CHAPTER TWO

After a few minutes of stalking through the streets, Calla could start to make out the line of the Ashwoods appearing in the distance, the wind carrying the familiar scent of pine. She shivered again. All she had to do was make it five blocks to her tiny apartment. Maybe she could finally take Delphine up on her offer to make Ezra go away for good—

She lurched forward suddenly, gripping her neck as the oxygen was violently ripped from her lungs. She clawed at her throat and whipped around to find Ezra stalking toward her, his dark hair and clothing silhouetted against the milky moonlight streaming behind him. His hands were too casually shoved into the front pockets of his trousers as he strode closer, and she hated how effortless he looked as he used his wind magic to pull the air from her throat. That he could easily suffocate her without breaking a sweat . . .

She hated him, she decided. Hated how he was a constant reminder that she was not as strong as she wanted to be. No matter how well he had taught her to gamble or take risks, he would always have the upper hand against her.

He is evermore on my shit list, she thought. If I ever get my hands on him again—

All thoughts vanished as the pressure in her chest approached a crescendo, and she sunk to her knees in pain. The Onyx bastard stopped right in front of her, crouching down until he was at her eye level, his mouth a grim line on his angular face and his coal eyes flamed with anger.

“You are going to take this from me,” he told her, his voice low and deliberate as he thrust his fist out and revealed the cursed die in his palm.

She shook her head wildly, unsuccessfully trying to push his hand away.

“You will take it willingly, or I will let you suffocate right here in the street.”

She glared and focused on summoning her magic to strike him. She managed a single shot of power into his core, using the last drop of her Rouge magic to tighten his veins and make him release his hold. It was barely long enough for her to gulp down a few breaths, however, before he easily regained his control. It was futile for her to make another attempt when all she could think about was the fire in her throat and the black spots creeping into the edges of her vision.

Calla desperately weighed her options.

She had only made three out of her six Rolls of Fate so far. Most witches had already used up all their rolls by the time they were her age, young and careless. Many witches thought nothing of being indebted to their coven’s queen—but Calla knew better. She had to admit, though, sacrificing her fourth Roll of Fate, here and now, instead of letting Ezra have the satisfaction of watching her struggle any longer, was starting to seem like the better of the two evils.

She glared at the Onyx witch.

“So? What’s your choice?” he prompted.

It took every ounce of control she had to jerk a single nod at him, and he released his magic. She tried to glare up at him as she gasped and coughed, swallowing as much air into her lungs as she could. Ezra thrust the die at her again.

Ignoring his persistence, she hauled herself to her feet, wobbling slightly from her light-headedness. He gracefully stood with her and waited for her breathing to slow, watching her meet his gaze. His black irises were swirling with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher, and she quickly glanced away—back down to the red die in his hand.

She could still hardly believe Ezra had bet the die in their game. Calla would have never gambled with something so serious, so foolish. When he had run out of spéctrals for the ante, he had carefully dumped the bloodred cube from a small leather pouch and into the center of the table before winking at Calla like the arrogant bastard he was.

Fool, she chastised herself inwardly. I should’ve known better.

Calla reached out slowly to grab the die from his palm. She felt her breathing hitch ever so slightly as the power from the die pulsed in the air, warming her fingertips as they hovered over it. She gulped as her eyes roamed past his wrist to the set of dots that looked like a constellation in the skin of his forearm. Deciphering the dots that matched the value of the rolls they aligned with was second nature to her.

Five, three, two, one, two.

It was no wonder he was so powerful. He was the only witch she had ever met who had an Initial Roll above four—besides herself, of course. But if her Initial Roll was supposed to grant her some sort of all-powerful advantage, the Fates were having another laugh at her expense.

Calla took a deep breath and finally plucked the small cube from his palm, a sick feeling of dread sinking like a stone to the bottom of her stomach. The die hummed in her hand, and the burn of the magic sizzled through her core as the die’s fate transferred from Ezra to her. The sensation of the die’s magic settling into her bones was so different than the one that spread through her when she felt her Siphon call. If the die’s magic felt like a spark running along a fuse through her veins, the magic she felt when someone else’s skin touched hers was like the heat from the explosion. She knew answering the call would put out the flames, would douse her boiling blood, but she also knew that at least it was only her that might combust if she resisted. If she didn’t, she’d be throwing someone else into the fire instead.

She closed her fist around the die in defeat. Ezra didn’t grin like she thought he might in this moment. In fact, he didn’t look satisfied at all, despite getting his way. Rather, the look he had on his face was so carefully blank that Calla knew he was hiding something. All he managed to say to her was “It’s done.”

She watched him, cautious, as he turned away from her.

“Why?” she blurted desperately, cursing herself for giving away any hint that he had affected her.

He turned back to say something, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak as she went on, “Why would you bet a Witch’s Die? Why would you play another round if you had nothing else? Are you that cocky? Or do you just hate me that much?”

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke again.

“I do what I am paid to.”

Calla drew back.

“You are not nearly as sneaky as you think you are, Calla,” he continued. “I’ve been following you for the last few months without you suspecting anything. Did you think meeting another witch in Estrella was an accident? A coincidence?”

Calla’s hands shook, her nerves shot. “You—”

“All these months you’ve been slowly getting attached to me,” he said, cutting her off, seeming almost agitated, his eyes burning brighter than usual. “Foolish girl. You trust much too easily, Calliope.”

Her face heated, and she backed away from him. Calla did not appreciate continuously being called a girl, nor did she appreciate the use of her full name—as if she were a child he was admonishing. Especially considering Ezra was only a year older than she was and, therefore, an infant by immortal standards.

He was right, though—she had been so foolish to get attached. The fact that she had even entertained seeing him tonight after everything . . . Calla’s penchant for hope was always her greatest vice.

“Why did you have to—” he began.

“Stop!” she yelled, not able to listen to any more of this. “Please, just stop—”

“Ezra.”

Calla and Ezra both whipped their heads toward the voice.

“We need to go,” the blue-haired Onyx witch from the inn ordered, the absolute authority in his voice leaving no room for argument.

Ezra dipped his chin in acknowledgment before turning back toward Calla.

“Have fun with your roll,” he said flatly. “And, Calla?”

She looked at him evenly, her blood still boiling from his words.

“Myrea says hello.”

With those last words, Ezra turned and stalked toward his friend. Calla’s blood ran cold.

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