Page 7 of Seared Fates

“You don’t.” Lucero flashes a daring smile. One that caused men to fall into his bed, and half of Spain's noble women to hand over their wealth.

“Do. Not—” I growl, getting into his face, “—Touch. Him.”

I should be surprised by this sudden possessiveness I have towards Kai. I know nothing about him, Idon’twant to be his soulmate, and yet to lay claim to him is the most natural impulse in the world.

That lavender-scented boy might not be mine, but like hell he will be Lucero’s or anyone else's. Damn the logic.

Golden punches my arm like I showed him. Good, he’s a fast learner. “Why are you going all caveman when you said you didn’t want him, idiot? You’ve gotta apologise. Kai’s going to think it's about his scars.”

I lift one shoulder. “Who cares about scars?” I kick Golden’s feet apart and move his hips so he keeps a better stance while hitting me.

“Kai cares, Maker,” Ramy says softly.

“He doesn’t like his scars!” Golden adds. “You basically called him ugly—”

“I didn’t call him ugly. That's ridiculous. I’ve lived well over a thousand years, and in all that time I’ve never seen a beauty such as his.” I look at each of them, wasn’t that obvious? “When I gaze up at night, I’m never sad to see stars instead of a smooth sky. Perfection. And that is Kai.”

Golden’s mouth drops open.

Ramy clears his throat. “I never knew you could be so romantic…”

Frowning, I tell them, “It isn’t romance. Sun rises, rain falls. His beauty is as undeniable as those things. But I’ve only ever wanted women. Besides, I've just left my eight-year-long isolation. I have no time to deal with this.” Even if there’s something in the centre of my chest thattugsat me, telling me to go find the boy.

“This is why you’re an idiot, Vidar,” Lucero tells me, the conceited bastard.

I think back on what I said to Kai when I first laid eyes on him. I was shocked to see the image of someone I must’ve dreamed about since my mother’s womb; it felt impossible to have never been in his presence before. However, that shock had turned into anger, disappointment. I’ve never wanted a man before, and I won’t start now.

“Surely he doesn’t think…” But when I look at those around me, I see my mistakes. “Fuck. I need to find him and explain.”

“No shit,” Golden grumbles, punching me again with much better form.

Chapter four

Kai

Ididn’t wake up from nightmares of the car crash, or Golden screaming, or fire.

But I also didn’t sleep. Something about being told by your soulmate they’d rather date the muck scraped off their shoe than you makes it hard to drift off. I’m pretty sure that’s what Vidar said, anyway.

So I got rejected by my soulmate, who cares, right? Who really dreams of unconditional love? Pathetic, boring people. That’s who. Sounds terrible if you ask me.

I don’t need a man. I can just perch my tablet on the stack of anatomy and pose reference books gathering dust on my windowsill (that I totally use instead of Pinterest). Then fall asleep to cooking videos, so when the nightmares retract their claws, I’ve got soufflés videos to wake up to instead of a pair of strong tattooed arms.

Flinging the covers off, I hop out of bed and march into my bathroom with purpose, I cried all my tears last night, and I can’t let this little blip get me down. The off-white tiles are cracked, the ancient toilet barely flushes, and the space is so small I can lay my hand flat against one wall and touch the opposite one.

I crank the shower on, snap a yellow ducky shower cap over my braids to keep them dry, and step inside the glass and limescale tomb without waiting for it to warm up. A bit of cold never hurt anyone.

Frigid water rains against my back. I squeal so high glass could crack, and jump out. Bloody hell, that was freezing.

‘Maybe waiting isn’t such a bad idea…’

I drape my rough towel over my shoulders. I bought it with my first paycheque, so I can't just get rid of it and start pacing from the bathroom to the bedroom and back again, keeping my thoughts away from unpleasant intrusions. My feetslap-slap-slappingagainst the black and white mosaic bathroom floor, thenpft-pft-pftingagainst the coarse, speckled beige carpet.

On my fifth lap, I spot the corner of a large grey leather-bound book, its wrinkled edge peeking out from under the bed. I halt mid-stride like I’ve caught someone eavesdropping on a private conversation.

Exhaling a string of curses, I scurry over and kick the thing back into the darkness.

It shouldn’t be here. But with all the chaos lately, I haven’t had a second to figure out what to do with it. So for now, as steam begins to billow into the bedroom and I rush back to the bathroom to claim the hot water, I forget about the thing I definitely shouldn’t have.