"She craved his twisted darkness, the same way he grasped at the light in her shattered soul."
Natalie Gilbert has spent her entire life putting everyone else's needs before her own. So much so, that it ended up costing her the one person she couldn...
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NATALIE
"So tell me one more time why we need to drink the magic grass?"
I looked up at Kai as he examined my cross-legged position in boredom, twirling his murder knife between his fingers casually.
After sucking all the magic out of it, Kai seemed to have formed a strong affection for the weapon, whether it be morbid nostalgia or grateful appreciation for its part in getting us one step closer to the finish line, he seemed pretty keen on keeping it close to him for the time being.
Which I was thankful for really.
It was a great distraction, as he hadn't stopped fiddling with the thing for the last twenty minutes, like he had finally been reunited with something lost.
The best part being that it kept his focus off me, and my rising panic at having to not only take all my magic back today, but then use it right after for a majorly unstable spell that could result in both me and Kai ending up brain dead turnips if I messed it up.
But no pressure or anything.
No pressure, other than the crushing weight of just about every neuron in my head firing on all four cylinders, with screaming sirens and blaring red lights, all telling me that I should be picking the keys up off the kitchen counter and driving as far away as possible in the opposite direction.
Maybe to Canada. I heard Canada was nice, scenic even, and exceptionally far from any obligations I had to become a witch again.
In fact I would've been about 50 miles down the road already if I didn't think Kai might knock me over the head and tie me to a bedpost if I tried to run. Or use his murder knife to stop me.
And why shouldn't he?
This was his prison after all, and I was just visiting. He'd spent eighteen years stuck in this place, my seven months meant nothing, along with my fear.
My fear about what taking my power back meant, what I would be capable of again, didn't mean anything to him. And it's not like I could exactly talk to him about it in a good ol' heart-to-heart.
He'd either laugh in my face, or become incredibly annoyed with the idea that the thing I was most scared of in the world, was the thing he had decided he couldn't live without.
I was backed into a corner. A very tight, very suffocating corner, that had no promising escape.
