CHAPTER 13 #2
“What are you going to do? Tear me apart like you did that Grim?” I taunted, and was rewarded with the tense outline of tendons along his jaw.
I swung at his chin, missing by a fraction of a second as he dodged. I pulled back just as he started to counter.
“Oh, low,” he said, eyes narrowing, hands hovering in front of him now. “I like it low.”
My pulse stuttered.
He feinted left, and I shifted to block, but in an instant, he pivoted to my right, too fast for me to counter. His elbow slammed into my midsection, and the world tilted as I hit the mat.
A sharp pain tore through my diaphragm, stealing my breath.
“You all right there?” Reagan asked.
I gave him a grimace of a smile. “Just perfect,” I murmured, pushing past the pain. But as I tried to stand, a tug in my stomach pinned me down.
His gaze drifted to where I clutched my middle. “Lie down.”
I faced him as he crouched beside me. “Why?”
“Just humour me.”
I leaned back against the rubber mat, letting my muscles sag and breathe.
“Gwinifer was right,” I said dryly. “You’re a terrible instructor.”
Reagan met my gaze, his hand hovering over the spot where his elbow had struck, just between my ribs. There was a flicker of challenge there.
I had definitely struck a nerve.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, fingers pressing lightly against the spot.
“It’s fine,” I said, flinching as he applied pressure.
“Uh-huh. Mind if I lift your shirt?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes.”
His face had gone cool, unreadable. He wasn’t that bothered by my words; he kept fighting, which suggested that something else annoyed him.
“I can take the pain away,” Reagan said, his brows flat. “I just need to touch your skin.”
“It’s not necessary,” I said, brushing his hand away.
“I’d rather not send you off on your first assignment injured,” he insisted.
Injured? That was excessive. Was he actually bothered by this? I nearly laughed. Gwinifer had struck me countless times and never looked the least bit apologetic. But he regretted hurting me?
Interesting.
“Fine,” I muttered, lifting the hem of my shirt with one hand and propping myself up with the other.
He placed a hand just above my navel, stiff and clinical. A rush of warmth prickled across my skin, his power spreading in tiny pulses, like sparks running from his tendons and vanishing beneath the sore spot.
A jolt ran through my stomach under his palm. Seconds later, the discomfort was gone, the spasms replaced by a faint, lingering tingle.
I lifted my gaze to his. “That is actually better.”
He raised his hand just so it hovered above my skin, the shimmer still radiating a comforting heat.
“Why is it that some people can do this, and others can’t?” I found myself asking aloud.
Reagan’s brows shot upward, surprised by the question, but he kept his gaze on his fingers.
“According to the First Grimoire, our power was first wielded by Godric and Zara, the original mageborn. They discovered the source, while others created alongside them didn’t share the ability. The first humans.”
I hummed as his hand continued its path along my stomach.
“They believed our source of power came with a responsibility, but it was limited, which is why only some people could wield it. It’s a theory. The book doesn’t actually explain that.”
His hand drifted, but I was too caught up in his words, even as the prickle of his power climbed from my navel to my chin, warming the spot I knew was bruised. My eyelids fluttered shut.
“For a long time,” Reagan went on, “our people lived among each other. The mageborn and humans even had children together, which is how we still have lines of what we call hybrid-borns or demimages.” He paused. “Want me to keep going?”
I nodded, wanting to know more, wondering where he fit in. “Are you a hybrid-born?” I asked.
“No,” Reagan murmured, his breath brushing my collarbone. “There were no humans in my family line.”
The warmth of his power spread toward my neck and shoulders. I should have told him the pain was long gone, but whatever he was doing was incredibly soothing. I was almost close to falling asleep. Then it dawned on me with alarm: he probably thought I wanted him to continue this, not the story.
Despite my heavy eyelids, I forced them open, meeting Reagan’s gaze, so very close.
Icy awareness rushed back, and I drew in a quiet breath.
Reagan shifted back, withdrawing his arm as I stood, clearing my throat—the sound as loud as a tractor breaking bricks.
“Thank you,” I said.
He sat up, resting an elbow on his knee, peering at me with an unreadable expression. “My pleasure.”
“I think I’m done training for today,” I told him, my face warm.
“Right,” he said, getting up with enviable grace. “I’ll wait for you so we can leave.”
I was halfway across the room when I shouted a confirmation and didn’t wait to hear if he said more as I rushed out.
◆◆◆
The plan was to stay in Erisea for three days. Cerridwen helped me pack, but when it came to picking something to wear for arriving, she left me on my own.
Something professional, she’d said.
An emissary.
The term felt like a joke to me. What had I been thinking when I accepted this? I couldn’t even begin to grasp the complexities of their world, or the challenges the people of Mountheim were enduring. Nor did I know what trades Reagan wanted to discuss.
I should’ve asked for something simpler, innocent.
But the thought of spending another month just going back and forth between the study and my room would have driven me straight to the brink. This was fine. It was supposed to be fine. And perhaps I would find a train station.
Part of me was eager, itching to go. But the other part, the one rooted firmly in reality, asked me why I would think that I could do any of it.