Priests. Did Magiano grow up as an apprentice in the temples? I cringe at the thought of them cutting into his flesh, tearing it back. At the same time, the whispers stir, drawn to such a painful image. “I’m glad it healed,” I manage to say.
Magiano tugs his shirt down and goes back to his leaning posture. “It never really heals,” he replies. “Sometimes it breaks open.”
The shields on my heart start to lower. When I look back up at him, he is staring at me. “What brought you into this life?” I ask. “Why did you become … well … Magiano?”
Magiano tilts his head to the stars. He shrugs. “Why did you become the White Wolf?” he says, tossing the question back at me. Then, he sighs. “In the Sunland nations, malfettos are seen as links to the gods. This doesn’t mean anyone worships us—it only means that the temples like to keep malfetto orphans in their care, believing that their presence will help them speak to the gods.” He lowers his voice. “They also liked keeping us hungry. It’s the same reason why a nobleman might keep his tigers on a lean diet, see? If we’re hungry, we’re alert, and if we’re alert, we are a better link to the gods. I was always hunting for food in that temple, my love. One day, the priests caught me stealing food that was meant to be offerings to the gods. So they punished me. You can bet I ran away after that.” He gestures at his back, then grins at me. “I hope the gods forgave me.”
His story is so familiar. I shake my head. “You should have burned that temple to the ground,” I say bitterly.
Magiano gives me a surprised look, then shrugs again. “What good would it have done?” he says.
I don’t argue, but silently, I think, It would have warned them all of what happens when you defy the children of the gods. I shift, drawing an idle line in the dirt near my boots. “We must have different alignments,” I mutter, “to think such opposite thoughts.”
Magiano tilts his head again. “Alignments?”
I wave a hand in the dirt to ruin the line I’d drawn. “Oh, it’s just something that Raffaele used to talk about,” I reply, irritated with myself for thinking of the Daggers again. “He studies the energy of every Elite he comes across. He believes that we all align with certain gemstones and gods, and those alignments influence our powers.” I take a deep breath. “I align with fear and fury. With passion. And with ambition.”
Magiano nods. “Well, I can certainly see that.” He smiles a little. “What do I align with?”
I look at him. “Are you asking me to guess?”
His smile widens, turning playful for an instant. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m curious what you think you know of me.”
“All right.” I straighten and lean back, taking in his face. The fire gives his skin a golden glow. I pretend to squint at him. “Hmm,” I murmur. “Prase quartz.”
“What?”
“Prase quartz. For Denarius, the angel of Greed.”
Magiano throws his head back and laughs. “Fair enough. What else?”
His laughter brings a trickle of warmth to me, and I find myself savoring it. I smile back. “Kunzite. The healing gem. For the god of Time.”
“Holy Aevietes?” Magiano raises an eyebrow and gives me a sly look.
“Yes.” I nod. “A thief must be both patient and impatient to be good, must have impeccable timing. Right?”
“Solid reasoning.” Magiano leans closer, then gives me a teasing look. His hand brushes against the edge of mine. “Go on, then.”
“Diamond,” I continue, unable to stop smiling. “For the goddess of Prosperity.”
He draws closer. There is no hint of wildness in his eyes. His lashes shine in the light, then lower. Suddenly I am aware of his breath warm against my cheeks. “And?” he murmurs.
“And … sapphire.” My voice fades into a whisper. “For the angel of Joy.”
“Joy?” Magiano smiles, gently this time.
“Yes.” I look down, overwhelmed by sudden sadness. “Because I can see so much of it in you.”
A warm hand tilts my chin back up. I find myself looking into Magiano’s golden eyes. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he leans toward me. I hear nothing around us but the crackle of the fire.
His lips touch my cheek. It is a soft, careful touch, one that brings a lump to my throat. His lips shift to brush against mine. Then his kiss deepens in earnest, and the strings of my heart pull taut. His hand shifts from my chin to cup my face, pulling me into him. I go willingly. One of his arms encircles my waist. The kiss goes on, as if he were reaching for something within, turning firmer until I’m forced to steady myself against the ground, lest he makes me fall over. A low, sweet sound comes from his throat. I bring a hand up to the back of his neck. Aside from the deep warmth of passion, my energy stays very, very still, and for the first time, I don’t miss it.
His lips finally break from mine. He brushes them against my cheeks once more, then against the line of my jaw, and then, finally, he pulls away. For a moment, all we can do is breathe. My heart thuds in my chest. The complete stillness of my energy is something I have never felt before. I am full of light. I am confused. A strange mix of guilt and wonder swims inside me.
The thought of ruling Kenettra with Enzo at my side—Enzo, who had saved me from certain death, who brought my powers out with a mere touch of his hand on my back, whose own fire awakened my ambitions—thrills me. So why am I here, this close to a boy who is not my prince? Why am I reacting in this way to his touch?