26. Morgan

The portal'slight flares brighter when I run through, enveloping me in a warm embrace that feels oddly comforting, despite the dangers lurking on the other side. It's like diving into a pool of sunlight, and I'm blinded by the brilliance as I float through.

Then, without warning, it shoots me out onto snow-covered ground that catches my fall.

As my eyes adjust, the beauty of this mystical version of the Himalayas unfolds before me. The mountains rise like ancient guardians, cloaked in a subtle, shimmering magic. The air is colder, sharper, and towering trees with silver leaves stretch toward the clear blue sky.

Blaze is up ahead, his back toward me as he throws his dagger at an old, gnarled tree. It spins through the air—a silver flash against the snowy backdrop—before striking the trunk with a loud thud.

I can't help but admire his skill, even though it's not fully his. It's the dagger's, enspelled to defeat whatever he's fighting against.

Which, in this case, is a tree.

"Blaze," I say his name carefully, not wanting to startle him.

He turns around slowly, his gaze meeting mine. There's a dark, almost ravenous look in his eyes, so intense that I stay where I am instead of making my way toward him.

It's a look I've seen before. The same one he's had every time he's held the quill after doing a spell.

The Crimson Quill is doing something to him. Changing him. And I don't like it one bit.

"Morgan," he says, slowly and carefully. "How was your trip?"

"I'm guessing the same as yours," I reply. "Bright. And warm. With a pretty startling exit."

"Sounds about right," he says, glancing over at the portal. "I assume Amber and Damien are on their way?"

"I don't know." I glare at him, my fire swirling within me, fighting me as I push it down. "You ran out of there before we could discuss what to do with those monks."

"There was nothing to discuss," he says. "We passed their trial. It was time to go."

"We left them injured and tied up in their monastery's basement," I say, even though I'm sure the portal didn't wipe his memory of what happened back there.

Then, as he retrieves his dagger from the tree, it happens again.

It starts with a breeze. One that could be considered natural, if not for its cold breath whispering warnings that coil like smoke around my thoughts.

He's not the same, it says. Look at him—he's hungry for power. Langwerda warned you about this. The quill's enchanting him, pushing him over an edge you can't pull him back from.

I shudder and wrap my arms around myself. Not from the cold, but from the creeping dread it's sending through my body.

"Something on your mind?" Blaze asks as he throws his dagger at the tree again in a fluid, lethal motion.

He's too strong now, the wind continues. Too dangerous. You know what you need to do. For everyone's safety. Before it's too late.

I glance over my shoulder at the portal, hoping Amber and Damien will step through and snap me out of this.

They don't.

"Maybe we should go back for them," I say to Blaze.

"I'm sure they won't be long." He walks over to the tree, pulls the dagger out of its trunk, and saunters back to the place where he was throwing it from. But he puts more distance between himself and the tree now, challenging himself, seeing how far he can push himself.

Another perfect throw.

I swallow hard, the weight of the dagger in my weapons belt suddenly more pronounced. It's like it's reminding me it's there, urging me to follow the wind's suggestions.

It would be so easy. Because Blaze's enchanted dagger is in the tree now—not on him.

But I'll need to be stealthy about it. Quick.

Catch him by surprise.

My plan forms quickly, egged on by the wind's whispers, each gust echoing the urgency of the moment.

"Can we talk?" I ask Blaze softly, my voice steadier than I feel.

He stops halfway toward the tree and turns to face me, his expression unreadable.

"Sure," he says. "Talk."

As he waits, there's a flicker of something in his eyes. Confusion? Suspicion?

It's gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by the stoic mask he's been wearing since finding out I was also a blood witch.

Slowly, I close the distance between us.

He stands there, watching me, not moving. The air stills, and time slows, as if the entire world hinges on this moment.

"I was thinking..." I say when I reach him, standing only a breath away.

My heart pounds, my hands shaking.

What am I doing? I care about him. He's saved my life—twice.

This might be the only time you're alone with him while he's not near the dagger, the whispers intrude on my thoughts again. He's not the same man who saved your life. The longer he has the dagger and the quill, the more dangerous he'll get.

"Thinking about what?" he asks, his voice low.

I expect him to move away. To remind me how much he hates me.

By some miracle, he doesn't.

I reach up, my hand brushing his cheek, both of our skin hot despite the bitingly cold air around us.

"About us," I say steadily, not breaking the moment. "About everything we've been through. How I'll be eternally grateful for the fact that I'm here now, alive, because of you."

His eyes soften, and for the first time in ages, it's like he sees me. Really, truly sees me.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he says, and before I can second-guess myself, I stand up on my toes and press my lips against his.

It's electric. Far more intense than I prepared for.

It's also desperate. A mingling of fear, guilt, and unspoken apologies. And as he pulls me closer, my heart revels in the connection, the closeness, the need for something real amidst the never-ending chaos my life has slowly become.

Do it, the wind hisses, like it's threatening me, angry at me. Now. Before the others get here. Before he can hurt anyone else. Before he can hurt you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull back slightly, looking deep into Blaze's fiery eyes.

There's question there. A shadow of doubt.

Did he feel it, too? Or is he playing with me, toying with me, trying to hurt me as much as I hurt him? Would he help me again if I needed it, or would he turn his back and walk away, like he did to those monks?

Yes, the monks brought out their weapons first, and yes, we did what we needed to do to open that portal. But some of them had severe injuries. Not fatal ones, but third-degree burns and shattered bones. The sort of injuries that might never fully heal on their own.

Would it have killed Blaze to have healed the most injured ones, just a little bit?

I don't know.

But the longer I stand here, searching him for answers I might never receive, the more suspicious he'll become.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and as my lips brush softly against his again, my hand slides down to the hilt of my dagger, the wind guiding it there, helping me do what's necessary before it's too late.