it under my arm. It wasn’t Trent’s, and I wanted it back. “And stop looking at my aura,” I added, knowing he was by the prickly feeling.
Trent stood, and the prickles skating over my skin worsened. “Rachel, wake up,” he demanded. “This wasn’t what we had intended.”
“No kidding,” I said with a sneer. “And it’s Ms. Morgan, if you don’t mind.” I eyed his aura, seeing the damage I’d wrought over the last few nights he had dared sleep. He’d woken every time, pushing me from his mind, but the damage was there, his soul as thin as the demon’s I was now in. He hadn’t told anyone, and if I wanted him, he was mine for the taking. . . . Maybe.
Quen moved toward me with a stealthy swiftness. My head turned, and a flash of memory rose, one of his body pinning me to my kitchen floor, colored cookie sprinkles in his hair. “Stop!” I demanded, hand outstretched, and then I squirmed in pleasure, smiling at the heat of the line flowing through me. God, it felt good. Nothing like it had through Landon, and I purred a contented sound, satisfied when Quen slid to a halt, the zip-strip dangling from his hand.
“Talk to it!” the young elf said, clearly unnerved. “It’s here.”
The baku? I mused, dabbling my memories in the ley line like toes in a pool. But there was nothing in my mind that shouldn’t have been. It was only me. I was just seeing things clearer. And Trent was a whiny little wannabe of an elf. Nothing like the spell warriors who had made me. Made me, and lost me. I would kill them all, a cancer from within.
“Quen, stand down,” Trent said. “She’s not violent.”
“Not yet I’m not,” I said, remembering how furious I’d been with Quen when he’d “tested” my skills by assaulting me in my own kitchen. I should have killed him right then and there. I didn’t know why I hadn’t.
But Trent had inched forward into my line of sight. He was cautious and careful, and I chuckled, thinking that he was going to “careful” himself into a grave. I should put him out of his misery.
“I want to talk,” Trent said, a hand raised as if for patience. “Landon sent you to kill me.”
“True,” I said. “I didn’t see the need, but perhaps he’s right. You could have had everything, but are nothing.”
“Stop!” Trent shouted, but he was talking to Quen, and I half-sat against a tall table and opened the book I’d taken from his shelf.
“Where’s the loss?” I said as I thumbed through it. “Pathetic drug lord only concerned with his bottom line. The enclave is right to withdraw the Sa’han title from your family name.” I snapped the book closed to read later. “Shirking your duties, family, and church?” I said. “Preferring my company to those who can move you forward in the world? You aren’t going to have anything to show for it in the end, so why not take you out now? Make room for someone who will do something of worth. Something big.” Like take out the demon as Landon wants, I thought, smug, because even though I was one, I knew Trent would never touch me. Love. What a waste.
“Maybe I was that person once,” Trent said, a finger raised to keep Quen from moving. “But that’s not true anymore. You changed me. You, Rachel.”
My head jerked up at the rattle of dragonfly wings. The pixy was coming right at me, sword in hand and a pained, determined look in his eye. With a tug on the line, I threw a mystic at him.
“Hey!” the pixy shouted, spinning head over heels when it hit him, and I laughed, seeing his dust flash black for an instant under my will.
But Quen had moved in my split second of distraction, and I spun, wadding the line up in my hand, mystics dripping from my fingers until he slid to a halt, shock in his eyes. “Just so,” I said, warning him off. The mystics’ voices were mute, tumbled about like so much lint, mine to control. But they saw me not, and my anger thickened. Trent had stolen my voice from them. I could have been a goddess if not for him. He’d hurt me, kept hurting me. My God, I slept with the man! What kind of a glutton for punishment was I?
“Stop,” Trent demanded again, frowning at Quen. “Everyone, stop. Relax. Rachel, you