Page 40 of Tethered Souls

She pushes the fork inside, her breath hitching. Then she pulls it from my mouth leisurely, the blush on her cheeks darkening under whatever naughty thoughts she’s thinking. My cock twitches, but before I can pull her onto my lap, she steps back.

“Why haven’t you used a wand?” she blurts. An instant mood killer as I’m reminded why I broke my knuckles to begin with.

My voice flat, I say, “I can’t.”

Her brow furrows. “But everyone can use a premade.”

Those wands created for non-witches to use, those with low dormant magic inside them. My lips tighten. “I never hit my ascension.”

“But you’re awitch.”

I know what she means. Unlike humans – as in all beings made in the gods’ images rather than the stolen terminology by the “humans” of Earth, witches don’t have to wait until they’re past their ascension to use a premade wand. Our magic isn’t the byproduct of another gift. We don’t get a glimmer of it due to our ability to shift like werewolves or phase like vampires – glimmers that come out only during our ascensions. We have the raw deal from birth, even if we can’t access it; a premade wand should work in our hands as soon as we’re out of the womb. They should work for me.

“It doesn’t seem to matter,” I say.

She shakes her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Take it up with the gods.”

She stares at me, thoughts whirling behind her eyes. But I have already asked all the questions she’s thinking. Have already spent years researching why I was born without magic. How I could get it so our father would come back. Not just for me but for all my brothers who I robbed of his love.Is that why one of them wants to kill me?“The wand is in the cabinet,” I say, glancing at the one beside us.

She shakes her head, snapping herself out of whatever thoughts she had. Then she puts the plate down and raises her arms in front of me. Heeding the silent command, I lift mine, and white magic flows from her palms. It’s soft, not that strong, but it is enough to heal the fractures and reduce the swelling.

The magic fades, but she keeps her hands on me. Her eyes search mine. The pull between us strengthens. I can feel her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers; it pulses down my arms and intome.

My heart rate quickens to match hers.

My eyes dip to her lips.

I can practically feel them beneath mine, and I ache with the need to taste her. To cross that line of intimacy I have no right to cross.

The door to the gym opens, and she jerks away, turning as Khalid enters. Lowering my arms, I rise to my feet.

“Get out,” my brother says to her, and she is moving in an instant. No lip. No rise of her hackles. Just a respectful nod before she leaves.

My eyes narrowing, I glare at Khalid. He looks at me, and I am quick to shove down my jealousy, to remove it from my face before he gets any stupid ideas about how she’s my girl and I should treat her accordingly. Because to Khalid, a man doesn’t make his girl worry, doesn’t make her serve him. No, to him, a manserves her. Makes her want for nothing. Discovers her dreams and gives his life to make them come true.

My chest tightens at the idea of pulling back her layers, seeing parts of her that even she hasn’t seen. Dismissing the foolishness, I focus on my brother.

“It’s Lincoln,” he says, the words a clear trial leading to an execution.

My gaze sharpens, the last comforting beats of Micha’s pulse squashed down by the need to believe this truth. That it wasn’t one of our brothers who tried to kill me. That he somehow found evidence in a few hours even though we’ve been looking for months without a single trail.

“How do you know?”

“His wife got drunk last night and let it slip she wasn’t with him.”

“He could’ve been off with a whore.”

“She also said he’s been meeting with Antonio.”

My jaw tics. Lincoln’s a shapechanger, able to change the forms of other living things. With a single touch, he could have destroyed Jerry’s body, causing his skin to bubble and slip off like we saw last night. “The territory he runs borders Antonio’s. They would have reason to talk.”

“Perhaps,” Khalid says, but I know that tone. He has no doubts.

“Who did she spill this to?”

“Vinny.”