Page 12 of Shattered Stars

“Did you fucking zap me, Pig Girl?”

“No,” I say, shaking my hand, electricity racing from my fingertips up my arm. “I’m sorry,” I add, “please, let me try again.”

He glares at me but flops back down, this time hunching over his knees so I can reach his shoulder blade.

Closer to him now, I can smell his scent even more clearly and feel the heat radiating from his skin, his magic swirling in the air. I hover my palm over his skin this time, trying not to bedistracted by the contoured lines of muscle that ripple there, or the tiger glaring up at me.

I close my eyes instead and whisper the words under my breath, feeling for the congealed blood under the surface, encouraging it to disperse, encouraging the injured tissue to heal.

As I do, I sense the traces of ancient bruises, of long-healed bones, of ripped and repaired flesh. Old dueling injuries? Fist fights from school? No, they are much older. Much, much older. I think of my own body, littered with the remnants of long-ago scars. Of how they formed.

I open my eyes and stare at the golden head of the boy before me, wondering if his life is not quite as golden as I always believed.

4

Azlan

I scanthe afternoon’s city traffic, searching for the first signs of the campus bus, growing ever more impatient with every car, truck and bike that passes.

This was a stupid idea. What if the bus was intercepted? What if it was forced off the road? What if the decrepit thing broke down out there on those lonely country roads?

But I’m being stupid. I’d know if she was hurt. I’d know if she was in danger. I’d feel it. The bond is strangely more powerful in my gut than it was the day before. Something has happened and I’m guessing that something is what she’s so desperate to talk to me about.

I feel through the bond for her now and, as if my bond is dragging her closer, the bus bundles into view at that moment.

My body sags with relief, and impatiently, I slide off my bike, pulling the hood of my cloak over my head and walk out to the sidewalk. The bus takes an age to chug the length of the street, caught by every frigging red light, but finally, it pulls alongside me, the doors swinging back and Rhianna standing inthe doorway, the sight of her making my heart ache vividly in my chest.

She spies me and jumps down onto the sidewalk. We wait for the bus to go and then I offer her my hand. She takes it, her palm warm and inviting as I pull her into an alleyway and into my arms, kissing her as all the traffic streams past on the street and the sidewalks bustle with people.

“We’ll go back to my place,” I tell her when I’m finally happy to release her mouth from mine. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She looks at me quizzically and follows me to my bike. Then we’re weaving our way through the city, her arms tight around my body, just like I want them. It’s these moments I wish would last forever. Just her. Just me. The bike and the road.

When we reach my house, curiosity still shines in her eyes.

“Am I going to be happy to meet this person?” she asks, with a hint of suspicion.

“I hope so,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “I’m hoping you’re going to be friends.”

“Well, as long as it’s not Lucinda or one of your other ex-girlfriends,” she mumbles.

“It’s not,” I say firmly, then add with a mumble, “and you’re making it sound like I have a lot of ex-girlfriends.”

She eyes me with more suspicion and I open the door, finding my sister waiting for us right there in the hallway, eagerness permeating out of every single one of her pores. She’s a lot like me: her hair dark and loose about her shoulders; her eyes dark too, and bright with excitement. She’s tall like me as well, nearing half a foot taller than Rhi easily, though much slighter. Too slender if you ask me. A consequence of the stress of living under my uncle’s control.

Today she’s wearing a colorful bright scarf tied around her head; a chain of beads hang from her ears and around her neckand her dress is as bright and colorful as her scarf. It isn’t an outfit she’d dare to wear in front of my uncle.

“Rhianna,” she beams, rushing forward to clasp my mate’s hands in her own. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Rhianna, this is Eleanor – Ellie, my sister.”

“Yes, I know.” Rhi smiles back at my sister. “I saw you in the Kennedy box at the match yesterday. It’s nice to meet you.”

My sister nods eagerly, her smile stretched wide. “It was a good match. Tristan played so well. You should have stayed to watch, Az.”

Rhi’s eyebrow twitches and she peers up at me in amusement. I guess she’s never heard me called that before.

I snort. “Tristan had enough sycophantic fans there to cheer him on. Besides, I’m not exactly welcome in the family box right now.”