“And you,” I sputter. “My soap should have lasted another month.”
“We’ll take two,” he tells the vendor, paying and then continuing down the row of stalls.
“There is no we. Don’t act like I have a say in any of this.”
Beta Sinta whirls, frustration darkening his eyes. “You could have a say. And you could bloody well choose your own soap!”
“I did! I told you to take the yellow one.”
“And I did!”
Muttering a curse, he walks off so fast that the rope pulls, jerking me into someone. Or maybe the man stumbles into me. His eyes are unfocused, and he’s listing to the left.
Magic bites my skin. My body responds instantly. I feel the vortex. I let it expand, readying the whirlpool that’ll pull the stranger’s magic into me and make it my own.
I reach out with a shudder. Aside from the steady, light nip of the rope, which I hardly feel anymore, I haven’t been in contact with magic for nearly two weeks, and whatever is coursing through this man’s veins is exciting and potent. I don’t know what it is, but it might mean my escape.
I grab his shoulders, feeling like a child in a kitchen full of cakes. I’m going to stuff myself until I burst.
CHAPTER 8
“Cat?” Beta Sinta sounds far away. “Cat! What are you doing?”
Laughing, floating, I release the man only when there’s no magic left to take. Turning, I stumble into Beta Sinta. He catches my bare arms, and I gasp. Eyes like a storm. Fingers so warm.
“You’re pink!” I giggle, the sound strange and unfamiliar to my ears.
He frowns, and it makes me laugh. His face fades in and out of focus. Everything is hazy, rosy, and not quite upright. The world is buzzing. It’s turned elastic, and it vibrates at the edges.
Dizzy, I lay my hand on Beta Sinta’s chest for balance. His heart beats under my palm, and the steady rise and fall of his chest mesmerizes me. Up. Down. Up. Down. It seems perfectly normal to time my breathing to match his.
“Poseidon’s balls! What in the Underworld did you do to me?”
I turn to the red-faced, raging man whose magic I took. A person’s natural magic will come back in a matter of hours, but this feels like a spell. I blink him into focus, tilting my head so he’s not sideways. He staggers, and tremors rack his wiry frame. He’s pink, too, and madder than the Minotaur in his maze.
Beta Sinta tenses under my hand.
“That dose was supposed to last all day!” the man snarls. “I paid good silver for it. Give it back!” he thunders, lunging at me.
Beta Sinta’s arm snakes around my waist, and he spins me out of the way. The man howls, but all I can do is laugh, even when he draws a knife and waves it at me, a manic look in his eyes.
An enraged sound rises in Beta Sinta’s chest. His free hand shoots out and knocks the knife from the man’s trembling grip. The next thing I know, Beta Sinta has the other man by the throat. It’s impressive. Fast.
One of Beta Sinta’s arms is still wrapped around me, plastering me to his side. The other is extended in front of my nose. Powerful without unnecessary bulk, tanned, corded, chiseled—the whole arm is almost too appealing to resist. Muscles bunch and roll, and I have the hardest time not reaching up to squeeze his biceps.
He tosses the man to the ground. Kato, Flynn, and Carver take up positions around us, looking wonderfully lethal. I clap and grin—I love a good fight, not that this one seems very fair—and then blink. Flynn either just grew three feet, or I’m hallucinating.
“Dose of what?” The deadly undertone in Beta Sinta’s voice makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise. A shiver rattles me, and his grip around my waist tightens.
When the man just gapes at us, prostrate, Beta Sinta draws a knife from his belt and throws it without a second’s hesitation. It sticks not even an inch from the man’s ear, slicing off a hunk of matted brown hair.
“The next one lands somewhere that hurts,” Beta Sinta says in a low, furious voice.
I wrinkle my nose. “Brutal.”
Thundercloud eyes flash to mine. “No one touches you.”
I chew on my lower lip, confused. “You’re touching me.”
His eyes dip to my mouth. “I’m the exception.”
The breath stalls in my lungs. Everything inside me suddenly feels liquid and light. He reminds me of a pirate again. Dark. Sharp. Fierce. I smile up at him, wondering if it would be all right to jump into his arms and bury my face in his neck.
Our eyes meet. His are like molten silver, and my legs turn weak. I sway into him, and Beta Sinta’s fingers convulse on my hip, tugging me closer. His eyes close for the space of a deep breath. When he opens them again, his jaw hardens, and he turns back to the man on the ground with a snarl. “I’m waiting.”