Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(87)

“This isn’t a game, Lia.”

“Everything’s a game, Faelan.”



The drive to Marius’s office is slow, traffic on the 10 not cooperating. Sage has been silent the entire ride. I should talk to her about everything that happened during the dream and find out how she’s processing it all. We should at least be talking about her powers to see if she’s had any slips since her manifestation last night with Kieran. There’s a myriad of things we should be working through, but I have no idea where to start. She seems content to stare out the car window at the city passing by, so I leave it at that.

The big question right now is how these imprinted blood memories got spelled into her. And, almost as important, how will she deal with it? Because blood memories can become completely overwhelming over time, and we have no idea how long they’ve been bubbling up in her sleep. I’d heard that the visions feel strong, as if you’ve lived the moment yourself, and now I’ve felt firsthand how accurate that is. One druid from the fifteen hundreds was addicted to the process. He stole blood memories from the Cast’s collectors several times, absorbing them into his consciousness through the holy ritual, before he was caught and executed for it.

Whoever did this to Sage took a very serious chance at getting their own head removed. Only the Cast sanctions blood memory removal, and only the House sanctions when they’re passed on.

Why would someone take such a risk? The dreams were bound to be discovered.

We pull into the parking garage and leave the car with the valet. When we get in the elevator, Sage leans on the rail and hugs herself like she’s cold. “What do you think Marius will say?” she asks.

“About what?”

“My brain reliving my homicidal sister’s life.”

“Hopefully he’ll be able to help us figure out why the memories are there.”

She releases a breath. “It’s obvious something’s wrong with me.”

“Sage—”

“The first torque didn’t work, and I burned down the cottage in my sleep. I’ve somehow attracted the most manipulative guy in this whole freaky world into stalking me. And now I have this new torque on that only he can take off.”

Damn, I forgot—I have to break the news to Marius about that too.

She continues, “And we don’t even know if this torque works either.”

Gods, another thing. “We should test it,” I say, pressing the button for the floor just below Marius’s. He’ll want to know whether this torque is effective, no matter how mad he might be that Kieran is the one who placed it. I should’ve thought to test it last night.

The elevator dings, and the doors open to the empty floor. I step out, and she follows me hesitantly. She looks around at the bare drywall and steel beams of the unfinished offices.

“The floors above and below Marius’s offices are empty,” I explain. “He owns the building so he doesn’t lease them out. This floor is glamoured to look like an ad agency to the humans, I think.” I pick up a scrap piece of cardboard from where it leans against the wall and place it in the middle of an open area. “Okay, you’re going to try and light this on fire.”

“What if I can’t?”

“It’s not a can or can’t. It’ll be what you feel inside when you try.” I turn to face her, wondering how best to spark her power. Unfortunately, the most effective stimulations are pain or passion—not things I want to ignite in her. “There are a couple of ways we could do this,” I start, not sure how to put it. “We could use force, like pain from a cut on your arm.” I tap the sheath on my side. “Or I could . . . we could . . . touch.”

She blinks up at me. “Like, I could try to feed from you again?”

I nod.

“Or you could cut me?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, both sound so great,” she says dryly. “I barely know what to pick.”

“It’s your call. We could also wait and let Marius do this.”

Her feet shift, and she shakes her head. “No, let’s just cut my arm.”

My chest constricts with disappointment, surprising me. She’d rather cut herself than have a repeat of last night—so what? Why the bloody hell am I bummed she doesn’t want to feed from me?

She must see my conflict because she adds, “I don’t want to hurt you by accident. At least this way it’s just me.”

I nod, not commenting, then pull out my dagger and hand it to her by the hilt.

She takes it and starts to point it at her arm, but then pauses and holds it out to me again. “Sorry, can you just do it? Apparently I’m a horrible masochist along with everything else.”

I take the blade back, but I hesitate. My body refuses to move. “I’m not sure I can,” I say, literally unable to do it. It’s as if I couldn’t hurt her even if I wanted to. And then I remember the protector spell. Of course I can’t.

I stare at her, overwhelmed by my need to shield her. I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Even Astrid. But . . . if it is just the protector spell, then why am I noticing how her pale lashes frame her eyes and highlight the gold specks in her irises? Why does the slight upturn of her nose make me want to pull her closer . . . and kiss her?

Being in that dream reminded me of something I can never have again—the joining of soul and body with someone, the feel of connecting, caring, worshipping. And in this moment, I realize it’s her I want that forbidden thing with.