Supernaturals earned a lot of leeway in the is it murder or dinner department.
Humans had encroached on many species’ ancestral lands, putting them in hunting grounds that, as far as paranormal law went, made them fair game. Black witches, however, didn’t have to kill to survive. They did it for power, and more talented practitioners added years from a victim’s life to their own.
The leeway shown to other predatory species wasn’t awarded to them, which left smart black witches to prey on others with extreme caution. Get sloppy, get dead. You were made an example to remind other black witches to dine in private and clean up after themselves.
Asa slid his fingers through mine, meshing them, offering me his strength. “Rue…”
“I killed my first partner too.” The confessions kept coming, pouring out of me, as if I wanted him to hear my sins and judge me for them. “Maimed the second.”
“You were too young to control your powers.”
“I still wonder about that.” I flexed my fingers, enjoying the warmth of his palm against mine. “I was so angry, so lost. I lashed out at everyone around me. I had no real control, and the director encouraged it. He wanted to push me until I tipped over the edge, and I got tired of hanging on by my fingernails.”
A low growl poured into the night air, the rumble a comfort that vibrated in my bones.
“Clay was my third partner, and I’m certain he got stuck with me because he’s indestructible. Or close to it. The director felt I could grow into my role as an agent with Clay watching over me, minimizing the risk to others.” I risked a glance at Asa. “I used to hate Clay for that.”
“The director ordered Clay to spy on you and report back.”
“Yeah.” I tipped my chin up to stare at the moon. “He was nice to me, but I didn’t trust him. Not for a long time. Not until I read one of his reports. He told the director I was a bloodthirsty killing machine when the truth was, I had gotten so sick from the carnage of a warg brawl, I threw up on Clay’s shoes.”
Asa’s intense gaze lingered on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn to see what his expression would tell me.
“The director broke me into little pieces until I lost so much of myself, I had no idea how much was missing or what I had lost.” I risked a glance at Asa. “Clay was the one ready with a bottle of glue, a magnifying glass, and a pair of tweezers. He always fit me back together again.”
Over and over and over through years and years and years until mentally I was a patchwork quilt.
“And…” I dropped my face into my hands, “…I can’t believe I told you that.”
Only the director knew all the gory details of my past. Even Clay had large gaps in his knowledge, despite the director briefing him prior to us partnering. As his earlier outburst proved, the director had left out a lot. I don’t see why he bothered editing his narrative to suit his audience. Habit, maybe?
As the golem’s current master, the director could have ordered him to keep his—and my—secrets.
“I appreciate the gift you’ve given me,” Asa murmured. “I understand how much it cost you.”
“It frightens me that I told you,” I confessed. “It terrifies me even more that I wanted to do it.”
Whatever the reason, I felt compelled to blab my worst qualities, and that left me fragile in my own skin, afraid the next touch might break through the hard shell I had spent a lifetime building to protect myself from feeling too much, from wanting too much.
“The fault might not lie with you.” He ducked his head. “Mother told me once that when her people find their mate, their souls recognize their match in each other and forge a connection that facilitates sharing their hopes, their fears, their pasts. Then, if the bond is proven true, that friendship evolves into…more.”
A spike of relief stabbed me under the rib cage to hear I hadn’t gone soft, that this thing with Asa was to blame for me blabbing old secrets to anyone in hearing range tonight.
“You’re saying our compatibility is giving me verbal diarrhea?”
Asa choked on a laugh that made me grin. “Perhaps?”
“You’ve never done this before?” I lifted my wrist and shook the bracelet. “This is your first time?”
“You are my first, yes.”
“Ah.” Heat rose in my cheeks, and I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
With the fingers of his other hand, he traced the curve of my cheek. “Is this your first time?”
“I have never been given a hair bracelet or an emotional laxative, no.”
More soft laughter parted his full lips, and my gaze landed on his mouth with a startling hunger.