genuinely surprised she wanted to him to stay. She found it strange somehow; she was sure not many girls would tell him to leave. “I could hear you screaming from my bed.”
She gulped, her cheeks flushing. “I was screaming?”
“Yes.” He looked at the floor. “Dreams?”
She nodded. “I was dreaming about Dralazar . . . and Emane.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking very much like he wanted to ask her something.
“What?” She turned her head to the side with a bit of amusement. Alcander actually looked uncomfortable. She had never seen that emotion cross his haughty face.
“The accident you had the other day with Emane.”
Her cheeks flushed again, her smile fading. “What about it?”
“I heard rumors about Witows’ sensitivity to magic. Is it true?”
“Sensitivity?”
“You can’t pass magic through them?”
“Pass through them? What are you talking about?”
Alcander shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, pushing some stray hair back over his shoulder. “You really don’t know much, do you?”
“Look, if you want to mock me, I am sure there are more reasonable times to do it than in the middle of the night,” she snapped.
“I am not mocking. I just forget how little you know.” His tone was gentler than she had ever heard it. “Normally, someone as powerful as you would be very knowledgeable, with probably a lifetime of training. It is strange to me.”
She twisted the edge of her blanket around her fingers. “What did you mean about magic not passing through Witows?”
“If I were to pass, or release, some of my magic while in contact with another magical creature, they would be unharmed. Sometimes you can feel the magic passing, sometimes not. But it is rarely ever painful or dangerous. On the other hand, I have seen people in the heat of battle pass magic through a non-magical horse and . . . well, the horses never fare well.”
Kiora was thoroughly uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be having this conversation with Alcander of all people, but she needed to know. “So if a magical being were to kiss a non-magical being it might—” Alcander smirked. She slammed her hand onto the bed. “I knew it! I knew you were mocking me, just—get out!”
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else.” He cleared his throat, wiping the smile neatly away. “If the magical person were to lose control of the magic, it would flow into the other person, yes. In the magical community passing magic while kissing is actually very pleasant.” He smirked again, looking straight at her. “Part of the experience, you would say.”
Her heart fluttered, although she wasn’t sure why. Sure Alcander was gorgeous. All right, he was stunningly gorgeous.
Stop, Kiora told herself. Emane is probably going out of his mind and you are noticing how attractive the man on your bed is. “I see,” was all she managed to say.
“The magical energy released in that . . . situation,” Alcander danced around the topic, “is different than most because of the emotion that released it. It is definitely felt by the other party.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“So it’s true then,” Alcander said, raising one eyebrow. “The Witow doesn’t handle it well.”
“Don’t call him that. He has a name. And if ‘doesn’t handle it well’ means I threw him into a wall and knocked him out, then yes. He doesn’t handle it well.”
Alcander looked at her with the same look she had seen earlier, like he wanted to say something.
“What?” she asked again, her eyes rolling to the ceiling.
This time though, he did not open up. Instead Kiora saw the walls slam shut behind his eyes and all emotion was gone. The same cold, hard eyes she was familiar with returned. “Nothing. Did you see anything else in your dreams?”
“Nothing.” She sighed. “Nothing more than you already know. I saw the Creators talking about giving up their immortality.”
“That’s too bad.” Alcander stood abruptly. “ I will see you in the morning.”
She marveled that she couldn’t even hear his feet touching the floor as he walked out. His white hair was a few shades darker than the white shirt he wore. If it were not for the loose-fitting grey pants, he would have looked like a ghost, gliding silently out of the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Not a Shifter
EMANE GROANED, FLOPPING BACK in the rocking chair. His dagger lay on the table across the room. He had