6. Morgan

When I return to Blaze,he gives me a small smile, clearly knowing what I’m about to say.

“You were right.” The words taste like defeat and victory in one. “But we can’t sit here in public and read this thing. Someone might come over and ask about it. Plus, the bar will close eventually. Let’s go back to my room and read it there.”

His grin widens.

My cheeks flush, and I hold up a finger to stop any misunderstandings. “This is strictly about the book,” I add. “Nothing else.”

“What ‘else’ would you be referring to?” he says, so innocently that I know he’s goading me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so excited to spend all this time with him.

“Never mind,” I say quickly, desperate to change the subject—and wishing my cheeks would stop flushing every time he looks at me with those eyes or does something endearing. “Anyway, we have a lot of reading to do. We should start sooner rather than later.”

“Of course,” he says, and then he calls over the waiter, slipping him his card before I have a chance to reach for some cash.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, although I can’t help feeling grateful. I have a significant amount of cash on me—I don’t want to leave an electronic trail of my whereabouts—but any bit of it saved is appreciated.

“It’s no problem.” He shrugs, dismissing the topic.

As we make our way to my room, I’m intensely aware of his presence beside me. It’s not just his appearance—which is undeniably attractive—but it’s also the way he carries himself. A confidence mingled with a respectful distance that he maintains as we walk.

This hostel room isn’t anything special. A double bed against one wall, a wardrobe against another, and a small table with two chairs. But, unlike most rooms in this place, it and the ensuite bathroom are all mine.

I was more than willing to fork over extra cash for privacy. It was necessary, given what I’m doing around here.

Blaze follows me in and surveys the room. “Nice place,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Cozy.”

“It’s not much,” I say simply. “But it does the job.”

Not wanting to just stand here awkwardly, I walk across the room, place the book on the table, and sit down.

Blaze takes the seat opposite me, his eyes focused on mine as he does.

My heart leaps, and I can’t help glancing at the bed.

No. We’ll be staying away from that. I can’t risk getting my heart involved with my mission. There’s too much at stake to get distracted.

Plus, Blaze can never know the truth of what I am. I have to keep him at arm’s length—even though we’re going to be spending a lot of time near each other.

So, I open the book again. True to Blaze’s word, the text reappears, as if summoned by his presence.

“Incredible,” I say, breathless. “Where do we start?”

“Simple.” He leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “We start by you telling me why you need this book so badly.”

I freeze, caught off guard, his question hanging heavily in the air between us.

What should I say? Sure, he’s helping me. He’s trusting me because of some premonition of his mom’s—which I’m fascinated by, and which I will learn more about.

But that doesn’t mean I have to share my secrets in return.

“It’s a favor,” I start, choosing my words carefully. “An important favor, for a friend.”

My gaze drifts to the book, then back to Blaze. He’s listening closely, his curiosity evident, with no impatience or judgment in his eyes.

“Your friend’s in trouble.” He leans forward, bridging the gap between us without getting uncomfortably close.

“Yes,” I admit. “She did something that could cost her—and everyone around her—a lot if I don’t fix it. This book supposedly holds knowledge that can help. So… here we are.”

“Here we are.” He sizes me up, studying me, and I can practically see the gears spinning in his head. “We all have our secrets, Morgan,” he eventually says. “When you’re ready, I’m here. Until then, we focus on the book. On helping your friend. Sound good?”

“Yes. Sounds good,” I say, the tightness in my chest releasing. Then, to steer the conversation away from topics I’m not ready to discuss, I gesture at the book. “The ink only appears when you’re nearby. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Likely because you’ve never met me or my ancestors,” he replies. “This ink is from them. From the life force that ran inside their veins. Which now runs inside my veins.”

My eyes widen, not just at the revelation, but at the implications of it.

The life force that runs inside veins.

Blood.

He’s hinting at blood magic.

Panic rises in my chest. Does he know about me? Is this an elaborate trick to force my hand into… well, I don’t know what he’d want to force my hand into doing, but people want all sorts of unpredictable things.

No, I think, steadying my breathing to calm myself.

My visions led me to the book. To him. And he’s telling me about himself. There’s no logical reason to think he knows my secret. The universe wouldn’t have sent me straight into a trap.

I can manage this.

One of the best ways to hide secrets is to feign confusion and innocence. So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve been doing it for my entire life, and I can certainly handle doing it now.

“Are you’re saying this book was penned with the blood of your ancestors?” I ask, continuing before he can answer. “Because that’s impossible. That type of magic doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

“It’s possible,” he says, as if he’s not admitting something that could get him hunted down and killed. “My family… we’re not just any witches. We’re blood witches. When we write certain words with our blood, we can infuse the object we wrote it on with powerful magic.”

I stare at him, eyes wide, the book forgotten.

“You’re a blood witch.” I can hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth, especially when he nods, urging me to continue. “But aren’t blood witches…”

“Evil? Extinct?” he says.

I shudder at the first word.

Evil.

We’re not evil. At least, not inherently so. Zara’s… ambitious. Willow’s determined. I’m… well, I suppose I’m willing to sacrifice anything to ensure the best outcomes from what my visions provide. Even if that means turning my back on my sisters, no matter how much it broke something inside me when I did.

We’re perseverant. Powerful. Feared.

But we’re certainly not evil.

And, apparently, we’re not as alone in this world as we’ve always believed.