Page 72 of Avalon Tower

“So, is that who you’re living for? Just yourself?”

The wind toys with his hair. “No.”

“Ah, you don’t take your own advice.”

“We have different situations.”

I stare out across Lake Avalon. In the late summer night, the air is humid, and steam seems to rise off the lake. The air smells of earth and oaks.

The mead is supposed to loosen my inhibitions, but instead, it’s making me feel sad. Maybe it’s the old, bony claws of guilt clinging to my heart. A memory rises in my mind. After my disastrous birthday, when Walter kicked us out of the mansion. She wouldn’t get off the floor for weeks, wouldn’t eat or bathe. I remember washing her with soaked cloths.

Sadness carves through me. Sometimes, she said I was the only thing she did right, the only thing she could be proud of.

Raphael’s hand presses flat against my back. I glance at him and feel his magic spreading along my spine, heating my skin. His magic is like warm water spilling over me, making my pulse race. Something about it makes my breath catch.

My gaze slides to him. “Why are you using your healing magic on me? I’m not broken.”

Lips parted, he leans in closer. “I can feel your sadness.”

His gaze is intense, almost as if he means it. Of course, the truth is, he’s a heartbreaker.

“So, you’re not only a magical healer, but you’re also a magical antidepressant, too,” I say, trying to sound flippant.

He pulls his hand from me. “You can’t tune into the creative force if you’re too sad.”

“Oh.”

“Let your mind go blank,” he says softly. “Don’t think about what I want you to say. Don’t think about what anyone wants from you. You need to clear your mind.”

I stare at him, entranced by his full lips and sharp jawline. The wind toys with his black hair. I stare at the rings of blue at the edges of his silver eyes.

“Say the first thing that comes to your mind,” he murmurs.

“You’re beautiful.”

The silver in his eyes grows brighter. “So are you.” The faintest hint of a smile curls his lips, and the rich scent of apples floats on the wind. “I dare you to jump in.”

“To the lake?”

“No, jump into the bridge.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, the lake.” He stands and kicks off his shoes.

“Is it deep enough?”

I stare at him as he unbuttons his white shirt, devouring the sight of him, the tattoos that sensuously coil around his muscles, the masculine power of his body.

He turns back to me with a wicked smile. “Are you coming, American?”

He climbs onto the low stone railing and jumps. I hear the splash and rush over to peer down. From far below, he grins up at me. “It’s lovely.”

It’s far. Twenty feet, maybe. Is this safe? Oh, fuck it. I slip my shoes off and climb onto the railing. My heart races. I told him he was beautiful, and he literally leapt off the bridge to get away from me. Am I surprised?

As I crouch on the bridge’s edge, the wind kisses my skin.

Fuck. It.

I push off, my gut tightening as I plummet through the night air. There’s a shock as I plunge into the cool, clear water. I drift down for a moment, then kick my legs, swimming higher again. Raphael is waiting for me at the surface. He smiles at me. His dark hair is slicked back, and droplets of water bead on his skin. My pulse is racing, my breath shallow. That was fucking exhilarating. When was the last time I actually felt this alive?

We’re swimming close together, and his limbs brush against mine under the water.