Pure instinct: my hand shot to Nate’s temple. Satisfying to see his head bounce off glass. Too obstinate to be knocked out, though.
Second prong: magic. It slid over scars,
filling bumps like trenches, red, then black. It craved free reign – I
craved it - but distention leads to bursting, and the world didn’t
deserve that. Neither did Nate.
“I want credit for you still breathing.”
His swelling eye narrowed.
time someone attempted to make me a human sacrifice, it didn’t work out
well. For anyone. So, go ahead, try to convince me why this time will