Page 42 of Wicked Dove

“What. Are. You?” I repeat, and she sighs.

“I thought you were going to help me with this?” she grumbles, pointing at her face, and I huff.

“I’m still deciding.”

“Deciding?” she repeats, eyes wide in confusion, and I grunt.

“Whether to help you or make it worse,” I answer truthfully, and her jaw falls slack.

“Why would you do that?” she mutters as I take a step toward her.

“Tell me what you are.” My magic thrums through my veins, easing the ache and tension that always coils tight when I keep it on lock, but when I set it free, it’s enthralling.

I let it seep into the room, whispering around the edges, and she gulps.

“A scythe.”

There's confusion in her words as she speaks.

“A scythe? They never make it out of The Sanctum. And Kael is your guardian?” I clarify, and she exhales with irritation.

“Unfortunately.”

Fuck. I don’t know what any of this means.

Retracting my magic, I turn to the closest desk and brace my fists on the wood as I try to gather my thoughts, but all my body, mind, and magic want to do is reach out and touch her.

I feel no rage, no fear, no pain.

It’s jarring.

A scythe isn't a threat, not to me, but at least it explains why she's walking around all bewildered and confused about the whole damn world she’s found herself in. But the level of magic that she holds is undeniable.

How did they even let her live?

She doesn't know her capabilities, not like I do, and it’s better it stays that way. There’s a reason scythes never make it through The Sanctum, that they’re mostly a myth among the world since their existence dwindles. It’s why their magic is hidden, the beings mingling among the humans without knowledge. Most of them die never knowing, unless they cause someone’s death. Then their truth is revealed.

She’s as rare as the shadow fae, just not as rare as me. Coming here was a political move for me, one I had no say in, one to shield me away from this level of magic. No wonder she evokes such strong emotions inside of me. But I didn't come all the way from my homeland to face off with someone like this.

The decision to come here was because it was the most logical and safe place for me. My plan beyond here is my own when the time comes,ifthe time comes, but that begs the question of what she knows.

Does she know my allies, my sworn enemies, my secrets?

Fuck. Death, it has to be.

She exhales heavily, distracting me from my thoughts as she perches herself on the desk beside me. “Can you decide what you're doing because the blood really is making a mess,” she grumbles.

“It won't matter when you're dead,” I threaten, and she sighs again, standing tall as she faces off with me.

“I think if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already.”

I stand, turning to face her so we're toe to toe, hoping to use my height advantage to make her step back, but it has no effect.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, and she shrugs.

“I don't know, a feeling, I guess.”

All I feel from her is calmness. Running my tongue over my bottom lip, my fingers flex at my sides and my mind tries to settle, but it’s impossible when I’m so wrapped up in the enigma before me.