Mystic (The Soul Seekers 3)

Which means it’s not too late to save him.

Driven by the promise of being reunited with Dace, I crash straight into a scene that stops me dead in my tracks.

twenty-one

Daire

Breathless and horrified I watch as he stands before an old dead tree with his back turned toward me. Grasping either side of the hollowed-out trunk with a set of palms that emanate a stream of energy so dark, it’s only a second later when the tree is annihilated as though it never existed.

Before he can turn that same dark magick on me, I creep up behind him, press the athame to his neck, and say, “Tell me where he is.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch. Doesn’t so much as glance back at me. Doesn’t react in any notable way.

Maybe because he recognizes me just as easily as I did him.

“Tell me where he is, Axel. Tell me what you’ve done with him, or so help me God, I will…” I leave the threat unspoken, allowing the sharp tip of my blade pressing into his neck to fill in the blanks as I keep a close watch on his hands. Magickal hands. Lethal hands. And I can only pray he didn’t use them on Dace.

“Drop the knife,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing, betraying no hint of fear. “There’s no need for violence. In case you haven’t noticed, physical threats may slow me, but they’ll never stop me.” He lowers his hands before him and stares at his palms in dismay. Seeming not to notice or care that I continue to press the blade to his neck.

“I know he’s here,” I say. “And if you don’t take me to him right now, so help me, I will cut you.” I jam the tip into his flesh, just enough to show that I’m serious.

“I have no doubt you’ll make good on your word. Still, you’ve already tried to kill me once. What makes you think a second attempt will end any better?”

“Because I’m stronger.” I glare. “And because this is no longer just about me. There’s much more at stake.”

He drops his hands to his sides as though they’re of no use to him. “If you truly care about Dace, if you really want to help him, you’ll put the knife away and go home. This is no place for you. Trust me on that.”

I lift onto my toes, curl my arm around his neck, and press the blade hard against the hollow of his throat. Last time I found myself in a similar situation, I hesitated and it ended up costing me greatly. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.

“You’ve got less than a second to tell me where he is,” I warn, taken by surprise when instead of resisting me, instead of answering me, he drops his head back and freely offers his neck. His deep purple eyes rolling skyward to meet mine, bearing no trace of the soft lavender gaze I remember.

“Do it,” he says. “If it pleases you, I won’t move to stop you.”

At his urging, I shove the knife in. Slicing through a soft layer of smooth, ivory skin—only to gasp in disbelief as a stream of golden fluid seeps from the wound.

That’s why he glows. It comes from inside!

“What are you?” I whisper, watching as the fluid coagulates, then dissipates, as the gash seals shut, leaving no sign it ever existed.

“I already told you.” He straightens his spine, crick

ing his neck from side to side as he turns to face me for the first time since I arrived.

“I know what you told me, but you’re more than a Mystic. That much is clear.” My gaze rakes over him, trying to get my bearings, trying to make sense of his being here.

“Am I?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure what I am anymore.”

Our eyes meet, and for the first time since I got here, I’m no longer sure what to do. He’s not acting at all like I expected him to.

“Why are you following me?” I snap, in desperate need of some answers. “Why are you here? There’s no way you can ever convince me to go back if that’s what you’re thinking!” The athame wavers before me, though it’s no use where he’s concerned.

“I don’t even know if I can return. I wouldn’t dream of taking you.” His dark gaze appraises me, and for the first time ever he looks weary, broken, and as lost as I currently feel. “Besides, you’re fully healed now from what I can see. Exactly how long have you felt better, Daire?”

I stare at him without blinking.

“Much longer than you let on, I presume.”

I stand mute before him, staring at the place on his forehead where the chair landed. Noting how, just like his neck, it bears no trace of trauma.