Prince of Air and Darkness (The Darkest Court)

I curl up against him. Breathe his air.

“This is a mistake,” I say once more. But no one’s listening, not even me, and I drift off to sleep safe in his arms.

I wake to an empty bed. It’s odd to feel the ghostly warmth of his body in my sheets when he’s nowhere in sight. For a half second, the tiny piece of me that’s terrified by what I did whispers, You should be grateful that he walked away when you couldn’t.

My door opens and that thought’s drowned out by relief as Smith eases his way back in. He’s pulled on a pair of athletic shorts, but is otherwise gloriously naked. When he sees me awake, he gives a shy smile, and the color that floods his cheeks makes his freckles stand out.

“Hey,” he says, pushing the door shut behind him.

“Hey.”

“You still up for training today?” he asks. He settles himself comfortably on the foot of my bed.

It’s almost a relief how he acts like nothing’s changed. Well, except for the way his hungry gaze slides over me, as if he’s memorizing my body again, with his eyes this time instead of his lips and tongue. That is different. But his easy adjustment to our new circumstances assuages the awkward worry gnawing at me.

I stretch and sit up. “You never told me why it was so important for you to train so hard. You only mentioned that you wanted to help your family.”

Some unspoken war rages within him when he looks away from me and focuses on the picture I’ve left sitting on my desk. It’s my turn to wait. Finally, his shoulders relax and he says, “We need a good harvest this year. It’s important.”

“You want to use the ley line to help.”

“I need to use it to help. Do you believe in miracles, Roark?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, my parents do. And I need to give them one.” He glances back to me, grasping for levity. “Think you’re good enough to make me less of a magickal idiot?”

I lean toward him, fury stealing the coherency of speech until all I can bite out is “You’re not an idiot.”

He flinches away and the muscles of his back flex. “You call me one all the time.”

“I call you that because—” I swallow as he braces himself. How long has he believed me when I throw that word at him? For years, I’ve hidden behind it, afraid if I don’t call him that, I’ll trip up and call him something that gives away my true feelings. As if lying naked in bed beside him doesn’t give me away already.

Idiot.

The word hurts him. I never knew, or maybe I just ignored it because it was easier to push him away than risk some kind of admission.

I start again, lowering my voice and trying to be honest for a change. “I call you that because I know it upsets you. But it’s not true.”

His ribs expand, a shaky, staccato movement. I untangle myself from the sheets and move closer.

“How many non-magickal beings do you think attend Mathers?” I ask.

“Two dozen?” he guesses.

“Two,” I correct him. “You and a werewolf who hasn’t turned yet.”

I skim my hand down his spine. He shudders, but doesn’t pull away from the touch.

“So,” I continue, “there’s really only you.”

He tries to stand. “Mathers’s greatest disappointment.”

“Stop that.” I tighten my fingers around his wrist and tug, twisting him back toward me.

He hunches over the bed, legs braced awkwardly against the force.

“Stop saying that about yourself. You are doing the impossible, Finn. No one in history has had your power and lived this long. No one could control it the way you can. You are the most powerful human on the planet, and everyone wants a piece of you.”