Page 68 of Shattered Stars

“No,” she says, in such a forceful way I’m sure my feelings would be hurt if I had any.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“Erm,” I say those muscles pulling at the corners of my mouth again, “magic.”

My little rabbit really is funny.

I take a step towards her. I can smell that sunshine scent of hers from here, even above the dank organic stench of the forest. Fuck, I want to lick her. Like a lollipop.

“Come one step closer and I’ll blow you apart.”

“Fuck, yes,” I say. “Blow me fucking apart!” I bet it would feel amazing.

She frowns. I’m doing this all wrong again. Frowning is bad. If she’s frowning the likelihood is she won’t let me touch her.

Or lick her.

I peer at the pig, appealing to him for help. He crinkles his snout and trots off to root about under a bush.

“What did you do to my pig? Did you bewitch him?”

“We have an understanding.” She stares at me like I’m mad. But hey, she’s the one with the pig. I’ve seen how she talks to him, how she babies him. “He knows I want to keep you safe.”

“Safe?!” she spits. “You’ve been trying to kill me!” She takes an aggressive step forward, that hook tugging her closer.

I want to reach out and coil my magic around her, drag her right into my arms. But she’ll probably scream and make a fuss about it.

“Yeah. Not anymore.”

“You expect me to believe Marcus Lowsky has … what … forgiven me? Forgotten about me?”

“No, he still wants you dead.”

Magic hisses on the end of her fingertips like snakes about to strike. Crimson magic. I want to see it again, want to see her wield it.

I also want to stay alive. For now anyway. Long enough to lick her.

“But I don’t,” I add.

“Why?” There’s curiosity in her tone. I may be shit at reading other people, but with her it’s different. It’s clear.

I meet her gaze. She doesn’t flinch away, not like all the others. She holds my gaze and her magic crackles in the air.

I can see her pulse dancing in her throat, can see her breath brushing against her pretty lips, can hear her heart pumping.Her skin is pale, translucent. I can see all the rivers of blood flowing beneath it. She’s so fragile. So fucking beautiful.

I bet she’s just as beautiful between her legs. Just as fragile.

I bet I could ruin her completely.

“I like you, little rabbit. I don’t like people. People are like fucking riddles. They make my brain ache. But you …”

“I don’t like you,” she says simply.

It’s the way people talk to me sometimes. They think because I don’t think like them. I’m dumb. So they treat me like a child.

I don’t think I’m dumb. I think smart doesn’t always look the same.

It’s not always professors in their posh suits, sitting in their goddamn offices, surrounded by dusty books.