second at the landing. The stairs empty into a loft area, which is totally empty, unlike the rest of the house, which is decorated to the max. It’s odd, and I get the sense I’m missing something, but it doesn’t matter.
What matters is Ethan got hurt and will probably be fast asleep soon. He needs to get in bed and out of his clothes so he can sleep comfortably.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” I tell him as soon as we get into his room. Like the loft, it’s oddly empty. One wall is painted navy blue while the rest are light gray, and a full-sized bed is centered under a window. There’s a dresser, a TV mounted on the wall, and an Xbox on the floor underneath it, but that’s it. “The demons were after me, and it’s not fair that you—”
“This is what I do, Anora.” Ethan wraps one arm around me and pulls me onto the bed with him.
“I know, but we both thought the dagger would have some sort of effect on the demon, and when it didn’t, you got hurt.”
“It’s my fault for assuming. It must only work when you use it.”
“Or maybe…maybe it wasn’t the dagger at all. Maybe it was me the whole time.” I hold up my hand, feeling heat gathering around my fingertips. “And I’m starting to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That I can do this.” I close my eyes and think of fire, of the blue heat the glows around my fingertips. When I open my eyes, a single flame gently flickers against the palm of my hand. My lips part and my eyes go wide.
“Does it hurt?” Ethan asks softly, leaning in.
“No. It’s hot, I can feel the warmth, but it doesn’t hurt, which is wild, I know.” I close my hand and the fire goes out. “Is being pyrokinetic normal for witches?”
“I have no fucking clue,” Ethan says, eyes looking a little bloodshot. Whatever pain pill he took must be mixing with the alcohol already. “But it’s really fucking hot, and I don’t mean that in the literal sense. You fucking destroyed those demons, Anora.”
“It was all instinct,” I admit, sucking at being able to just take a compliment.
“Whatever it was, I like it,” he says and reaches for me again.
“Are you afraid of me…of what I can do?” I ask slowly.
“No,” he says with no hesitation. “You have power inside of you, Anora. It could be dangerous, but you…you’re not. Not unless you want to be. And honestly, I find that so fucking hot.”
“You’re drugged up.”
He shrugs. “Maybe a little, but I’d still find you just as hot if I wasn’t. Everything about you…” He trails off, bringing me to his lap and burying his face against my neck. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you—as much as I still want you. There’s something about you, Anora, something I can’t fucking resist no matter how hard I try.”
My eyes flutter shut, and I go to bring my hand to his chest, forgetting for a second that he’s all bandaged up.
“I don’t have tattoos,” I start, looking at the bandage on his chest.
“I noticed,” Ethan replies, hand slipping from my waist to under my shirt.
“So I don’t know what happens when you get cut. Does it ruin your tattoo?”
“It depends on how deep the cut is.” He leans away and points to the bottom of the Order symbol he has tattooed on his bicep. “See how it’s faded there? It’s from getting scarred.”
I run my finger over his skin, feeling the scar. “Can you get the tattoos drawn back on over scars?”
“Depends as well. I have quite a few covering up scars. Getting injured is part of the job description.”
“Those will scar for sure, won’t they?” I move my gaze to his other arm, trying not to grimace when I remember Julia sewing his skin together. She’s going to have to pull the thread out, and the thought alone makes me want to vomit. If I could, I’d bring home medical-grade sutures from the clinic.
“Yeah,” he says with a shrug.
“I’m sorry. It’ll mess up your tattoo there too.”
“Don’t be. Chicks dig scars, right?” He looks at me, flashing that smirk and making me laugh.
“Well, this chick does.”
“That’s all that matters.” His lips go to mine and he lies back, pulling me on top of him. I shift my weight to the side where he’s not injured. He kisses me and then I pull away, moving down, sweeping my hands