Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(62)

Amazement fills her face too as she looks up at me. The sweet smell of it curls around us—and with the smell comes the memory of her in my arms when she fed from me. She’s so close right now, so warm, and gods, I want to touch her more. Danu help me, I want to touch her cheek, to run my thumb over her brow. Slide it over her coral lips . . .

“I think something’s wrong with me,” she whispers, looking away.

I was just thinking the same thing. “Why?”

“Because I shouldn’t feel this stuff that I’m feeling for . . . certain people.” She puts her fingers to her temple and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’ve got too much twisted shit going on in here.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Sage.” It’s me who’s wrong.

“You don’t understand,” she says, sounding sure. She starts to pace back and forth. “I’ve got all these feelings. And I’m not sure how to shake it off or get my head straight now. I nearly died last night and I fed off you and I can’t even wrap my head around it. But now I’m here and I have to go out there and fake it, and since my torque isn’t working right I’m probably going to accidentally melt off someone’s face if they look at me crooked.”

“That’s not how it works.”

She stops pacing and gives me an accusing look. “Aren’t you even curious why my torque isn’t working?” she asks, her voice rising.

I step a little closer to lower the volume. “Look, we’ll bring it to Marius’s attention tomorrow, right? For now we just need to get through tonight.”

“How do I know I’m not going to do something horrible? All that stuff we did today isn’t going to help me stop anything big—I can’t control this.”

Her desperation is palpable. I want to ease her worry, but I’m not sure what to say. It’s not as if this Introduction can be put off now. I’ve never heard of a torque not working before. I just assumed her power was overwhelming it, not that it was faulty. But with what happened in the alley, it’s hard to tell.

“Focus on something calm and soothing,” I say.

She glowers at me. “Seriously? You want me to go to my happy place?”

“Isn’t there anything in all of this that makes you feel good?” I ask.

Her features soften as she studies me, considering my question, then color rises in her cheeks.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she mutters, looking away. “I told you, I’m a mess.”

I’m completely lost. “You’re making this impossible to fix, Sage. Just talk to me.”

“I can’t. You of all people I can not talk to about this.”

“That seems ridiculous.”

“Well, that’s me. Ridiculous Sage. She burns down guesthouses and wakes up hot naked men who attack her with birds and apparently kiss Aelia.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about?”

“Who knows.”

I shake my head, exasperated. “You’ve lost me, woman.”

She covers her face with her hands and moans into them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you loony right along with me.”

I study her, trying to decide how to calm her. She’s been thrown into this, forced to absorb a lot in only days, when most Otherborn have years to get used to our world. She’s handled it amazingly well, considering.

I soften my voice. “It’s all right, Sage.”

She looks up from her hands. “Don’t be nice to me when I’m acting nuts.”

“I promise not to let it become a habit,” I say softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face before I can stop myself. I shouldn’t be touching her.

Her eyes lock on mine and something odd passes between us. There’s a tug at the center of my chest, pulling me toward her.

I keep my feet planted, but as I lower my hand, my fingers brush her shoulder, her soft skin warm against mine.

The torch a few feet away hisses, the flame brightening a little.

“It’s you,” she says, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the fountain.

I frown.

She shifts closer. “You’re the only thing that makes me feel like I might belong here.”

My pulse picks up.

There’s pain reflected in her eyes as she looks up at me. “But you terrify me at the same time,” she whispers. And her hand comes up, resting gently on my chest. It shivers against my sweater, revealing her fear.

A twinge pricks just under her palm, and I know she’s pulling threads of life from me. For some reason, I don’t care. “Why do I terrify you?”

She lowers her arm back to her side and the sensation fades.

“Because,” she says, “that part of me that needs, that wants . . . it wants you.”

She means her hunger. She feels her hunger spark when she’s with me. It must be scaring her. The trouble is, I feel something too. But I have no excuse.

I step back. “It’s all right. After you choose your protector tonight, they’ll help you learn to control your hunger. It won’t feel like this forever.” And as I look at her, my own body reacting, I’m really hoping she’s about to settle on it not being me. This girl could turn out to be the death of my freedom.