The pulse in my wrist did not calm down. It only grew sharper, hotter, more insistent, like the mark had woken up angry. Every time it throbbed, it shot a thread of heat straight into my palm, then up my arm.
I sucked in a breath, trying not to hiss in front of everyone.
Nathan grabbed my hand immediately. His thumb brushed the back of my knuckles, slow and steady, like he thought he could pet the magic into behaving. I appreciated the attempt, even if it was useless.
His voice was low and tense. “Margot. How bad is it.”
“On a scale of one to screaming? About a seven.”
That was a lie. It was a nine and climbing.
Before Nathan could question me further, something moved in the darkness.
Not a shape. Not a creature. A sound.
A whisper. Soft. Thin. Drawn out like a tired breath exhaled
