Chapter Ten #2
Her head pops up in the middle of the narrow stretch of river, her dark hair slicked back from her face. Her smile is so wide, I almost don’t recognize her.
“It’s freezing!” she shouts, her body sinking down until she’s sub-merged to her chin. “And it smells like something died in here!”
I meander down the length of the dock until I’m at the very edge, staring down at her. Her body is a slash of white beneath the dark surface, feet kicking.
“There is something dead in there,” I point out. The itch between my shoulder blades has graduated to a painful throb, my instincts roaring. I bat them away. “I’m looking right at her.”
She slips backward in the water with a quiet chuckle, closing her eyes. She lets her body float to the surface.
I don’t look away.
I’m just making sure she’s okay, I assure myself. I can’t make sure she’s okay if I’m not looking.
Her long, pale legs. The smooth dip of her belly.
The flare of her hips. My eyes linger on each place like a sailor at sea, spotting shore.
My gaze trails over the thin band of black lace at her hip and I dig my knuckles into my thigh.
The delicate fabric clings to her body like it’s been poured over her.
She looks like a painting from the sixteenth century, when men thought they could capture the gods with the strokes of a brush.
“All right. Great jump.” My voice sounds like the gravel road we just rumbled down. “You owe me some information now.”
She paddles around in a circle. “I want to jump again.”
I scowl. “Your list didn’t say anything about multiple jumps.”
“My list also didn’t say jump into a bog, but apparently we’re all doing a little bit of—”
She goes underwater mid-sentence, a stream of bubbles the only indication of her location. I wait for her to pop back up, to rib me some more about skirting semantics to cross an item off her list, but she doesn’t.
“Darcy?”
The water is still. Silent.
I inch closer, studying the green-gray surface. This part of the river is mostly still, protected by the shelter of various creeks and tributaries. But with the sun tucked behind the clouds, I can’t see beneath. Everything is shadowed and dark.
She probably can’t see below the surface either.
“Darcy?” I call again, my magic flaring hot down the length of my spine. “Darcy!”
Nothing.
I yank off my jacket, and then the flannel underneath.
In just my white T-shirt and jeans, I feel the bite of the early October air, even through the protection of my magic.
I grind out a string of profanity and then dive into the water, aiming for the last place I saw her.
It’s cold enough to resonate but not shock, tiny razor blades slicing minuscule paper cuts against my skin.
I kick to the surface and tread water as I push my hair out of my face, turning in a circle, looking for any sign of her. It isn’t deep.
I thought it would be fine.
Water splashes behind me.
“Boo,” a voice whispers.
I turn and Darcy is floating behind me, her face low to the water and her hair spread against the surface. Her eyes crinkle in a smile. “You know I don’t need to breathe, right? I can’t drown.”
I want to haul her from the water. I want to push her back beneath the surface. This damn woman. “It looked like something grabbed you,” I defend. I’ve never sounded more petulant.
She flicks the surface of the water, sending droplets across my face. “You were worried.”
“No.”
“You were. You wanted to save the dead girl.”
“I didn’t,” I say again.
Beads of water drip down her forehead, over the swells of her cheeks, down her full lips. I stare at her mouth long enough to watch the way it changes with her smile. Her lips are so red they look like candy apples.
She paddles around me. Her foot brushes against my thigh. “Those Guardian instincts are no joke, huh?”
It’s not the first time she’s used my designation against me, and it’s an uncomfortable reminder that Darcy is playing her own games. She’s tossing out information about her assignment like stale crusts in the water, waiting for me to paddle over like a sad little duck.
Well, I’m done being her entertainment. I turn and swim toward a small ladder on the left-hand side of the dock. My jeans feel like cement around my thighs, my shirt clinging to my chest like a second skin.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
She’s dead, I remind myself. She doesn’t need you to save her.
Darcy laughs and I push my body harder, cutting through the water until my muscles burn. There’s a life at stake, and she’s fucking with me. Crossing items off an arbitrary list to keep me busy. Rattling my instincts on purpose.
