Page 35 of Gifted Destiny (Hidden Libraries #3)
Bren
I wish I could show Zosia the visions that prove my words. She’s starred as my motivation for as long as I can remember. The promise of her offered a reminder that I wouldn’t always be under my father’s thumb.
Unfortunately, changing my name and trading Father for Addington hasn’t canceled his power over me. I might have managed to distance myself from his cruelty, but the way he raised me still influences my actions and the threat of him refuses to cease.
While the others may scoff at the idea that we hold any power, I’ve seen the possibilities in my visions. The events we put into motion will send ripples throughout the supernatural community that will continue into the magicless population and spill from our world into the next.
Most people won’t notice anything, but that’s how the future changes. The shifts begin as mild quivers that barely measure on the Richter scale before they become tremors and evolve into earthquakes. Not every monumental event requires a monumental catalyst. Change could start with something insignificant – like a vampire returning an overdue book or a beleaguered older brother chasing his wayward sibling.
Years from now, when the campus feels as safe as the space inside her walls, we will look back on the little things that changed everything. One of those memories is bound to be this moment – a meeting of two mages who haven’t the faintest idea of how to be a mage.
“I want to not be afraid of him anymore. He still controls my actions and my mind in some ways, and I just want to be free.” The words present an abrupt mood and subject change but Zosia follows without difficulty.
“I understand. Even though they’re not physically restraining us, they still have so much power over us. If I allow it, they always will. They made me like this.” She motions toward her legs.
My visions had never revealed the extent of her injuries. This is probably for the best because I can’t help but think about how close she came to dying. I struggle with my desire to fix her – even if she doesn’t need to be fixed. I want to erase her emotional and physical pain. The puzzle-loving aspect of my brain is solution-driven, but I remind myself that problems are required to attain solutions.
“They tried to erase you, to destroy the only sphinx in existence, but they didn’t. That is power. Sometimes, I feel weak when I’m next to you. What good is raw power when it can’t be controlled or summoned? I also feel like a hypocrite. I want independence, but I need rules. Without someone to tell me what to do or offer a set of guidelines, I’d be lost.”
“If you’re a hypocrite, then I am too. Maybe all humans are. Maybe …, it’s a side effect of being human.” Zosia’s full, pink lips curve upward as she repeats the words I murmured earlier. When she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkle into little folds. The sunlight glazes her with a natural, golden glow. She hadn’t looked this beautiful in my visions. If she had, I wouldn’t be struck dumb every time she looked at me.
Oblivious to my staring, my little lioness continues. “Craving independence doesn’t mean we crave chaos or solitude, especially considering our backgrounds. It’s natural to want to make our own decisions, but we should surround ourselves with people who will give us the freedom to do so and remind us of the reasons why we make those decisions. Does that make sense?”
I nod, but she doesn’t seem to need my answer. “Sometimes, the decisions we make have the same outcome that others want, but that doesn’t mean we are making the decision for them.”
Perhaps I’m reading into it, but I think she’s referring to the bond. Her words serve as a gentle reminder that my circumstances have changed. Addington forcing me into bed with an unknown woman to enhance my magic can’t be compared to the mate-bond. I know Zosia. I love her and desire her. My signature on the contract means I chose this.
A grunt jolts me from my thoughts. The food basket is just beyond Zosia’s reach. I shake aside the epiphany I’ve just arrived at and focus on preparing two plates of food. The array of dishes is impressive considering the library’s current dormancy. The container of yogurt, fruit, and granola that I give Zosia appears pre-arranged but also homemade.
I’m distracted from my hunger when Zosia digs into her food, and her lips close around the spoon with obvious enjoyment. My little lioness isn’t sexy on purpose. She probably thinks she can’t be sexy, but she’s wrong. She possesses an authentic, innocent sensuality that is enhanced by her lack of awareness. When her eyelids flutter closed and her tongue flicks forward to lick the remaining yogurt from the spoon, my body reacts immediately. Before I met Zosia, I couldn’t achieve an erection without considerable effort. Simply watching her eat arouses me. I don’t need further proof of our compatibility, but it continues.
“I’m still angry that the detective almost damaged the contract book,” the woman next to me sighs. She’s oblivious to my desire, and I adore her for it. A typical shifter would smell it, and the women Addington preferred would have expected and searched for it. “I don’t know why I thought we were invincible.”
Her distress urges me to comfort her, and my palm finds her thigh before I can overthink my impulse. Her eyes widen but I don’t see any sign that she wishes me to stop. My intent was to soothe her, but the soft heat of her skin through the thin leggings is distracting.
“That wasn’t your fault, little lioness. If it’s anyone’s fault, it should be mine. The BSP wouldn’t have been here if not for me, and I didn’t foresee the event in time to warn you.” When she opens her mouth to protest, I shake my head. “If you believe it isn’t my fault, why can’t I believe it’s not your fault? Feelings should be equally valid in each direction.”
