The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(19)

I can work magic.

She tripped over an uneven brick.

Hard stone scraped across her knees in a flash of icy pain. “Fruitcake!” she hissed into the sleepy air. Her hands met the cold, white, rocky ground. The fall jarred her body and daydreams. The pain pulled her back to the present.

She stayed there, frozen on the ground. Stone bit into her hands and knees, hair tumbled over her shoulder to drag on the damp and dirty ground, and her cloak billowed about her. The pendant, happy and ethereal blue, twirled above the flagstone. It spun like a child’s toy, and she marveled as light waved across the stone, hazy, like moonlight on water.

Her eyes, tired from hours of concentration, blinked in time to the movement. A foggy lull washed through her head, and she focused on the light. Such a pretty blue…

Lack of sleep muzzled her thoughts, and she had no idea how long she rested there, still as a statue.

A swelling began in her abdomen as if her stomach bulged against her skin from the need to burp. She gulped in a breath at the new ache, and it distracted her from her bloodied knees. Pressure built. Gasping, she struggled to her feet, staring at the beam of silver-blue light.

A blackbird cawed in the night sky and the spell shattered.

The pressure exploded outward on a scream of agony as her muscles spasmed and an invisible wave of magic boomed. It crested and crashed into the lead-lined glass windows of the square’s shops. Panes shattered in a burst of glass to mirror her scream.

Air erupted from her lungs and she collapsed onto her battered knees. The blue light dissipated into a gentle thrum, which peeked out from the space between her breasts. An echo of exploding windows ricocheted into silence.

Candle flames lit windows and frantic voices wove out of unlatched doors. She bolted upright, sick to her stomach and appalled. She staggered across the flagstones into the safety of a passageway as angry male voices picked up volume.

“They went that way!” a woman squealed.

Thuds of booted feet raced nearer. Panicked, she wound her way down the dew-covered stones toward the edge of the Citadel, the angry mob at her back.

Long and heavy, her cape snagged on rotted wood as she spun around corners. I didn’t mean to! She had never worked magic a day in her life. And now she’d done it twice in one night! The residual effects rumbled through her veins like the high from too much tea or coffee.

Glass shards shimmered along her cloak and clattered on the flagstones as she ran. Ellie glanced back to spy the back-lit shadow of a huge man close behind her. Torchlights danced on the narrow street storefronts.

Panting, she ducked into a doorway as the big man burst from around the corner.

He crashed into her.

Ellie’s shoulder met the weathered wood of a paneled door. With the added weight of the man at her back, they tumbled through the obstruction like it was made of thin fabric. She squealed, sure she’d smash into the ground.

At the last second, arms banded around her and she swung around. They hit the earth. Her back slammed into a solid male wall as the mob’s torchlights entered her vision. A calloused palm smacked over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Not needed. She froze against the rigid muscles bracketing her body and clung tight. The mob barreled past the broken doorway. Shards of light blasted in between the cracked boards. The man’s grip loosened.

She moved to face her attacker and savior in the yellow glow of streetlamps that filtered through the splintered door.

“Gerard?”

***

Gerard stayed quiet and ran shaking hands over Ellie’s brow, belly, and backside. Searching for injuries and enjoying what might be the last moment of freedom with her.

“Ellie,” he said her name softly. Their bodies aligned and his hips pressed into her soft abdomen of their own accord. Awareness coursed through him.

She shivered, pale blue eyes alight. Panted breaths caressed his neck as she strained against him. She licked her lower lip, the plump little pillow glistening. He needed to kiss her. To taste her. To know her.

“Gerard?” she whispered, and he nearly groaned.

“I have to kiss you,” he stated.

She pushed against his tunic. It was too late.

His mouth was on hers. He pressed his lips against hers and Ellie gasped, opening up to him, her fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss was urgent and unyielding. The sweet taste of her, herbal mint and black tea, invaded his senses, pulling him under her spell.

His tongue met hers in a clash of storms. She clung to his shoulders, fingers biting. The pain felt good. His hands slipped down her back, one clutching her waist to pull her tighter against him. The other dipped low.

He groaned as he gripped the softness of her behind. The kiss escalated on short breaths as she fought to keep him close and he battled with the buttons on her dress.

A bright light filtered past the broken door and they burst apart.

He struggled for air from across the room. Ellie ran shaking hands over her gown and redid the two buttons he’d released. He shook his head, hard. What had possessed him to kiss her like that? He was a grown man, in control of his desires. Not a randy fifteen-year-old.

Darkness once again enveloped the pair. He ambled to his feet and tugged Ellie upright. Soft breath tickled his torn linen shirt and the bared skin beneath. He shivered. He needed to apologize for forcing that kiss on her.

“I’m sorry for mauling you.” He grimaced at the roughness of his own voice.