Free Powers by Deborah Lynn Jacobs Page B

it?” he asked.
    â€œNo, thanks.” It looked deadly.
    Adrian replaced the sword and took down the dagger. “This then? It’s a parrying dagger, based on one carried in around 1580 by the bodyguard of the Elector of Saxony.”
    The dagger fit neatly in my hand, the leather handle smooth, the grooved blade shining softly.
    â€œBeautiful, isn’t it?” Adrian said. “Engraved pommel, hardwood grip, covered in leather, a ring guard to protect your knuckles, fullered blade made of cold, hard steel.”
    â€œYes,” I agreed, turning it over to catch the light on the blade.
    â€œThere’s something seductive about it, isn’t there?” Adrian went on. “The power of life and death, yours to command.”
    Slowly, teasingly, he pulled his T-shirt up over his head, keeping eye contact until the last second. He tossed the shirt aside, closed his eyes and tilted his chin up. He said in a whisper, “My life is in your hands.”
    It was such a phony move, exactly like the old Adrian, that I nearly walked out.
    But I didn’t. Without quite knowing why, I touched the tip of the dagger to the hollow of his throat, where his pulse beat just below the surface of his skin. I gently traced the blade down his chest.
    He was right. There was something seductive about it. I liked it. Liked it very much, in fact. Him open and vulnerable, and me with a dagger in my hand.
    He shuddered and opened his eyes. His pupils were so dilated that his irises showed as thin blue rings. He took the dagger from me, sheathed it, set it aside. His breathing, fast and ragged, matched my own. He leaned toward me, but I shifted away, moving to the other side of the room.
    He followed, stood close but not touching. I felt his breath, warm on my neck. From upstairs, I heard the faint ticking of a kitchen clock, marking the seconds.
    â€œHelp me light the candles,” he said.
    Adrian
    I’ve set candles all around the room—soft white and inky black. We move in opposite directions, lighting them. My senses are amplified by The Power. I strike a match. The sulfur is a harsh burn in my nostrils. The flare of light is a shooting star across my retina. The hiss of wax catching fire is a windstorm in my ears.
    â€œI don’t know how to do this,” she says.
    â€œTrust me.” I turn off the room lights, and put on my special make-out music. Unchained Melody. She’s standing in front of the mirror on my wardrobe door. I slip my arms around her waist. “You’re so beautiful.”
    â€œI’m fat,” she says, blurting out the words before she can censor them.
    â€œYou are not fat.”
    She snorts. “Right. I’m not thin.”
    â€œSo?” I kiss the back of her neck. “Why do girls always think guys like them anorexic? I like my women with some—”
    â€œMeat on their bones?” she supplies, her voice acid.
    â€œCurves,” I say, pulling her even closer. “Soft, sweet, sexy curves.”
    She melts against me. We sway to the music. Warmth floods my body. Cold fire burns through my veins.
    â€œYour eyes are glowing,” she says. Electric blue.
    â€œSo are yours.” Red-gold, like a rising sun.
    Light plays around her, white and shimmering silver. In the mirror, I see my own aura, blue, flaring neon bright.
    â€œThe Power,” I say. “The more I’m with you, the stronger it grows.”
    â€œI’m afraid,” she says.
    â€œDon’t be.” Our auras blaze, crackling with energy. “It’s meant to be. It’s why my father brought me here.”
    â€œMeant to be?”
    â€œUs. Together. Like this.” I run my hand down her arm. Sparks fly off from where I touch her, and she jerks, expecting pain. But the sparks only bring a kind of effervescence, like champagne bubbles bursting over her skin.
    â€œIt’s part of the plan. Once we join, we’ll be