Chasing Steel: Capturing Magic Books 1-3 Read online

  I attempt to tell if he’s lying, but he’s the portrait of indifference at the moment. “Would Yellow have been able to find you if I had led him to you guys?”

  “Possibly.” He gives a short pause. “But you didn’t.” It’s not a question, but I shrug anyway.

  “It’s not a big deal. I mostly did it because he was bossing me around, and you know how much I hate that.” I fight back a squirm and the need to cover up the scratches as his gaze descends to my legs.

  “You never told me where you got these from.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I just scratched them on some rough brick when I was walking down that tunnel to get out of the inn.”

  His gaze snaps to mine. “These aren’t scratches from bricks. They’re scratches from fingernails.”

  “How would you know?” I quip in an attempt to avoid the truth. “Are you an expert on scratches?”

  “Actually, I am,” he mumbles, scratching at the scars on his chest.

  “What happened?” I reach to touch his scars, but mid-reach, I withdraw, comprehending how dumb of an idea it would be.

  “You tell me what happened here first, and then I’ll tell you.” He delicately sketches his finger along one of the marks.

  I shiver as both desire and nausea crash through me, and the entire floor quivers as well. Bottles on the table clink together and a cup tumbles off, shattering even more glass on the floor.

  Asher’s jaw ticks. “What did the elf do to you?”

  “Nothing,” I enunciate in a clipped tone. “So just drop it.”

  “No. You’re going to tell the truth.”

  “No, I’m not.” I bite down on my tongue as I realize my mishap.

  “So, you are lying,” he says, not smugly but with annoyance. When I refuse to say anything else, he spreads his fingers across my knee and pulls me closer. “Why won’t you tell me?” His tone is shockingly soothing, which only seems to infuriate me more.

  “Because it’s none of your business,” I bite out, putting my hands on my legs to cover the red marks. “And it doesn’t even matter. I handled the problem myself. End of story.”

  Asher’s gaze is unyielding. “Did he …? Did he touch you?”

  “No, not really.” I squirm, frazzled and irritated amongst a buttload of other things.

  His gaze zeroes in on my legs again. “If he didn’t touch you, then why are there fingernail scratches all over your legs?”

  “Oh, my gods,” I growl out. “You’re seriously not going to drop this, are you?”

  The fucker has the nerve to shake his head.

  I curl my fingers inward, stabbing my fingernails into my palms. “Fine, you want the fucking truth?” I don’t wait for him to respond, my anger controlling me. “Yeah, the stupid, disgusting elf forced me down on the bed, ripped my skirt, scratched the shit out of my legs, put his lips on mine, and tried to force me to … well, I’m sure you can guess. But my powers kicked in and the bed yanked him off me.” I’m breathing profusely by the time I’m finished, but I’m too riled up to give a shit. “I fucking handled it. I’m not helpless. I can take care of myself. I don’t need to talk about this with anyone.” I’m unsure who I’m even trying to convince—him or myself. “Are you fucking happy now?”

  He shakes his head from side to side, his eyes blazing like a wildfire, his body shaking. “No,” he bites out as the walls and floor begin to quake.

  At first, I think my powers are surfacing, but then I note how the trembling coincides with the intakes of Asher’s breath.

  “Stay here,” he growls, jumping to his feet. Then he storms across the room, the entire place jolting with his pounding steps.

  “Where are you going?” I call out as I stumble to my feet.

  “To take care of something.” He yanks open the door. “Just stay here. I’ll be back in a second.” He steps out and slams the door behind him.

  The shaking gradually settles after a couple of seconds tick by, and then I move to chase after him. But when I jerk on the doorknob, the damn door won’t open.

  “Did he fucking lock me in here?” I snarl, hammering my fist on the door. “Asher, open the damn door!”

  Silence is my only response.

  Cursing my stupidity, I turn around, slump against the door, and shut my eyes as the past few hours roll over me. Taking it all in is exhausting, and I feel so drained. Drained from the day’s events. Drained from Asher’s mood swings. Drained from using my powers.