My hands grip the ladder rail so hard the metal bends.
Behind me, Darcy goes quiet.
“It was just a joke, Gabriel.”
“Very funny,” I snap, pulling myself back onto the dock. Water sluices off my body in a sheet. I shake my hair like a dog, trying to shake some sense into myself at the same time.
Darcy follows me, the ladder creaking beneath her weight.
“So, what? You can dish it out but not take it?” She steps up onto the dock, curling her hands around her dark hair and squeezing. Water drips down her forearms, over the curve of her elbows. “Don’t pretend you didn’t pick this one on purpose, Gabriel. You were giddy the whole drive here.”
“I don’t get giddy.”
“You were wiggling in your seat like an overactive toddler.” She shakes her hands out and water flies in every direction. There’s a leaf stuck just beneath her collarbone. A badge of honor the river left with her.
I can’t think of an appropriate comeback when she’s standing there like that. In nothing but her underwear, I can see every freckle. The way her stomach hollows with every shaky inhale. The tight press of her nipples against the delicate fabric of her bra.
Darcy has me exactly where she wants me. Distracted and dis-armed.
I clear my throat. “I want what you owe me.”
“Let me dry off first.” She curls her arms around herself, glancing at the empty dock with a frown. “You didn’t happen to bring a towel, did you?”
I snap my fingers, and a burst of magic explodes from my body with a little too much force, grateful for the outlet. My clothes and hair immediately dry.
Darcy frowns at me, still shivering. “Oh.”
I bend down to retrieve my shirt and jacket. “Just use your magic.”
“My magic doesn’t work like that.”
“Like what?”
She gestures with her hands, another fierce shiver racking her body. I hesitate. She shouldn’t be able to feel the cold.
“My magic relies on circumstances,” she explains, her voice tight and her teeth clenched around each word. “I can do small things …”
I think of the flame at the tip of her middle finger, extended in my direction.
“But I can’t summon the bulk of my power unless someone is—” She shoots me a look. “Well, I can’t access most of my magic unless someone is dying.”
“You used your magic that first night.”
“Not exactly.” She saws her teeth over her bottom lip. “Maybe it’s different for other Reapers, but mine just … happens, I guess. When you kissed me, my magic must have reacted to yours.”
“You kissed me,” I point out.
She rolls her eyes to the sky. “The point remains. I didn’t call my magic to me. It just sort of—” She makes an exploding gesture with her hands.
“But not when you claim a soul,” I clarify.
She shakes her head. “No. When I feel death surround a soul, I’m able to channel it. Like a power exchange.”
I frown. “You mean, you siphon energy off a nearby soul like some sort of succubus.”
Darcy snorts. “Sure.” Another shiver, her dark hair clinging to the pale slope of her shoulders.
“But either way, I can’t zip-zap myself like you, so.
” She hikes her thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of the truck.
“I’m going to walk of shame my way back to the truck for my jacket now.
Then when my teeth stop chattering, I’ll tell you what you want to know. ”
She barely gets two shaky steps before I relent and force my magic in her direction.
A soft, shimmering wall of gold collides against her back, drying everything instantly.
She straightens from her hunched position and shoots a curious look in my direction, caught halfway between suspicion and disbelief.
I shrug my shoulders. “Don’t want my seats wet,” I explain.
Except that’s not why my magic is humming happily in the center of my chest. The knot in the middle of my back relaxes and I’m—eased, I think. Content. My magic is satisfied when it’s helping others.
I flick my fingers with a half-hearted gesture and her hair twists into a braid. I toss my balled-up flannel at her, and it hits her in the middle of her chest. Her hands scramble to catch it before it falls back to the wet dock.
“Thank you,” she says.
I stare out over the trees clustered at the edge of the water so I don’t have to see the look on her face. It makes me feel guilty for reasons I can’t begin to articulate.
“Put that on,” I tell her. “And let’s get back to the truck.”