Page 24 of The Blood Witch
He glares at me, and I scrunch my face with chagrin.
“What did he do?” Prek demands, stepping up behind me protectively. I don’t know if I should appreciate that he’s not giving Rogan the benefit of the doubt in this scenario or roll my eyes at how deep the roots of their grudge grow.
“Nothing. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up, I just reacted,” I explain hurriedly, and the tense guards around us relax.
So much for not waking anyone up.
“I’m going back to bed,” a woman named Stevie announces, and then with shuffled feet and grunts of agreement, everyone except Prek, me, and Rogan returns to their rooms.
“Are you okay?” Prek asks me quietly, and Rogan moves his glare from me to the Order member currently assigned as my guard.
I roll my eyes and step between them before they can start rehashing their history with their fists. “Yeah, I’m fine, he just surprised me, no harm no foul,” I reassure Prek, and Rogan levels me with a look that says,really, no harm?
“Bara,” I call out with a wave of my hand, turning off the bloody spout formerly known as Rogan’s nose.
He freezes, his eyes filling with warning before bouncing to Prek and then back to me. Realization dawns on me, and I try not to let raw panic show on my face.
Shit.
Why did I just do that? And in front of an Order member of all places. I don’t even know why I tapped into blood magic like it was no big deal when I know all its going to do is mess with this damn tether.
Fuck up much, Lennox?
I’m afraid to look at Prek, as though one look into my eyes will give us away, but not looking at him could also be weird. So instead, I throw my head back and laugh. Because that makes sense and screamsnot guilty.I release a good chortle, doing everything in my power not to let it sound forced.
“Ummm, what’s wrong with you?” Prek finally asks as I dive into round two of the weirdest belly-laugh ever.
“I’ve wanted to punch him for a while,” I tell him, as though that’s all the answer he needs. Prek eyes me for a moment before flicking his suspicious gaze at Rogan. We just stand there, Rogan covering his nose, me freaking out that I just gave us away, and Prek eyeing us.
“It felt better than I hoped,” I add, crossing my fingers that the admission will trigger Prek’s hate and cloud his skeptical and all too keen observational skills.
After a beat, Prek steps back from me. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he agrees, his russet stare moving from Rogan back to me before turning and heading back to his room. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when Prek calls over his shoulder, “I’m not an idiot, Osteomancer,” and with that, he disappears into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stare after him, not exactly sure what that means. Does he suspect that we’re tethered? That I beat Rogan in my free time? Does he think we’re out here doing something we’re not supposed to do? I look to Rogan for answers, but he’s still cupping his nose, probably to keep what he bled into his hands from getting everywhere.
“Come on,” I huff, waving him back toward the kitchen so he can clean up. I should probably feel bad for decking him, but the wordkarmakeeps bouncing around in my mind, making it impossible for guilt to get too comfortable anywhere.
Flicking the switch for the light above the sink, I turn the faucet on and start opening drawers to look for towels. Rogan leans over the sink and dumps his cupped blood down the drain.
“I think you broke it,” he declares, his voice pinched and more nasal than usual. I look over and see him gingerly touching the now misshapen bridge of his nose. I find a towel and move closer to inspect the damage.
Yep, definitely broke it.
The petty part of me wants to leave it like that, not that I think it would deter women, but more as a reminder of all my threats that he never took seriously. Then again, I don’t want to give him any excuses to tap into my magic. Vanity and my immature urges are not worth strengthening our tether any more than it already has been.
“Well, I hope this will teach you not to laugh the next time a woman tells you that you willrue the day,” I chide as I lift a hand to his nose and whisper, “Aval.”
The cartilage snaps back to the bone of his nose with an audible crunch, and he hisses in pain, making me cringe slightly too.
“Fuck,” he snarls, cupping his hands over his nose protectively before bending over the sink—probably just in case it starts bleeding again.
Okay, maybe I feel a little bad.
“Lurking-hallway-assailant a new hobby of yours?” Rogan quips, delicately feeling his once again straight nose and then splashing water on his face.
I give a humorless snort and chuck the towel at him. He catches it, keeping me from the satisfaction of watching it smack him in the face.
“I was just going to make tea. You came at me in the hallway. Can’t blame a girl for defending herself,” I declare casually, pushing up on the counter until I’m sitting atop it as Rogan dries his face.
