Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

That would never happen.

Chapter 20

Prepare, Carver said. So that was what I intended to do. My strength had never been in scrying or sensing, only in lucking out in battle with destructive magic, one way or another. I had to regain control of the Dark Room, bend it to my will once more, and not the other way around.

That explained why I’d found my way to the somewhat flattened peak of a grassy hill, just outside of Valero. It explained why I’d decided to sneak out of the Boneyard without telling anyone my destination, because I didn’t need another lecture from Carver about why I was tempting fate by playing with the shadows again.

It didn’t explain why I’d decided to go there with Bastion.

He stood across from me, on the opposite end of the hill, keeping warm in a leather jacket. Behind him the lights of Valero twinkled, a city asleep. A soft wind rushed over the hill, rustling the grass, sending up the sweet scent of nature and – and unfortunately, a small, enticing whiff of Bastion’s cologne.

I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. Carver was right about Mason. He was young, inexperienced, and we couldn’t stand the risk of me injuring him in a more serious way. The wound on his cheek was only just starting to properly heal. Maybe the shadows really did have some bizarre, toxic property to them.

That, at least, was my main justification for texting Bastion and asking him to help me out. Again, no way to do that at the dojo in the Boneyard. Too many prying eyes, meddling hands. And I definitely didn’t want to practice with Herald, because I would never want to hurt him.

The implication, of course, was that in some perverted manner, I was perfectly happy to hurt Bastion.

“Fucking get on with it,” Bastion yelled from across the hill.

Especially when he said things like that.

“I told you,” I yelled back. “I’m conditioning myself. Gotta make sure I don’t end up killing you with the darkness.”

Bastion scoffed, grinning at me, his teeth sparkling even in the dark of night, practically glowing with the light of the moon. “I mean, you could try and kill me. Highly doubt it. Isn’t that why you called me out here? Because I’m good at defending myself?”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t like him calling out my thoughts like that, and I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say next. “Yeah,” I said, tapping into the Dark Room, knocking lightly on its door with one proverbial finger. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Bastion cracked his knuckles, his smile even wider. “Any other reason?”

“I told you,” I said through clenched teeth. “I needed a punching bag.”

“Then why not practice with Mason? Or Herald?”

I glowered at him. Was Bastion actually telepathic, and he never told us, or was I that transparent?

“Mason’s shields are imperfect. I could hurt him again. Same with Herald.”

“Oh,” Bastion said. “And you’re fine with hurting me? Kinky.”

“That’s not what this is about. You’re skilled enough to avoid being harmed. That’s it.”

Bastion paced closer, which still put us several feet apart, but I backed away nonetheless. “I’m skilled at other things, too.”

“That’s it,” I murmured. I flicked my wrist, hissing with the mingled pain and pleasure as a long, black shaft of pure night extended from the palm of my hand. Bastion liked to boast so much. I just hoped he was strong enough to fend off Nightmare.

But barely five minutes into sparring, Bastion had parried every single strike with his bare hands. Granted, each of those hands was protected by a sturdy invisible arcane shield, but still. Either I was terrible at this swordsmanship thing, or – nah, I had to face facts. I wasn’t very good at it. And the more frustrated I got –

“Damn it,” I grunted, as I whiffed another slash with Nightmare. Bastion countered by striking me in the stomach, which hurts a hell of a lot more when someone’s fist is magically enhanced, I’ll tell you that. I doubled over, gasped for breath, and charged again.

I couldn’t explain to you how he did it, exactly, but Bastion didn’t just parry this time. He somehow managed to land me flat on my ass, too, tackling me to the ground by checking me with his shoulder. I stayed there, panting, the grass cool against my back as I stared up at the stars. As they always did in my imagination, the stars laughed down at me.

My connection to the Dark Room faltered, then petered out. Nightmare vanished into my skin, into the darkness, leaving only traces of blood dribbling down my palm, my fingers.

“Come on,” Bastion said, offering me his hand. I accepted grudgingly with my other, unbloodied hand, straining back onto my feet as he tugged. I dusted off the seat of my pants, blades of grass catching against my skin.

“The problem with you is that you let your emotions get to you. And you’re too damn single-minded. It’s either, or. Shadow magic, or fire.”