He turns to me, and the look on his face makes me gasp. The red in his eyes is gone, but what’s left behind is the rich, bright color of liquid gold. Heavy lids. Mouth open in a quiet pant. “You’re aether-drunk.”

He shakes his head. “I know what aether-drunk feels like. This… this isn’t that.” He takes a step to the side to lean against a tree, his head tipped back against the bark. I follow him, half-worried he might fall even with the tree at his spine. “Aether-drunk is dull bliss. Temporary balance. Relief. This is… better and worse.”

Suddenly, my heart is pounding, because whatever he’s feeling, it’s not from the aether in the air around us, or from an Oath. It’s from me. He’s drunk on me.

His head lolls in my direction. “You told me you could smell my magic. At the gala.”

“I did. I can.”

He turns against the trunk to face me. We are so close I smell whiskey and smoke. His aether signature, back again. “I wanted to know what that was like. Wanted you to describe it. Didn’t know how to ask.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

“Do you want to know?” he asks in a low voice that makes me shiver. He reaches for my hand, and his fingers are hot against my palm. “What your magic smells like?”

I swallow. “I…”

“Honey wine. Amber. Green things growing. The tiniest hint of copper, like fresh blood. Something else…” A deep inhale, and I feel him shudder. “Power.”

“Sel…” The day has turned chilly, but his skin is burning.

“Mmm?”

“You said you didn’t want to drink aether. You didn’t want to use it… recreationally.”

He chuckles and leans back, pulling his hand from mine. The glowing light of his irises are thin bands around drowning black pupils. “That was a cheap casting by a warlock with parlor-trick power. Valec’s juice is a temporary dampener at best. There’s no comparison. This flavor… your aether, your root…” He shakes his head, voice low with wonder. Swipes a tongue over his lower lip. “I can still taste you.”

“Oh my God.” I emit a strangled sound, and clap my hands over my face in mortification. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Sel.”

“I’m sorry.” I look up to see his face darkened, pinched with sudden shame. “I’m so sorry, Bree. I kept telling you not to hide from me, but then I…” His eyes squeeze shut. “Then I did everything in my power to hide from you. I will never… I should have never—”

“This looks like fun,” a voice says in the darkness.

42

THE NEW VOICE makes us jump. “I hope I’m interrupting something.”

Sel hisses into the trees at something I can’t see. “You.”

“Me.” The figure melts into shape from the shadows, hands up for peace but eyes glinting for battle.