Her eyes narrow as she contemplates my argument. “That’s not what I ....” her words end with a grimace when she remembers she can’t lie – not even to defend an argument.
“Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, blame can be too. We are all in this together, though, so we should share the consequences and the blame if there’s to be any.”
“I suppose you have a point,” she murmurs and continues her yogurt. I opt for a pre-made sandwich so I don’t have to remove my hand from her leg. “I’m more than a little scared that we’ll fail.”
Her whisper is meant to be casual, but the full depth of her fear makes my mouthful of food too dry to swallow. I hide my reaction by reaching for a bottle of water. The worst part is that I can’t offer any reassurances; my visions aren’t comforting. Most people can’t contain their curiosity, morbid or otherwise, but Zosia doesn’t ask me what I’ve seen. Either she doesn’t want to know, or she trusts me to tell her anything necessary.
“Let’s not fail,” I say with forced determination after several moments of silence pass.
“About that … do you have any idea how to create mage fire?”
“Do you?” I counter.
Abrupt laughter bubbles from her lips, appearing to surprise her as much as it does me. “No clue!” Her declaration carries a hint of mischief.
I grin, sharing her desperate amusement, and recite the first quote that comes to mind. I don’t always remember learning the quotes; it’s as if they just wait in silence for their perfect entrance into a conversation.
“John Krasinski said, ‘Always trying new things is always more fun, and it can be scary, but it's always more fun in the end.’”
Zosia closes her eyes, and a little line appears between her brows when they draw together. My dick pulses with renewed desire at the sight of her strawberry-stained lips puckered around her spoon. I really want to kiss her. The surprising intensity of this urge prevents me from following through.
“‘What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?’”
Her soft murmur is nearly inaudible through the blood rushing through my veins. I think she’s referring to my desire to kiss her before I realize she can’t read my mind. “Vincent Van Gogh,” I add as I identify the original speaker.
“Yes. I don’t know as many quotes as you, but I can come up with a few. I can also access a million books on creating mage fire.” She grimaces. “A million is an exaggeration, but the key point is that many, many books that mention it. When I try to learn more, though, my mind just takes me back to yesterday. Do you remember when I held you up here on the rooftop while the storm raged? Garrett thought it would calm you.” Her cheeks adopt a blush of pink at the reminder.
I recall the moment, refusing to look away from her. Even after I’d regained conscious awareness, I hadn’t immediately pulled away. I’d wanted to absorb the vulnerable feel of her embrace. She and Garrett radiated acceptance and love while surrounded by a deadly storm. Selfishly, I’d never wanted the moment to end.
“I remember. But why?” I doubt she’s referring to my lack of control.
“Your sparks! Everything I know about mage fire reminds me of the sparks your magic creates. Mage fire is malleable and follows its creator’s instructions. Regular fire, the chemical process of combustion, is nearly impossible to control or direct. Your sparks resemble the sparks of a fire, but they didn’t burn me or anything around us. Although I’ve never seen mage fire myself, I’ve also heard it’s commonly blue like your sparks.”
“I don’t create or control the sparks, though. I barely notice them anymore because they appear whenever I’m upset, overwhelmed, or overflowing with magic.”
“Were they the same when you channeled magic into Kodi?” Her tone is deliberately sly as she forces me to evaluate my magic from a different perspective.
“A few stray sparks flew off, but I managed to just compress them into the rest of my magic.”
For the second time in two days, the feel of something large and hot inside my chest nearly overwhelms me. It takes me a moment to realize what the feeling is – confidence … self-confidence.
“I controlled my magic,” I whisper before repeating the words at a louder volume. “I controlled my magic! I controlled it when I gave it to Kodi. Those sparks could be fire?”
Zosia nods, mirroring my excitement. “They could be. I think you directed the sparks, and I think those sparks can be mage fire. As a wise man once told me, ‘Magic is intention.’” She quotes my words with a giddy smile that rekindles my urge to kiss her. “Just modify your intentions. Instead of ‘ give the ghost energy,’ think ‘ mage fire’ or ‘ destroy the evil book .’”
I chuckle. “I think my original prompt was ‘ make ghost hard’ because it was funny. I also knew we would achieve our goal faster if we thought of you.”
I’m not trying to flirt, but Zosia’s cheeks turn red, and her eyelashes flutter with nervous appreciation. Her lips also curve into a smile because she appreciates Kodi’s and my sense of humor. The three of us never really had the chance to say these things around a group of our peers.
“I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that,” she admits with a shy giggle; it’s delightful rather than annoying. “But this reminds me that I haven’t thanked you yet. Kodi might have achieved solidity himself, but it could have taken years. I’ve loved him and imagined him in that way for so long that I could have waited.” She shrugs. “Thanks to you, I didn’t have to.”
The way she looks at me reminds me that I should kiss her. Even though she’s referring to having sex with someone else, it barely registers. My visions never suggested that I’d have her to myself.
