Devon Monk - Magic In the Blood

I’d asked for honesty and I’d gotten it. I liked that.

“Oh,” I said. I handed him the pillow. He took it, his fingers brushing mine and pausing there.

Instead of letting him pull the pillow away from me, I held on to it and stepped toward him. Close. We didn’t have to say this was forever; we didn’t have to say this would last. We didn’t have to say anything to understand the moment. We leaned toward each other, drawn like metal to magnet.

And kissed.

His lips were soft and thick and tasted of salty pizza and sweet apples. I opened my mouth to him, wanting to taste more of him, wanting to say with my body what I could not say with my words. That he was right. I was afraid and alone. And I really wanted to be touched by him.

His tongue drew gently along the inside of my lip and electricity thrilled through me, settling like a solid heat deep in my stomach. The kiss was hot, sweet, needful.

And I wanted more.

I pulled back enough to catch my breath. “Please. Come to bed with me.”

Zayvion was breathing hard. His nostrils flared. I could feel the thrumming of his pulse through the pillow we both still gripped.

He closed his eyes. Licked his lips. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” I asked. “Or won’t?” I suddenly wondered if he had another girlfriend or a vow of celibacy.

He opened his eyes and met my gaze. “The last time… out at Nola’s. You… we…” He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. When he looked back at me, he seemed a little calmer. “I promised myself if I ever had a chance to be with you again, I would wait. Wait until you said yes because you wanted me. Wanted this. Wanted us. For more than one night. For more than one reason. And right now it isn’t about us. It’s about uncertainty. It’s about death. That’s not enough for me. It shouldn’t be enough for you.”

I didn’t know if I should be frustrated, flattered, or furious.

So I was all three.

“A simple no would have been fine.”

“Nothing is ever simple with you, Allie. That’s what makes you so interesting.”

What was I supposed to say to that? I let go of the pillow. “So this is good night?”

“Yes,” he said, “it is. Sleep well.”

I doubted that was possible. I walked to my bedroom, turning out lights as I went. I listened as Zayvion stretched out on my couch. I crawled under my covers and waited to see if he snored. But I never had a chance. As soon as my cheek touched the pillow, I fell into a dark, and thankfully dreamless, sleep.

Morning came too early and brought with it the fever I’d been hanging my magic use on. And the fever brought along its friends Body Aches and Bastard of a Headache.

Since I was already dealing with sticky, stinging skin and an ache somewhere deeper in my chest that I was pretty sure was my heart, I was just all sorts of joyful about waking up.

I rolled over and looked at my clock.

Six thirty. Hells. I was supposed to meet Violet in an hour and a half.

Double hells.

I sat up slowly, shielding my eyes from the light, and walked very, very carefully into my bathroom. I opened my medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of aspirin with hands that would not stop shaking. My hands shook so hard, I spilled pills into the sink. I caught three in my palm and then held my breath and focused on them so I could count and make sure it was only three pills. Overdosing would be too damn easy right now.

Three. I put them in my mouth, swallowed them down with water from the sink. All I needed was a little time. A little time and I’d be okay. I turned toward the shower and took a couple steps, holding on to the sink, the wall, the toilet. My teeth chattered. I felt burned, and burning, inside and out.

Fabulous. Today was going to be a big ol’ bucket of happy.

A warm hand touched my left shoulder, and a wash of mint made the jackhammers in my head take it down a notch. So help me, if it was my father standing there behind me, I was going to kill him, dead or not.

“You’re burning up,” Zayvion’s soft voice said.

“Disbursement,” I mumbled. “Should only last an hour or two.” Or all day. But right now I couldn’t stomach that possibility, so I decided to ignore it instead.

“Mmm,” Zayvion said. With his hand still on my shoulder, he somehow turned on the shower and simultaneously helped me over to it.

I plucked at my pajamas and wanted to growl in frustration. Why had I worn a shirt with buttons on it? Buttons were too complicated. Buttons took coordination. Why didn’t I have a pajama shirt with snaps or Velco or something?

Then Zayvion’s hands were there, unbuttoning my shirt. I squinted up at him, even though the only light in the bathroom was the ghostly gray coming through the frosted window and the wedge of yellow that the hall light cast across the floor and wall.

Zayvion’s gaze did not stray. He looked me straight in the eyes while he unhooked the last button and pulled my shirt away from my shoulders.

I was naked beneath my shirt.

I should be feeling all sorts of things in this awkward, embarrassing, needy moment. And even though a bunch of emotions lined up for attention, I ignored them all. I had been doing this alone for a long time now, nursing myself through the pain of using magic. And right now, I was grateful he was there, grateful to have someone helping me when I was sick.

Besides, if he made one funny move, I’d knock him upside the head with the plunger.

He placed his fingertips on either side of my hips. Even through the pain, I noticed his hands trembled slightly, noticed his breathing was mechanical and even, as if he was having to think about it. Still holding my gaze with that calm, Zen expression, he drew the elastic of my pants down over my hips, off my butt. He paused at my thighs and frowned, probably realizing that he was going to have to kneel and that oh-so-polite eye contact was about to be blown.

I eyed the plunger.

“Can you lift your legs?” he asked.

I had no idea. I put one hand on the wall to steady myself. “Sure.”

Zayvion knelt and I lifted one leg. The heat from his body, so near my skin, was a mix of pain and pleasure as he tugged off my pants and panties.

Not a stitch of clothes on me. I did not remember getting naked with this man before, though I know I had. Still, getting naked when I was shaking with cold and fever and felt like a steaming pile of something the dog had left on the yard was not exactly how I had pictured our sexy encounter. Even if I could feel the warm exhale of my maybe-ex-boyfriend’s breath high on my thigh.

He inhaled sharply, surprised. “Allie, where did you get that?”

I pulled my hand off of my eyes. What did I have down there that would get that kind of reaction out of him? “What?”

His fingers pressed gently at the edge of the mark on my thigh, the glyph Lon Trager had stabbed into me.

Oh. Right. That. So much for sexy.

And I swear, if I didn’t get into hot water right this damn minute, I was going to shake apart. “Got jumped on bus,” I chattered. “C-cold, Zay. Move.”

He stood, and his wide hands steadied me through the last few steps and then into the warmth of the shower.

I wrapped my arms around my ribs and stuck my head under the water.

“How many aspirin did you take?” he asked.

“Three.”

“Think you can take one more?”

One? I’d chew through a case of them. “Yes.”

Zayvion left. I thought about soap but didn’t want to move from beneath the water’s warmth. Then Zayvion was back. “Here,” he said.

I looked over, realized the shower curtain was open-had been open the whole time. Water was splashing out over towels I had not put on the floor. Zayvion held a cup in one hand and a pill-blue, and not aspirin-in the other.