He paused, before drifting his lips beneath her jaw. “And I don’t think you do, either.”
Need rolled inside Kallia so fiercely that she wrapped her legs around his, bringing him closer. He groaned. “Stop that.”
“You’re the one who put me here.” Kallia leaned back invitingly, her spine touching the table. “There’s enough room for two.”
“Nice try,” he bit out through a tortured grin. “How about you sit up so we can—”
A crash sounded.
The shatter of glass.
They broke apart instantly and searched the room. The walls. Ice settled in Kallia’s chest as she observed the frame knocked facedown over a golden velour blanket, pieces of glass covering the carpet like silver rain.
Mirror shards.
“Holy shit. Did you feel the room shake or anything?” Demarco assessed the rest of the room, his jaw ticking. “Perhaps the nails broke off.”
Kallia couldn’t rely on perhaps. She saw only the blanket, pooling beneath the shattered mirror frame. A shield secured over the mirror, like hers always were.
Unless some other force knocked it off.
Kallia slid off the table, discovering her legs were far more wobbly than she’d anticipated. “I-I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Demarco’s face lost that glimmer of mirth. “Go where?”
She fixed herself up, hurrying across the floor without stepping on the fallen newspapers. So fixated on her path, she didn’t realize Demarco was already there, stopping her by the elbows.
“What happened? Did I do something?” he asked, peering at her face. Concern shadowed across his eyes. “Kallia, you look…”
Remember what I said.
The trembling had returned. Not even she could hide it now. “Let me go.”
“Stay.” He spoke against her temple, pressing reassurances against her skin. “I can’t help unless you tell me.”
“No one can help me.”
“Let me try.” His voice grew heavy. “Please, let me try.”
Tears gathered again, and she cursed them. She couldn’t put him closer to the line of fire than he already was. The thought of him injured, or disappeared altogether, made her want to retch.
“Not here,” Kallia whispered, clutching him. There was no use in pretending anymore, no protection in it. “Come with me.”
44
The Ranza Estate came into view ahead, its proud tiled roofs and sun-kissed stone exterior a sight so familiar, they might as well have declared this section of the city as their own. A home.
“Why are we here?”
Demarco had been quiet the entire way, keeping up with her pace without question. Even though he clearly had many burning inside. It didn’t seem fair, after he’d told her so much.
“It’s the only place where I’ve never felt watched.”
“By who?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.
She didn’t know how to begin. How to say anything, when she always carried that sinking feeling of Jack looking over her shoulder. Always watching, listening.
She gripped his shoulders, unable to stop herself from glancing around the room. She couldn’t be certain of anything, not even a house without mirrors.
“Have you ever felt like you were trapped?” She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering. “Like you have all this power, but in the end, you’re still … powerless?”
The sharp edge of Demarco’s mouth softened. “Yes.”
Of course he knew. Better than anyone. That didn’t make it any easier, but she wanted him to know. A truth, for all the ones he’d given her.
“Before all of this, I had an old friend who taught me a lot…” Every word traveled on one strained breath. They were so foreign, heavy. “He’s a very powerful magician.”
“Would I know of him?”
She winced at the laugh that shuddered from her. “No, he keeps to himself, mostly. Very private—”
“Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes flashed up at him. “Why would you ask that?”
He studied her. “Ever since I met you, it seemed like you were running away from something. Someone. No one runs unless it’s from somewhere bad.” His jaw ticked when she didn’t deny it. “So it’s true?”
The way he looked at her just then, she couldn’t define it. Softness but also anger, simmering underneath in a promise. A certainly. A question, there in his eyes, seeking a way out. To her.
She had to look away.
“Not the kind of hurt you’re thinking of.” It was wrong to justify what sort of hurt mattered and what didn’t. Anything that left scars came from hurt. Only now was she realizing the scars she bore and had trained herself not to see.
“I’d stayed,” she stated, owning her choice. “Only because I didn’t know all that was out here. What I’d been in.” The shadow of the monster from her dreams returned, and