  Like when I was in the compartment, my eyelids slowly grow heavy and my body sags toward the floor as exhaustion takes over.

  Chapter 25

  I feel fingers stroking my cheek, tantalizing tickles that make me so peaceful. So damn content …

  Wait … I’m having the strangest sense of déjà vu …

  A heartbeat later, it clicks. I’ve been in this situation before, when I woke up after passing out in the compartment and Asher was stroking my cheek.

  I blink my eyelids open, expecting my gaze to collide with the genie’s fiery eyes. Instead, I meet East’s glittery gaze. His eyes lack the luminosity they usually do, though.

  “Hey.” His voice is gentle. So is his touch as he traces his fingertips along my cheekbone. “You passed out on us again.”

  I blink my vision into focus. “I think I may have overused my powers for the day.” I peer around. I’m lying on the leather sofa in the same room I passed out in, and my head is resting on East’s lap. He has his shirt off, his glittery wings are on full display, and the rings on his fingers feel cold against my warm cheeks. “How long was I out? I’m guessing not too long since I’m still in the same room.”

  “It’s only been about an hour.” East splays his fingers across my cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little tired.” I yawn. “But that’s how I felt the last time I woke up from this little crashing from using my magic thing.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He smooths his hand over the top of my head. “I meant, how are you feeling after the incident with Yellow?”

  The edges of my mouth tug downward. “Asher told you about that?”

  He nods. “But only because Arrow and I dragged the truth out of him after we caught him storming away from here, looking like he was about to commit murder.”

  “Who was he going to try to murder?” I ask, stretching out my legs.

  East’s brow curves up. “You don’t know the answer to that already?”

  “I … Wait … He wasn’t going after Yellow, was he?” I shake my head. “I already told him I handled it.”

  East gapes at me like I’m insane. “Of course he was going after him, and I probably should’ve let him.” He bounces his leg, jittery and irritated and completely un-East-like. “The only reason Arrow and I talked him out of it is because, the moment Asher would’ve found Yellow, our spell would’ve disintegrate and Chasing Magic Industries would be able to track us.” His jaw clenches. “I probably should’ve just let Asher do it, though. It’s driving me crazy that I didn’t. I should’ve helped him do it. What happened to you … is partly my fault anyway, for not watching you more closely.”

  I blow out a heavy breath. “East, no one should’ve gone after Yellow. And this isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m the one who wandered off. If I hadn’t, then the Wishing Shadow wouldn’t have been able to put a spell on me.” I sit up, sweeping my hair out of my face while lowering my feet to the floor. “And you guys don’t need to protect me. I can protect myself perfectly fine.”

  “Killing Yellow isn’t about protecting you from him. It’s about him putting his hands on you and trying to force you to …” He works his jaw from side to side. “He deserves to have his fucking fingers that marked your legs broken off his hands.” Like in the street right before I ran into the Wishing Shadow, his eyes darken like thunderclouds. “And anything else that touched you.”

  “Nothing else touched me.” I scratch my wrist and tug at the hem of my skirt. “Well, I mean, his body did wh
en he was pushing me down …” I swallow down the burn rising in the back of my throat. “But I mean his … thing … didn’t …” I blow out a shaky exhale, staring down at the floor. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  His fixes his finger underneath my chin and tilts my head toward him. His gaze sears into me, which is a little odd. Usually, Asher is the one with the intense stare.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I’ll stop if you need me to, but I want to say one more thing.” He scoots toward me, sliding his hand behind my back, his wonderful sugary scent engulfing my nostrils. “Eventually, you should find someone you trust to talk to about it. Keeping stuff like this bottled up … it’ll eat you away inside.”

  A protest is already working its way up my throat, but the way his tone has shifted—lowering, quieting, darkening with pain—makes me pause and assess him. The storm has left his eyes and is replaced by a despairing, haunted shadow.

  Did something happen to him?

