The guy’s fist plowed into my face.
He saw the opening I’d given him, and he took it. The hard blow threw me back five feet, making me crash into a counter, the one with all the perfume bottles that Ashley and Devon had been considering. The counter rocked back and forth, but it didn’t tip over and the glass didn’t shatter. But the violent motion caused several bottles to slip off the top, slam onto the floor, and splinter into shards, sending the soft scents of lilacs and roses spiraling into the air.
For a moment, the pain of the punch overwhelmed me, as if a firecracker had exploded in my jaw, and it was all I could do to stay conscious.
But then, my other Talent kicked in, and the pain crystallized into something else—a brutal, bitter cold so intense it burned.
My entire body felt like it had just been submerged in the chilliest water imaginable and then left outside in a raging blizzard to air-dry. One second, I was sweating from the effort of swinging my sword in the shop’s stuffy air. The next, I had to grind my teeth together to keep them from chattering from the frigid sensation filling my body, as though my blood had been replaced with ice. But it wasn’t ice running through my veins—it was magic.
So I focused on that cold burn of magic and let it flow through my entire being, reenergizing me. Because this—this was my true Talent.
Some people called it transference, the ability to absorb magic used against you and turn it into something else. A major, major Talent because it was so extremely rare and could make someone so very powerful. But I knew it for what it really was—my most trusted weapon, and my most dangerous secret. One that I kept hidden for all sorts of reasons.
Oh, magic hurt me the same way it did everyone else.
But magic also made me stronger.
I staggered away from the counter and back onto my feet, holding my sword down by my side. That cold burn of magic filled every single part of me, thrumming through my veins like a bittersweet song.
The guy who’d hit me frowned, wondering why I wasn’t an addle-brained puddle on the floor. Then he snapped his fist forward again, aiming for my head as though he wanted to punch right through it.
This time, I caught his hand in mine, keeping it from slamming into my face again. We seesawed back and forth, with the guy trying to use his larger size and weight to overpower me. He didn’t realize that by punching me, by using his own strength against me, he’d given me the very thing I needed to beat him.
Even while he was wondering what was going on, I snapped my sword up and buried it in his heart, driving it almost all the way through his body in a sudden surge of strength. His eyes bulged in surprise, and I quickly averted my gaze from his before my soulsight kicked in and showed me his agony. The guy dropped to the floor, my sword still embedded in his chest.
The cold sensation racing through my body lessened, since I’d used up some of the stolen magic in my veins, but I still had enough power left to finish the fight. So I plucked the dead guy’s sword out of his hand and headed toward the mystery man, who was still creeping up on Devon. In the front of the shop, Felix let out a low moan, as if he were finally coming to.
With his fists up, Devon watched the mystery man draw closer. Hate blazed in his green eyes, but instead of backing away, he dropped one hand to his neck and started rubbing his throat, as if that would somehow keep the other man from killing him.
“Stop right there!” I yelled, trying to buy myself a few precious seconds to get close enough to protect Devon.
The mystery man’s gaze flicked to me, and I finally got my first good look at him. Brown hair, brown eyes, skin that was neither dark nor light. Everything about him was exceptionally average—height, weight, build. He was the sort of nondescript person you wouldn’t remember five minutes after you met him. A guy who would fade into the background any place he went. I couldn’t even really tell how old he was. He could have been twenty, he could have been forty, he could have been any age in between.
My gaze scanned over him, but his pants and polo shirt were both dull, anonymous khaki, and no Family cuffs or crests of any kind flashed on his wrist. Even his sword was plain and featureless.
His gaze locked with mine, and I sucked in a breath. Because as forgettable as his appearance was, his emotions were anything but—boiling rage mixed with bitter jealousy. He wanted to hurt Devon, but he also . . . wanted something from him. Something important. Something that would somehow soothe his jealous rage.
Devon finally managed to croak out something, although I couldn’t quite hear the word. The mystery man winced, as though the low, raspy sound hurt his ears, and he turned and ran out of the shop. Coward. Apparently, he didn’t have the guts to finish the fight himself, now that his murderous companions were dead.
I rushed over to Devon, who was leaning against one of the counters. “Are you all right?”
“Ash . . . ley . . .” he croaked. “Fe . . . lix . . .”
I helped Devon over to his friends. Felix was still groaning, but his eyes were fluttering, as if he wanted to open them. He’d be okay in a few minutes.
The same couldn’t be said for Ashley.
The bodyguard was lying on her back, staring up at a set of crystal wind chimes shaped like stars and dangling from the ceiling. Her sword was lying on the floor, and she had both hands pressed over the wound in her stomach. As soon as I saw it, my own stomach clenched. It was even worse than I’d thought, and the thick, metallic stench of her blood filled the air, overpowering the sweet, floral scents from the shattered perfume bottles.