse?
He, of course, answered none of them.
“You know your curiosity would be infinitely sexier and less annoying if you put it to good use in, oh, I don’t know, trying to find a loophole in my curse,” Braxton quips, his eyes brimming with annoyance.
I scoff. “As if it’s my dream to be thought of as sexy by you.”
“What did you highlight in the book you were reading earlier?”
I flush. “Nothing.” I shrug, wanting to keeps some kind of leverage in case this plan to break Braxton’s curse backfires.
“Wildflower,” he presses, his tone warning.
“It’s noth—” Before I can finish my lie, he’s up on his feet and marching straight for the book he watched me put away.
I leap up from the table and uselessly grab at the sleeves of his collared shirt, trying to get him to stop his pursuit.
He deflects me as if I’m no more than an insect buzzing around his head.
When I race in front of him and put my hands on his chest, he finally stops.
He’s only two steps away from being able to grab the book.
“Azalea, move,” he demands.
“No! You can’t just waltz in here and start—”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish before he lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder. My world spins for a second, and I can’t tell if it’s from literally being turned upside down or from feeling his hands on me.
As much as I’ve tried to distract myself, I can’t stop thinking about the kiss we shared.
Though the memory is fuzzy, the feeling of his lips brushing whispered kisses along my skin is perfectly clear.
His deft hands expertly moved around my body, as if he somehow knew exactly how to touch me.
The moment his lips dipped to my neck, is when my memory starts to become fuzzy, but the pieces I can hold onto are enough to make the area between my legs throb with a need I’m too ashamed to admit to.
So, even though my traitorous body clearly likes when he touches me, I still kick my feet and slam my palms into his back.
“Braxton, put me down!” I scream, trying to wriggle free.
“Gods, you’re squirmy,” he grunts as he grabs the book and carries me back to the table.
He carelessly plops me onto the ground before giving my chest a gentle shove, causing me to stumble back until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the chair I was sitting in and I drop into it.
“Sit.”
I glare at him.
“Stay.”
My eyes narrow and a rakish grin takes over his face.
“Good girl.”
My cheeks flush.
He returns to his seat and opens the book, finding my underlined passage in a matter of minutes. I figure it’s not worth fighting him on it, especially if this piece of information could actually be the key to my freedom.
His lips form a hard line as he scans the text one, two, three times. I watch his eyes as they move back to the top of the passage and work their way down again.
“How did I not know this?”
“Given your track record, I’m willing to assume you don’t know a lot of things.”
He ignores my jab and reads through the passage again. “So, according to this, the witch that hexed me had to tether her magic to some kind of object in order to do it.”
“I guess so” I murmur, purposefully being unhelpful to try and keep him talking.
I’m hoping the more he shares, the more I can find out about his curse without him realizing he even told me. So far, it’s obvious that whoever cursed him was a woman, and it sounds like he was somewhat familiar with her.
“Why would they have to tether their magic?”
I want to stay silent so badly, but it’s practically impossible when I know the answer. “It’s to create limits and boundaries.”
He looks at me, appearing no less confused. I puff a slow breath out past my lips.
“With magic, you have to have boundaries to keep it controlled in the realm. If you allow witches and wizards to use endless amounts of magic with no consequences, things get messy. So, they have to tether their magic to an object. It provides a limit for them on how much they can do. Typically, the more valuable the object, the stronger the magic that can be tethered to it, which is why you will see a lot of young or new magic wielders practicing with flowers. Flowers don’t hold a lot of value, meaning they don’t provide a lot of magic with them, making them the perfect tool for practicing unmastered spells.
Think of it like they’re trading with the gods.
So something free garners them a very limited amount of power. ”
“So, let’s say a curse went on for centuries, and there was a finite amount of time before it would become permanent and unable to be undone…”
My eyebrows jump to my hairline. That was quite the clue he revealed.
“Whatever the magic is tied to would have to be an object the gods view as highly valuable.”
“What happens if the object is destroyed?”
“From my understanding, the magic will be destroyed with it. If the magic can’t be tethered to something, it withers away.”
“But what if the witch dies? Is it the same thing? The curse will go away?”
I shake my head. “Not necessarily. Once magic is tethered, it’s able to live on through the tether itself even if the mage that conjured it dies.”
Braxton nods his head, processing everything. Part of me is terrified that I’m sharing too many of the secrets that I’ve worked so hard to keep buried, but another part of me, a clearly illogical part, feels a sense of trust toward him, which is why I continue.
“There are some old magic wielders who were able to bargain with the gods, and they put all of their magic source into one object that they then pull from whenever they want to use their magic. It’s almost like it’s their ultimate power source for their magic, so instead of one spell being linked to a flower that can then wither and die, taking the magic with it, they would have their power source, and then the flower would act as a booster for the spell. ”
Braxton nods again, creases forming between his brows. “And you just read all of this?”
“Well, since early this morning.” I feign nonchalance.
“Incredible. You’re incredible.”
My stomach twists at the compliment, and I hate that my body reacts that way.
This is Braxton. No matter what pretty words he’s able to spin into a sentence, it’s still Braxton, though the exuberant expression he’s wearing does make him appear different from the man I’m used to encountering.
His pale skin has a lively flush to it, and his perfectly chiseled features are drawn up with a sense of excitement.
Even his typically dark eyes seem to have a light inside them, making them appear brighter.
I choose not to respond, not trusting myself in what I might say.
“I always forget how smart you are.”
I turn my face away so he can’t see the way my brows knit with confusion. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him making a comment like this. Sometimes he stares at me like he knows me. Like he really knows me, and I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. It’s unnerving.
I watch Braxton close the book, deciding he doesn’t need to read more, and excuses himself, saying he has other business to attend to.
I watch him go before my eyes drift back to the book, and I think about how if he read the next sentence, he would see that in order to be cursed in the first place, you have to invite the magic into your life, which leaves me with one more question about Braxton’s curse that I know he won’t answer.
Why would he willingly invite himself to be cursed?