  As if reading my mind, he says, “A very, very long time ago, back when I still lived on Shimmerland, my life wasn’t nearly as amazing as it is now.” He attempts to convince me that he’s okay with a dazzling grin, but without the typical, wicked glint in his eyes, it looks all sorts of wrong. And when he takes a deep breath, the smile fizzles. “When I first left Shimmerland and that not-so-amazing life behind, I refused to talk about what happened to me. I bottled it up, pretended. I was really good at pretending. So good I almost had myself fooled that I was okay. But the thing is, eventually, buried emotions have a way of digging themselves up and all that shit I was hiding … well, let’s just say I refer to that part of my life as my dark time.”

  His words send a chill down my spine, but that doesn’t make wanting to talk about what happened to me today any easier.

  I stare down at my hands. “I just want to forget about it for now, okay?”

  “That’s fine.” He places a hand on my knee. “Just know I’m here whenever you need to talk. And I’m an excellent listener when I need to be. And I … I understand.”

  I nod. “Thanks.” My gaze flicks up to him, and he offers me an easy, warm smile, not an ounce of flirting evident. The look seems out of the ordinary on him, yet not necessarily in a bad way. He appears less mischievous and more honest, and that makes me feel more comfortable around him.

  Between kissing Asher, my choice to befriend Arrow, and now this bonding moment with East, I feel like I’m getting in way over my head with these guys.

  I think I need a break and maybe some fresh air …

  “Where are Arrow and Asher anyway?” I ask, desperate for a subject change.

  He stares at me for a spark of a second before pointing over my shoulder. “They’re outside, taking care of the mob.”

  I peer back at the hologram and find that the line weaving around the building has shrunken and the chanting has shifted into excited squeals and bubbling excitement.

  I glance back at East. “Why aren’t you out there?”

  He grins, but his eyes lack luster. “Because I was on sleeping princess duty.”

  I point a finger at him. “Don’t you dare start calling me princess.”

  When his eyes flicker with delight, I sigh, too aware of how much I missed the look of it.

  “You know what? I think I’m going to.” He slides closer to me until his hip is pressed against mine. “With how high maintenance you are, it’s far more fitting than sweetheart.”

  My jaw drops. “Hey, I’m not even close to being high maintenance.”

  A smirk creeps across his face. “Hate to break it to you, princess, but from the moment you stepped foot onto our vehicle, you’ve done nothing but bring havoc into our lives.” When I glower at him, he chuckles, brushing my hair away from my shoulder and leaning in. “Relax, we love your havoc.” I cringe at the word love, but he doesn’t appear to notice. “And I have a feeling you’re going to bring a lot more, but in the best way possible.”

  I attempt to keep glaring at him, but it’s difficult when he’s sporting a genuine, glittery smile. “Well, just so you know, it’s a two-way street. My life was completely dull until I got stuck with you guys’ dumb asses.” I’m such a fucking liar. My life was never dull. But I’m trying to win an argument.

  Grinning, he dips his lips toward my ear. “I love it when you get feisty. But you want to know what I love even more?”

  “Not really.” Mostly because I want him to stop using the word love.

  Good gods, I’m getting more and more in over my head with every passing glittery, smoky, gadget-y second.

  “How much you pretend you don’t like being here with us.” His breath tickles my cheek, and I have to work not to shiver. “Deep down, I know you do.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn my head to look at him. “It’s cute that you actually believe that.”

  His grin widens. “And it’s cute when you try to lie.”

  A scowl forms on my face. “I’m not lying.”

  “Yes, you are.” He moves closer until his lips are grazing my ear. “It’s okay, though. For now, we can pretend.” Then he sucks on my earlobe and, caught off guard, a shiver rolls through my body.

  I aimlessly move my hand to his arm, grasping on to him as wonderful, fluttering sensations surface inside me. But when he softly groans in my ear, I immediately jerk back and slant away from him, trapping my breathless exhale inside my chest.

  What is wrong with me? Where has my self-control gone?

