Varyn
Her eyes simmered with anger and burned with a hatred that I earned. Good. I can’t afford to get close to her. Not after last time.
Audrey stormed off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I glance down at the worn leather bracelet wrapped around my wrist, spinning it slowly between my fingers. Beth. Her name is still seared into the dark, braided leather.
“It was just a job,” I tell myself. The words are bitter as they cling to my tongue. I force a breath into my lungs, trying to slow my erratic heart, but the lie twists through me like a blade. Anger and regret gnaw at me, clawing their way to the surface. No matter how deep I thought I’d buried it, the memory surges back, suffocating me.
Her face. The light leaving her eyes. My arms wrapped around her lifeless body. One mistake. That’s all it took—one damn mistake, and she was gone.
My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe. I need air. I rip open the freezer and plunge my head inside, the cold air hitting my face like a shock to the system. I count one, two—slow, deep breaths—three, four, but it isn’t working. The panic tears at my lungs, and my heartbeat is a wild, frantic drum.
“What are you—” Audrey’s voice breaks through the fog. “Are you okay?”
I close my eyes, trying to pull myself together. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she says cautiously. “You’re sweating and shaking.” I feel her hand rest gently on my shoulder and flinch at her touch.
“Don’t touch me, Beth,” I snap, harsher than intended.
“Okay, I won’t touch you,” she replies, her voice steady. “I need you to turn around and look at me.”
“Just go,” I grind out.
“Turn around,” she repeats, calm but insistent. My anger flares, ready to explode, but I spin to face her.
“What do you hear?” she asks suddenly, catching me off guard.
“What?” I stare at her, confused, but she remains patient.
“Listen. What do you hear?”
I focus through the noise in my head. “Rain,” I say through ragged breaths.
“Good,” she nods. “Now, what do you see?” I blink, trying to clear my vision, and my eyes focus on the kitchen table.
“Beef jerky.” Her lips quirk up into a small smile.
“What do you smell?” I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the air filling my lungs with something sweet and unfamiliar.
“Vanilla?” I ask as I open my eyes.
“Peonies,” she corrects with a soft smile that sends a lightning bolt through my chest. She’s tantalizingly close enough now that I can smell the scent coming off her skin. Her deep blue eyes are gentle as they track my breath. I can’t stop my eyes from roaming over her heaving chest as she models deep breathing to me. “Take a few more deep breaths,” she encourages.
Slowly, the tightness in my chest eases, and the world comes back into focus. I shift my eyes away quickly.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” I ask, still hesitant.
“I learned it when I was a kid.” There’s a flash of something unreadable in her eyes, a softness that tugs unexpectedly at my chest.
“Thanks,” I murmur, stepping back to put some distance between us, but the charged silence hangs heavy.
“No problem,” she says quietly, her gaze lingering a bit too long. “How long have you had panic attacks?”
“About a year.” I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, hoping to end the conversation, but she leans casually against the counter, watching me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable.
“What started them?”
I tense, tightening my grip on the bottle. “I don’t know,” I lie, refusing to meet her eyes. But I can feel her studying me, pressing for answers without saying a word.
“I’ll pretend to believe that,” she murmurs, her voice soft but edged with challenge. Her expression shifts, something like empathy shadowing her face, stirring something unwelcome inside me.
“Believe whatever you want,” I say, trying to brush her off, but my tone sounds thin, almost defensive.
Then, without warning, she tilts her head, her voice gentler than before. “Who’s Beth?” Her question hits like a punch, stopping me dead in my tracks.
“What?” I turn slowly, masking my surprise.
“You called me ‘Beth’ earlier. Who is she?” Her eyes lock onto mine as if she can see right through me.
“No one,” I answer shortly. “I made a mistake, that’s all.” She raises a brow, clearly unconvinced.
“Are you sure?” she presses, her tone both skeptical and probing.
“I’m sure.” I force the words out. “I’m heading to bed,” I add before turning away, but the tension in the room is thick, her closeness impossible to ignore.
She lets out a frustrated sigh, rolling her eyes. “Fine.”
Our eyes meet briefly, and there’s a pulse in the silence between us, a heartbeat we both ignore. I turn toward the couch, feeling her stare burn into my back before she heads into the bedroom.
In the hallway, I rummage through the closet for a fresh shirt. Finally finding one, I pull my dirty one over my head. I hear a small gasp behind me, causing me to turn around.
“S-Sorry, I didn’t know you were changing,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing red as she stares at my shirtless torso. I let out a long, annoyed sigh. Her oversized T-shirt barely covers her thighs, and I can’t stop my eyes from lingering for a second too long. “It’s all I had to sleep in,” she adds after noticing my lingering stare, pulling at the hem as if she could make it longer. She was standing there, vulnerable, and all I could think was how wrong this was—how much worse it could get. I toss her a pair of sweats from the bag as my heart pounds in my chest.
“Here.”
“Oh, thanks.”
I nod my head. “Don’t mention it.”
The sweats are more for my sanity than her comfort. I can’t have her walking around looking like…that. My gaze defiantly flickers to the curve of her neck, where loose strands of hair brush against her skin. She’s beautiful, objectively speaking. Too easy to look at. Too dangerous to notice.
I won’t allow myself to think about her like that. Not when I know how it could end. I’ll never make that mistake again. She’s a distraction, nothing more.
I brush past her without another glance, dropping onto the couch. The sound of her moving around in the bedroom should bring relief, a sense of separation, but even with the door between us, she’s all I can think about. She lingers in my mind, pulling my attention back like a tether I can’t cut.
It should be easy to shut her out, to maintain the distance I know I need. But when she looked at me earlier, I felt something stir inside me—something I haven’t allowed myself to feel for so long. Desire.
I roll over, restlessly fidgeting with the pillow, my mind an endless loop of her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the thoughts of her. I can’t push away this pull toward her. Maybe it’s not just her; maybe…it’s the magic. Every part of my being once housed the power that now resides within her. It’s only natural. This magnetic pull I feel toward her—it’s as if I’m drawn not just to her, but to the part of me she carries. My magic wants to return to me, and it’s using her as its conduit. So, is it desire or instinct?
I’m starting to think that losing my magic isn’t the only thing I’m at risk of losing.
