Page 70 of Shattered Stars

Rhi

I shouldn’t be surprised.The man is a psychopath. But then I’m the one standing here, alone with him, in a forest, letting him touch my throat.

Am I the one who’s lost her mind?

Possibly. This is the craziest, stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I’ve done quite a few crazy and stupid things. However, something in my gut tells me he isn’t a threat, no longer a danger. He isn’t going to hurt me.

Who am I kidding? I know exactly what that ‘something’ in my gut is.

Then there’s Pip. He never changes his mind about someone. Make an enemy of my pig and you’ve made an enemy for life. There was one particular chicken back home that he hated for no particular reason. They spent entire days locked in battle.

And yet Pip led me right here.

Maybe this man has bewitched us both.

“My blood?” I say. “I don’t think so.”

“Little rabbit, you still don’t trust me?” I shake my head. “And yet we both know you’re far stronger than me. You could blast me apart if you wanted to.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“I’m not–”

“I’ve seen it, little rabbit. You can wield crimson magic.”

The magic crackles on the ends of my fingertips when he says those words, as if he’s calling to it.

He grins and fleetingly he looks less man, more boy.

He drops his fingers away from my throat and the thing in my gut isn’t happy about it. It wants his hands on my skin. But then he’s tugging up his t-shirt and, taking my hand in his, he presses my palm flat against the rigid muscle of his chest. His heart beats right into my palm and I see the flash of his toned stomach, inks scribbled over every inch of his skin.

“You can kill me if you want,” he says. “If you don’t trust me. If you think my intentions are bad. Then end me now.”

I look up into his face. His eyes may be mismatched but they’re also beautiful, framed by long lashes any girl would kill for. They don’t belong in the face of a killer.

I let him press my hand against his heart, the sensation in my stomach going crazy with it.

I swallow.

“How is my blood going to help?” I ask him.

“Magic,” he says with another grin. I raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “I know a way.” He looks out towards the academy. “A hoity-toity school isn’t the only way to learn.”

As if I need to be told that.

“Why didn’t you go to the academy? Every magical is required–”

“The Wolves of Night found me first, little one, and my …educationtook a deviating route. Anyway, my mom, she was apotion maker. Sold all sorts of crap to gullible non-magicals – some of which worked. I guess I learned some things before she kicked me out.”

“She kicked you out? How old were you?”

He turns his gaze back to me. There’s no emotion in his face now. He doesn’t answer.

“I never knew my mom,” I say, not sure why I’m telling him. “The only thing I knew about her was her name.”

“You want to know more about her, don’t you?”