Spring Rain (The Witchling #4)(54)

She said nothing and closed her eyes. This kind of blaze was new to her. It was different than that of a bonfire, more intense, her whole body rendered sensitive to the slightest sensation and her magick for once flowing in a single direction – towards Beck. It was pleasure and desire so intense, it left her intoxicated by the burn and dancing of flames in her blood.

Normally, she felt fire. With Beck, she became fire, and not only could he handle the flames, he was feeding off them.

“Morgan,” he whispered again. “Tell me what you want.”

She hesitated, enthralled by the sensations, yet a little overwhelmed, too. She was almost out of control. Beck was regulating everything from the pace of their kissing to the fire magick she couldn’t. What would it feel like to entrust him with all of her, to release the fire that was never fully free and trust him not to hurt her?

Or … was every intimate experience going to end up how it did when her uncle hurt her? In such pain, she wanted to die and with so much shame, she couldn’t look in the mirror the next morning?

This is Beck. He was different. He was hers. Chosen for her by the elements, by her own magick, which wasn’t capable of betraying her the way a person could. Yet the doubt and fear remained. “I don’t know,” she replied, breathing hard. She pressed her cheek to his, loving the feel of his skin against hers.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said.

Her breath caught. She hated his uncanny ability to guess her thoughts.

“If you aren’t sure, then we’re stopping here. I’ll never push you, Morgan,” he added. His breathing was uneven, his embrace tight around her and his hands clasped together behind her back as if to prevent them from roaming. “Even when your fire is doing its damnedest to push me.”

She opened her eyes with a small smile and traced his jaw in awe. Beck was beautiful, the most handsome man she’d ever met, and the best person, too. How did she end up in his arms? How did she deserve anything this wonderful?

Her amulet was warm, pressed between their bodies. It struck her for the first time this night that she really had turned Light. It wasn’t what she expected. There weren’t fireworks or epiphanies or parades to celebrate or anything else she expected. In fact, she hadn’t noticed, because the soul stone sucked up the Light inside her and that radiating off her amulet.

She didn’t feel any different, and the world still frightened her the way it had before. The only change she cared about: nothing stood between her and Beck except … her. Not his status as Light and hers as in-between. Not her shame or embarrassment about not being good enough to be Light. Not the knowledge he was incapable of the flaws she carried. Not her past or the insistence by her father and uncle she wasn’t good enough to be Light.

She was and had proven everyone wrong. Not only that, but she had burned away the Dark in Noah and turned him Light, too. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, she was Light, and that meant she had a shot with Beck, a shot at helping him.

Morgan lifted on her tiptoes once more and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Morgan …” He raised his head. She sensed how hard he was fighting her and the attraction between them.

She met his gaze. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Stop fighting. Show me what it’s like to be loved.”

“Oh, god.” He sighed and crumbled at the words like she knew he would. He searched her gaze. “You’re sure?”

She drew a breath and lowered the barrier remaining on her magick. Flames shot up around them.

He groaned and kissed her hungrily with intensity that startled her, his restraint slipping. “If I … rush you or … hurt you …tell me. I’ll … stop,” he said between kisses. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

Fire swept through them, and Morgan let his magick soothe away the remnants of her fear, instead focusing on the heady pleasure of Beck’s skin against hers, pushing him when she could and diving head first into the heat, passion and hunger with which he quickly consumed her.





Chapter Nineteen





Biji arrived to school in the same frustrated mood in which she’d left it.

“Thank you for allowing me to accompany you,” said the man beside her.

She glanced at him as he parked in the lot behind the school. “My parents insisted,” she replied curtly to the fiancé she didn’t want. A fellow air witchling, he came from a good, wealthy family like hers. He was pleasant, nice, friendly, handsome and considerate. He was the perfect Prince Charming.

And she wanted nothing to do with him. At nineteen, she had the urge to scream at her parents more than once and remind them she was old enough to do whatever she wanted with her life, which meant not marrying the man they picked out for her as was customary among some of the more traditional and wealthy Indian families.

Biji climbed out of the car and waved at Summer, who waited in the Square for her as she had the past week. Biji was spending her nights at the nearest resort with her family.

“Mind if I pop in and see Amber?” he asked.

Biji cocked an eyebrow and gazed up into his dark eyes. She started to count to ten to keep from going off on him.

“Look, Biji, I know this is awkward. It is for me, too. We can talk about it,” he said.