Whoever did this to Sage took a very serious chance at getting their own head removed. Only the Cast sanctions blood memory removal, and only the House sanctions when they’re passed on.
Why would someone take such a risk? The dreams were bound to be discovered.
We pull into the parking garage and leave the car with the valet. When we get in the elevator, Sage leans on the rail and hugs herself like she’s cold. “What do you think Marius will say?” she asks.
“About what?”
“My brain reliving my homicidal sister’s life.”
“Hopefully he’ll be able to help us figure out why the memories are there.”
She releases a breath. “It’s obvious something’s wrong with me.”
“Sage—”
“The first torque didn’t work, and I burned down the cottage in my sleep. I’ve somehow attracted the most manipulative guy in this whole freaky world into stalking me. And now I have this new torque on that only he can take off.”
Damn, I forgot—I have to break the news to Marius about that too.
She continues, “And we don’t even know if this torque works either.”
Gods, another thing. “We should test it,” I say, pressing the button for the floor just below Marius’s. He’ll want to know whether this torque is effective, no matter how mad he might be that Kieran is the one who placed it. I should’ve thought to test it last night.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to the empty floor. I step out, and she follows me hesitantly. She looks around at the bare drywall and steel beams of the unfinished offices.
“The floors above and below Marius’s offices are empty,” I explain. “He owns the building so he doesn’t lease them out. This floor is glamoured to look like an ad agency to the humans, I think.” I pick up a scrap piece of cardboard from where it leans against the wall and place it in the middle of an open area. “Okay, you’re going to try and light this on fire.”
“What if I can’t?”
“It’s not a can or can’t. It’ll be what you feel inside when you try.” I turn to face her, wondering how best to spark her power. Unfortunately, the most effective stimulations are pain or passion—not things I want to ignite in her. “There are a couple of ways we could do this,” I start, not sure how to put it. “We could use force, like pain from a cut on your arm.” I tap the sheath on my side. “Or I could . . . we could . . . touch.”
She blinks up at me. “Like, I could try to feed from you again?”
I nod.
“Or you could cut me?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, both sound so great,” she says dryly. “I barely know what to pick.”
“It’s your call. We could also wait and let Marius do this.”
Her feet shift, and she shakes her head. “No, let’s just cut my arm.”
My chest constricts with disappointment, surprising me. She’d rather cut herself than have a repeat of last night—so what? Why the bloody hell am I bummed she doesn’t want to feed from me?
She must see my conflict because she adds, “I don’t want to hurt you by accident. At least this way it’s just me.”
I nod, not commenting, then pull out my dagger and hand it to her by the hilt.
She takes it and starts to point it at her arm, but then pauses and holds it out to me again. “Sorry, can you just do it? Apparently I’m a horrible masochist along with everything else.”
I take the blade back, but I hesitate. My body refuses to move. “I’m not sure I can,” I say, literally unable to do it. It’s as if I couldn’t hurt her even if I wanted to. And then I remember the protector spell. Of course I can’t.
I stare at her, overwhelmed by my need to shield her. I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Even Astrid. But . . . if it is just the protector spell, then why am I noticing how her pale lashes frame her eyes and highlight the gold specks in her irises? Why does the slight upturn of her nose make me want to pull her closer . . . and kiss her?
Being in that dream reminded me of something I can never have again—the joining of soul and body with someone, the feel of connecting, caring, worshipping. And in this moment, I realize it’s her I want that forbidden thing with.
It’s her.
THIRTY-THREE
SAGE
“The protector spell won’t let me hurt you,” he says, his voice tense as he passes the knife back.
I take it from him for the second time, the smooth hilt cool against my palm.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll just do a quick cut then—where’s the best spot?” I wave the blade over my forearm.
His hands go in his pocket. “Your palm. And you should hurry. I feel like I’m going to come out of my skin if I don’t stop you.”
“Right.” Without thinking about it, I press the blade’s edge to the soft flesh of my palm as hard as I can and slice with a quick swipe.
I hiss in a breath, my hand throbbing instantly. It’s a good cut, blood pearling up, sliding in a thick coat over my palm, dripping from my fingers to the floor. “Now what?” I ask through my teeth.
“You’ll still heal with the torque on, maybe a bit slower, but you shouldn’t be able to release the energy in its element form.” He directs my attention from my bloody hand to the cardboard. “Focus on the pain. Try to push it into the cardboard. Remember yesterday afternoon, how the energy felt when it rose.”
I have no trouble focusing on the pain. I stare down at the cardboard and try to sense that part of myself I’m just getting to know, the spark of heat in my blood.
The sting pulses over my arm and up my shoulder, and something stirs. My belly is growing warm, and my chest is heating.
“I feel it,” I say.
“Now attempt to push it outward, like the sensation is your weapon, your punch at something trying to hurt you.”
I stare at the cardboard and try to get a grip on the stirring. I breathe in slowly through my nose. And I shove outward.
The energy surges, growing hotter in a nanosecond. My hand coats with orange light, small tongues of fire licking over the wound as it closes. But there’s a sudden pushback, the heat dulling as quickly as it flared.
The cardboard smokes at my feet.
“Good,” Faelan says. “I felt the block, did you?”
“I think so.”
“It’s working.”
I release a shaky breath and touch the medallion, tracing the amber-encased moth with my fingertip. “It worked.” I can’t help the huge smile that fills my face as relief washes over me. “Oh my God, that was awesome. I felt it. Like, really felt the thing inside me that time.”
“Good, Sage,” he says, answering with his own smile.
The sight of his dimple sends tingles down my legs. “I’m going to be able to control it,” I say, giddy.
“You are.”
The realization of what that means hits me. I won’t hurt anyone now. I’m free. I could actually leave if I wanted to.
But as soon as the thought rises, my excitement twists, turning sour. And where will you go, Sage? You’ll be totally alone out there.
“You all right?” Faelan asks, bringing me back.
“Yeah, totally,” I lie. “I’m super relieved.”
“Well, let’s go talk to Marius,” he says, studying me like he knows I’m faking my smile now. “We still have a lot of ground to cover.”
THIRTY-FOUR