Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) - Emily A. Duncan Page 0,89

was and an is and never again, never again.

—Codex of the Divine, 50:118

When Nadya came to there was an itching in her veins unlike anything she had felt before. She shoved the necklace down into her pocket, careful to keep it off her skin, though it no longer glowed. If blood sparked the connection, she would have to be especially careful not to touch the pendant again, as blood was slick around her still.

The itching in her veins grew stronger, and Nadya shut her eyes. Remembering the well of power during the attack on the church when Marzenya had given her free rein of her magic, she groped in her own mind, trying to find that place once more. If what the voice said was true, it was hers to use, and she needed to find it.

Fog clung to her. It was as if she was lifting a heavy curtain. What she found on the other side was white and shining and powerful. Refrains of holy speech unlike anything she had ever heard. Pure raw magic. She opened her eyes and stood, ignoring her body’s protestations as her cuts reopened, blood dripping down. White points of light emanated from her fingertips and she touched the door, drawing symbols with the practiced ease of someone who had cast magic this way all her life. She knew—intrinsically—how she was to use this power, how she was to twist the words of an immortal tongue into raw magic.

The door shattered before her hands. She jumped back, wincing as shards pierced her already broken body. She wasn’t going to stay conscious for much longer.

There was no one outside and Nadya wilted with relief against the doorframe, giving herself a moment to breathe through the pain and flashes of wooziness, before she put one foot in front of the other and slowly stumbled forward.

She turned the corner and ran directly into someone coming down the hall. The well of magic flooded down into her hands and she reacted without thinking, shoving out with the power. She saw the figure’s arm lift, blood on their palm. Her magic crashed off them harmlessly, deflected by their own power.

“Nadya?”

She froze, taking a step back. Fear and relief tangled in her chest and she wanted to bolt. If the Vultures had Malachiasz again they could use him against her and she couldn’t fight him. Not in the state she was in now. So she ran.

Nadya was tired and battered and it took him no effort to catch her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to a stop. Dimly, she realized she was shaking. She heard him hiss out a low breath as he took in her mess of wounds.

“It’s just me,” he said, gently turning her to face him. “I went to your rooms. Parijahan was gone and the place was ransacked.”

No mask; it was tied to his belt. It was just him. Hair tangled and dark smudges of exhaustion under his pale eyes. He was here looking for her, not because he had been brainwashed to kill her. She let out a long, shuddered breath.

He glanced over his shoulder. She lifted her hands, staring at them. What had she done? What was this power she was using? It was blasphemous; the door would never reopen to her if she kept this up. When she lifted her gaze, Malachiasz was watching her with a tentative expression on his face.

“My magic…” she started.

But then he tensed, head whipping around, and suddenly her feet were off the ground and he had swept her down the nearest hallway and into what appeared to be a closet.

It was dark. She was immediately hyperaware of just how close she was to him, face against his chest. His breath ruffled the soft hairs at the base of her neck, sending shivering jolts down her spine. She could feel his hands hovering inches above her waist, clearly afraid to settle on the chance he would place them directly over an open wound.

Footsteps clattered through the hallway. Loud and fast moving. Someone had discovered that Nadya was not where she was supposed to be. Once things grew quiet again, he shifted, taking her hands in his, her palms up.

“Show me,” he said softly.

She swallowed hard. Grasped at the well of magic that flowed too deeply for her to understand. White light like cold flame sparked at her palms.

An odd little half smile flickered at his lips, lit by the glowing magic at her hands. Magic that