Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(52)

“No.” Her protest was softer this time. “You saved me. I’ll save you.”

“I didn’t save you! You turned Light when you fried Noah,” he reminded her, amused.

Her anger flared and she sat up, glaring at him. “You gave me a reason to try, Beck. You gave me a reason not to run away, to want to stay.” Fire flashed in her eyes, and the burning hearth stretched towards them in response to her pulse of magick.

He maintained their physical contact, sensing she was too tired to manage on her own, and pushed back the fire with earth magick. Her look ensnared him, reminded him he could never fight hard enough or make enough excuses to keep what was between them from existing. He had once wanted to keep his distance from her, so she wasn’t dragged into his life, his messes with Dawn and internal struggle.

Losing her for three months, however, had showed him how terrible the idea was and how much he needed to treasure their time together. With her in his arms, even if she were angry, he could no longer support the small whisper inside that tried to convince him they were better off apart.

“I don’t understand … this,” she continued with a combination of frustration and looked at his hands. “I don’t understand why I can’t leave.”

“Do you want to?” he asked.

She shook her head then proclaimed. “But I should.”

“Why?” He didn’t smile even though he wanted to. She was moving through some huge issues rather quickly, and he didn’t want to discourage her from opening up to him the way she rarely did anyone.

She gazed at him, telling him with her eyes what she couldn’t with her voice. He touched her face, satisfied that she didn’t flinch away this time. Beck had an idea of what she had been through at the hands of another man. Connor had hinted at the abuse while Decker, who could read the thoughts of someone else with a shared element, confirmed it. Morgan’s on-off again warmth towards Beck was another indication.

Thinking that anyone could hurt the sweet girl before him infuriated him to the point of wanting to do something no Master of Light should and send her abuser a message. He purposely didn’t let himself dwell on these thoughts, not wanting to disturb her progress or the fact that he had her in his arms again after three months of believing her to be dead.

Emotions tumbled within him. “It’s okay,” he said when it was clear she couldn’t say the words. “I was scared at the beginning, too.”

“What changed?”

“You fried my resistance.”

“Beck.” She frowned, her plump lower lip sticking out in a pout.

He grinned briefly. “This isn’t natural. That much you feel right?”

She nodded.

“There’s a reason for that, for the draw we can’t fight and the knowledge this isn’t the way it is for everyone else.”

Morgan said nothing, listening.

“Every Master of Dark and Master of Light has a counterbalance, someone with the potential to be a perfect match, to balance out the side of the Master that otherwise isn’t balanced. Decker has Summer. I have …” he drifted off.

Her eyebrows were lifted quizzically.

“Well. You.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t change. She wasn’t surprised. “Did Sam do this?”

“No.” Beck chuckled. “From what I can gather, the elements decide it. Our magick chooses. Mine chose you. Yours chose me.” He waited for her to make some snide remark about how his taste in women was as bad as his magick’s.

She didn’t. If anything, Morgan appeared pensive.

“Does that make it less scary?” he asked.

“It helps.” She ducked her head. “I have a … you know my past. Parts of it.” She stopped.

He said nothing.

“We wouldn’t be chosen for each other if we weren’t meant to be together,” she observed with a deep breath. “Does that mean there’s a solution we haven’t found yet?”

“I want to think so, yes.”

“I need there to be.” Morgan studied him, the pink of her cheeks heightened. Sitting here like this was killing him.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “We have some big days of figuring stuff out before us.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I am, Beck.”

“Morgan, you aren’t.” He leaned forward, unwilling to give. “I just told you we’re destined for one another and your response is to leave?”

“To protect you, as always,” she replied archly.

“Like my duty is to protect you.”

“I won’t let you.”

There were moments … Beck stepped back from the edge her fire pushed him to. “You. Won’t. Leave. I’m putting my foot down.”

A flare of something else sprang into her gaze. It was more than a challenge; there was amusement as well. “You don’t have the guts to stop me, Beck. You didn’t three months ago. You didn’t at the hospital. You won’t now.” She stood and moved away.

Beck watched her, compelled towards her with a power he struggled to fight and which flustered his thoughts for him to know how to handle her blatant defiance. She would get herself killed because she wasn’t capable of bending or compromising. She was likewise accurate about his history of not standing up to her.