  Chuckling, East stands up and turns toward me.

  I brace myself for a snide remark, but all he does is offer me his hand. Confused, I lay my palm in his, and he lifts me to my feet.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he starts toward the door.

  “I figure we could go backstage and watch Asher and Arrow dazzle our fans,” he explains as he opens the door. “And get you some fresh air.”

  Fresh air sounds nice, but …

  My gaze travels down to my torn skirt. “I think I should probably put a cloak on first.”

  East slows to a stop, his gaze tracking mine. Then a deep frown etches across his face, swirls of storm clouds funneling in his eyes.

  “Why do your eyes do that?” I ask the same question I did the first time I witnessed the change in his eyes.

  And just like the first time, he avoids answering me.

  “Let’s save that story for later, okay?” he mumbles through a weighted breath. “We’ve already had too much darkness for one day.”

  I gulp down the fear threatening to take hold of me. Usually, dropping stuff isn’t my style, but since he didn’t force me to talk about Yellow, I can at least return the favor.

  “I can fix your skirt for you, if you want me to,” he says, and I eagerly nod, more than ready to get rid of the reminder of what happened today. But then he hesitates, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I’ll have to touch the torn spot to fix it, though.”

  “Oh.” My gaze descends to the shredded area. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?” he double-checks, and I nod, though my anxiety seeps through. “Just tell me if I need to stop,” he utters, slowly extending his hand toward me.

  I’m more afraid than I want to admit and that pisses me off. Fear? Is it going to become a part of my life more now, all because some dipshit elf thought he could do whatever he wanted with me?

  Fucking elf. If I ever cross paths with him again, I hope I’ve learned to control my powers by then. That way, I can punish him exactly how I want to.

  “Sweetheart.” East freezes, worry creasing his face. “Do you need me to stop?”

  Not wanting to let fear control me, I shake my hand then grab his hand and place it on the ripped hem of the skirt. “Do your magic, faerie.” I snap my fingers at him. “Chop, chop. We haven’t got all day.”

  A small smile touches his lips. “You’re amazingly brave and strong.” He places one hand against the hem of my skirt while reaching up to cup my cheek wit
h the other. “And don’t ever let anyone tell you any differently.”

  Feeling uneasy at the compliment, my lips part with a snarky retort, but he beats me to the punch as his grin morphs into a full-blown smirk.

  “That probably won’t be too much of a problem,” he says. “Since, over the next two months, you’re going to get attached to us and want to stay with us forever.”

  When my lips twitch in annoyance, his smirk magnifies.

  Normally, when he insists I’ll end up never wanting to leave them, I retaliate with a remark of denial. But, since that never seems to get me anywhere, I decide to go at it from another angle.

  “Well, if that really happens, then I guess you’ll be forced to tell me I’m amazing every single day,” I quip with a grin.

  He mirrors my grin as he slides his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck and inches forward, the tips of his boots clipping mine. “Oh, we’re going to do a lot more than that.” He skims his fingers over the nape of my neck, and my eyes widen as breathtaking tingles sprinkle down my skin.

  I’m not even sure whose magic causes the sensation—his or mine—so I smash my lips together and pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend, pretend, pretend.

  I realize that, over the years, I’ve pretended a lot. It makes me wonder if I’ll ever have to stop pretending. Makes me wonder if the curse can ever be broken.

  I chew on my thumbnail. “East … if you guys ever do get rid of Asher’s father, will that break the curse?”

  Remorse flickers in his eyes. “Unfortunately, even after a genie dies, the curses they casted while they were alive don’t die with them.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment crushes down on my shoulders.

  “We’ll find a way to break your curse,” he promises. “Asher’s already mentioned a few ways he believes could help.”

  I force a smile, wishing I could believe him. But the truth is, if Asher already knew a way to break a genie’s curse, then wouldn’t he have broken his already?

  Yeah, I have a feeling I may very well spend the rest of my life silently drowning in my buried emotions until they dig themselves up, and then …