Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,39

she asked.

Draeven turned and relieved himself of his sword and light armor, sliding it all off with graceful movements. “I’m watching.”

“Aren’t you—”

“Draeven will observe,” Lazarus said, cutting her off.

Quinn scowled at him, but turned to face him, nonetheless. “Alright, then. What do you want me to do?”

“Defend yourself.” He paused as her whole body tensed. “Using only your magic.”

“What?” she spluttered. “Defend myself from wh”—Quinn barely had time to react as Lazarus came at her with a blow to the chest. She hit the ground hard. Her spine shook as it collided with the forest floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. She tasted copper in her mouth as she rose back to her feet, more than a little irked. Quinn spat a wad of saliva tinged with blood and didn’t hesitate to call her magic.

It was never far from the surface. Not these days.

The darkness came to her like an old friend, onyx tendrils slithering out from under her skin. It curled around her wrists and played along her shoulders, weaving through her hair.

Crystalline eyes focused on Lazarus with an uncanny stillness.

“Do not let your emotions control you,” Lazarus said as he stepped aside and began circling her. She followed his movements, wondering if he would give her an opening or a warning—an attacker’s tell. Or perhaps he would drop another hint, a sign that she could unravel, something to tell her what he actually was.

His eyes wandered to the bite mark on her shoulder. Or really, where it should have been, but wasn’t. She’d woken the morning after to smooth, unblemished skin and knew deep down that its absence should have worried her more than it did because there was no way this man before her was a healer. And yet he had healed her. Somehow.

It made her wonder what else he could do; what other games he could play.

“Control the darkness, Quinn. Use the fear, not the other way around.”

“I know that,” Quinn snapped.

“Do you?” Lazarus raised an eyebrow and nodded upward. Quinn tilted her head back, her eyes widening as she noticed the tops of the trees had all been bent backwards—bent, but not broken. Their spindly limbs stretched up and outward, avoiding the ebony darkness encroaching on their base, coming from her.

Draeven’s jaw slipped, falling ajar for a brief second as he whispered, “Gods above.”

Quinn swallowed hard, hating this feeling—this undeniable, terrible, awful feeling—like she was being put on show. Something to gawk at. A thing. It was different from the amphitheater where she performed, because there she was Mirior—the faceless ghost from the in-between. But here, she was Quinn. Her attention swayed when it shouldn’t have, and he struck again, sending her flying backwards. Quinn’s back hit the large trunk of a tree and when another blow came immediately afterwards, from something she couldn’t see, couldn’t stand a hope of predicting—she flung her hands up. Wisps of fear shot from her fingertips, weaving together like tangible threads. They wound tighter and tighter, forming a wall between the two of them.

She climbed to her feet, a steady thumping in her chest building. Something passed through his gaze as he stopped short of slamming into the barrier she didn’t think he could even see. “Clever, but even if you have an enemy in front of you, you should always be aware of your other surroundings,” he stated as something slammed into her from the side. Draeven grinned at her as she coughed in surprise. He rolled to the side and sprung to his feet.

Quinn released a grunt of outrage as Draeven ambled back to where he had been sprawled before. “I thought you said you were just watching!”

The blond behemoth shrugged, but it was Lazarus who answered. “Draeven is watching,” he said. “He’s watching for when you let your guard down. Now…” Lazarus crossed his arms behind his back and clasped his wrist in one hand, “use that magic. Wield it as you just did—stretch it out. Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?” she ground out, cracking her neck as she clambered back to her feet. Her muscles would need hot stones when this was over, not that she would get it. She could only imagine how vexed Lorraine would be if she boiled stones in the same pot in which dinner was made.

“Everything.” She shot him a look of incredulity, and he elaborated. “Every Maji is different, but there is one thing we all share. The ability to feel those around us. Draeven can find others