“I want to.” I wanted that more than almost anything.
“I need you to trust that I’m doing what’s best for you.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. But you also now bear scars from—”
“Scars?” Randall asked, eyebrows rising almost to his hairline.
Morgan didn’t even look regretful when I glared at him.
“Scars,” Randall repeated. “Would someone care to explain what these scars are?”
“It’s no big deal,” I hedged. “I—”
“He’ll find out,” Morgan said quietly. “Sooner or later. It would be in your best interest if it was sooner.”
I sighed and wondered about mentors not being able to keep their fat mouths shut.
“I’m waiting,” Randall said.
“I’m waiting,” I mocked under my breath. Then, louder, “Ugh. Fine. But don’t you get any ideas, you old coot. Just because I’m about to show you my young, nubile body doesn’t give you the right to try and get all up in my bidness.”
“Somehow, I think I’ll be able to restrain myself,” he said, dry as dust.
“You say that now,” I muttered. “But then you’ll see my body and fall in love and I’ll have to let you down because even though I don’t mind older men, even I have to draw the line somewhere—”
“You’re dawdling.”
I brought my hands to the hem of the shirt I wore, hesitated, then thought fuck it. I pulled it up and over my head. The air in the office was cool against my skin. I tried to look up at Randall, to meet his gaze head-on, but I found it to be an almost impossible task. Instead I looked down and away, trying to resist the urge to cover my chest.
The lightning-struck scars weren’t something I’d had time to focus on. Everything had moved too quickly after I’d received them. They were still angry and raised and pulled harshly if I moved too much. But I wasn’t the type to be too concerned with marks on my body. Sure, maybe after all was said and done, I’d have a crisis of faith and melt down just a little, wondering if Ryan could ever want me again, given that I was marked. But I doubted that would be an issue. Ryan had scars himself, though they weren’t as extensive as mine. His were more the nicks and marks from a childhood in the slums and the life of a knight. His came from hard work, from doing his job.
Mine came from battling a dick.
Okay. Maybe I could be a little insecure about them.
That was just fucking peachy.
I was drawn from my thoughts when an ancient finger dragged along them. I yelped as I snapped my head up and took a step back. “No bad-touching,” I growled at Randall. “You have to resist the temptation of flesh before you, you old pervert!”
Morgan sighed and raised his eyes toward the ceiling.
“Was this from the dragon?” Randall asked, sounding slightly strained.
I shook my head slowly. “No. This was Myrin.”
Randall’s shoulders drooped a little at that. “Was it your own magic? Or his?”
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “Mine, maybe. Or both. I don’t know. It… happened rather quickly. He was walking on water and then things were exploding. It led me to using a kickass catchphrase and shocking the hell out of everything. Then I woke up the next day with these bad boys.”
“He has marked you,” Randall said quietly. “For consumption.”
I blinked at that. “Come again?”
“This”—he waved at the scars—“is a sign. Of his intent.”
“Which is?”