Page 53 of Ember and Ash

All you had to do was ask properly, he purrs in my mind, and then he appears in front of the tree line that has become my cage, his back to me, right in front of the beast. Micah never lifts a hand. The beast blinks at him, a slow, oh so slow, blink, a moment passing, and then the creature is screeching, backing away and whipping around with more speed than I knew it possessed. It takes off running with thundering steps, the trees parting as it takes flight, the trees encasing me sliding back into their original positions.

It’s afraid of Micah. Maybe I should be, too, but I’m not. What does the beast know that I do not? Perhaps it’s Stockholm syndrome, where the captive becomes enamored with her captor.

Micah fades, and when I’m about to curse him, thinking he’s back on the other side of the river, he reappears directly in front of me. He’s playing with me, manipulating me, and I don’t like it. I punch him, or I try to. He catches my fist. I punch again, and that’s it—we’re fighting, throwing blows, and when he slams me against a tree, I’m not having it. I catch his leg with mine, and he tumbles backward, but damn it, he takes me with him.

I land flush against his hard body—really hard body. And considering we’re in the middle of a crazy whispering forest and the beast could return at any moment, I’m far too aware of him as a man. Irritated at myself for my distraction and him for about everything right now, I struggle to right myself, my hand landing on the steel of his weapon. Without giving myself time to second-guess my action, I straddle him and draw his blade. A moment later, I’ve slammed it deep into the ground beside his head with more force than I knew myself capable of expending. Micah might be familiar, but my skills are not, but I guess that’s what happens when a man pisses off a woman.

Micah chuckles low and deep, as if I’ve amused him, and I’m furious all over again, attempting to scramble away before he pushes me too far and I actually do stab him. But he, of course, snatches my wrists, holding me in place. Now I’m straddling him all over again, glaring down at him. “Let go before I—”

“Stab me?”

“I thought about it.”

“I know you did.” His eyes dance with amusement.

“I want to stab you now.”

He laughs all over again. “No one takes my blade and gets away with it. Good thing it’s my gift to you.”

“Like saving me from the beast you set me up to be eaten by?”

“I forced you to use your abilities. And you did.” His eyes twinkle with mischief. “And you even said please.”

“I was manipulated into saying please. What was that thing? And is it coming back?”

“A Chupa, and no. It won’t come back.”

“How do you know that? He wanted to eat me.”

“Because I told it you’re off-limits, and only I get to eat you.”

I’m not amused. At all. Anger whips and flares all over again, rough wind on the high sea, sending waves crashing to the nearby shore. “Are you serious right now? You bastard. You could have told it to leave me alone, and you let it come at me?” I shove at him. Fight him. And I end up flat on my back with him on top of me, and somehow, it’s far more intimidating and intimate than me on top of him. And somehow, even manhandling me, he’s managed to retrieve the knife at the same time and shove it into the ground at my head. “I’m doing what’s necessary to unbind your powers. What animal did you see when you let loose on me?”

“I didn’t let loose on you. I punched you, and you deserved it.” His question registers, and my anger fades. My voice softens. “I didn’t see the serpent.”

“What animal did you see?”

It’s as if I already know my answer is the wrong answer. “I didn’t see an animal,” I say, and it feels as if I’ve swallowed shards of broken glass, each jagged edge a piece of me I’ve lost to Jeremy. I turn right, hiding my face from him, hiding the truth that ultimately will leave him only one choice—to destroy me before I do him and everyone else.

“Hey,” he says softly, catching my chin and turning my gaze to his, and I wonder if the blue of my eyes was ever as pure as his, I wonder if there is anything pure about me. “This tells us he can’t get to you here. It tells us the serpent is a demon, but it’s not a true part of you, or you wouldn’t have been able to come here with me.”

I crave the comfort he’s offering me in every fiber of my being, but I don’t dare accept his words on surface merit. “Are you sure about that? Maybe I’m not like you, Micah.”

“This is a good thing, Ember. I did what you tried to do with your blood spell. I separated you from it. It may well be that your familiar is bound, just like your powers. Give it time to wake up.” He pushes off of me and stands, offering me his hand and taking me with him.

Again, he’s managed to grab the blade, and he holds it between us.

He pauses a moment. “I have a better blade for you waiting at our destination. And a sheath to carry it.”

“Are you going to throw me to another beast on the way?”

“No more beasts,” he says, sliding the blade back into his own sheath at his thigh.

“Are you that sure? Do you rule these beasts? And how many are—”

His arm slides around me, and he folds me close, his body warm, mine far more yielding than I intend, my hand settling flat on his chest. “Yes. I command the beasts, of which there are many, but enough of them and the whispering forest, at least for now. Let’s go home.”

I blink and this time, when he rifts us, I see everything around me and nothing at all and this newfound awareness would freak me out, Micah is still holding me and somehow that’s steady and safe. His fate is my fate, and I think that might be his entire motivation for bringing me to this place. For some reason, my fate really is his fate.