I lean forward, tired of fighting the desire to be closer to her. A more rational part of my brain insists we should be creating fire and saving the world, but kissing her is more important. I want to feel her lips against mine again and see her cheeks turn red. I want to know if she wants me as much as I want her. I don’t want to kiss her because I’m supposed to. I want to.
The mere graze of my lips against hers starts a fire within me that could destroy a million evil spells. I’ve kissed her before, and it’s the same but different. It’s the same because her lips taste like strawberries and remind me that she is Zosia – my mate, my love, my destiny. I despised kissing every woman I’d been forced to be intimate with; they tasted of cosmetics and ambition, and their sounds of pleasure rang falsely within my ears.
The kiss is also different, though, because we’re alone and we can do more than kiss. I ignore the niggling voice in the back of my mind that reminds me we’re supposed to do more because that doesn’t matter. Zosia kisses like she eats, with an unfeigned pleasure and hunger that implies neither of us is doing this because it’s expected of us. Arthur Ashe said, ‘The doing is more important than the outcome,’ and it’s perfect right now.
Filled with renewed intention, I lean forward to increase the pressure of my kiss for just a second before I pull back slightly and nip at her bottom lip. I want to see how she reacts. Her indrawn gasp and the moan that vibrates through her body aren’t contrived. Neither is the way her legs suddenly clench together, trapping my hand between her warm thighs. Her reactions are carnal and honest and evoke the same within me. My need throbs within me, increasing the pace of my heart, and a tight groan of hunger escapes my throat.
Although I push aside all thoughts of forging a bond because it’s our duty, I feel obligated to explain my reticence before we continue. I pull away just far enough to see her eyes. It’s not far enough that I don’t feel the brush of her full breasts and taut nipples against my chest with every shuddering breath she draws. The scent of strawberries and sweet, honeyed yogurt almost makes me forget my confession. It’s physically painful to ignore her right now.
“Completing the bond because it’s expected of us isn’t the only reason I’ve stalled so long. I’ve been afraid ….”
Zosia’s wide eyes are more gold than blue, and the color is further evidence of her arousal and desire. “Afraid of what?” she whispers.
“I’ve been scared that my visions were wrong or just presenting me with what I wanted to see. I used to escape into these visions of the future as a child. I would get lost in them sometimes, just like you would get lost in your stories. Ever since I arrived, I’ve been waiting for you, the library, and the other guardians to disappear and reveal that I’m not actually here. I don’t want the visions I’ve seen of the future to be false hopes.” My words end on a harsh croak as I recall the hypnotic trances I used to sink into. Addington’s fury had been immense every time, and Garrett had been angry too. My brother’s anger had been hiding his fear – that I’d found a way to escape and left him alone.
My beautiful companion absorbs my confession, and her eyes glimmer as her beautiful mind finds the best answer. I need her to tell me that this is real and that she is real, but my mind could fabricate that, too. She shifts toward me and strokes her fingertips along my jaw and down my neck with equal measures of hesitance and confidence. The skin she touches shivers, and every hair on my body seems to tingle as it rises.
“I believe a wise man said just a day ago that the future doesn’t matter,” she whispers. For a brief second, my brain tries to attach the quote before I remember that I said that after my talk with Fin.
“This moment is the most important, and this moment is real.” She leans toward me, presses her lips teasingly against mine, and swipes her tongue across my bottom lip. “Can you feel me? Do I feel real?”
My eyes close, reluctantly depriving myself of her beauty, as I concentrate on the sensation of touch. Her shifted position brings my legs alongside hers, with one of her thighs between mine. Although I no longer feel the painful graze of her nipples against my chest, this position is more difficult for her. It requires vulnerability and trust. My palms slide up the toned muscles of her arms slowly, noting the trail of goosebumps and shivers they create.
“You feel real,” I whisper.
Her breath fans across my lips, and I breathe in deeply. Under the scent of our late lunch, she smells of feathers and fur in a way that isn’t unpleasant. She also smells like books, ink, and possibilities. Although I don’t have the enhanced senses of a shifter, the increased pace of her heartbeat echoes through the breaths between us. The taste of her is still on my tongue. These sensations didn’t appear when I had visions of the future, even when I pretended like I was already there. This isn’t a dream, or a vision, or anything but reality.
“You are the realest thing I’ve ever known,” I breathe and rest my forehead against hers. I’ve seen the gesture on screens, but I’ve never wanted to mimic it. Her eyes are so close that she appears to only have one, and her lungs fill with the air I exhale.
“You feel real to me, too, Bren. Let’s not think about the future or fire or anything but that.”
I nod without releasing her gaze and feel the bond click into place in our chest. It’s nearly complete – perhaps a kiss or another heartfelt conversation will complete it. I don’t want to admit this, though. I want her. I want to explore intimacy with someone who truly knows me – someone I desire. I want to experience carnal love, and I want to forget everything but the feel of her. Her sighs and moans will be all I hear, and her golden eyes and beautiful body will be all I care to see.
We exist as if time has stopped and nothing else matters. This is our reality, and we shape it with our decisions and our attitude. We choose to be with one another freely.