A Spell of Hate

Bloodmates

Malikah

Cal's watch beeps. He silently climbs to his feet, walks over to the counter, and picks it up. He studies it for a moment before turning to look at me.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes."

I feel my jaw drop, "You can't be serious. Where exactly are you going?"

"Each household has guard duty every night. If my father's not home, it's my job to walk the perimeter."

Understanding dawns, "Which is why you were able to stay home the nights he was here. Oh, and why Mule came in thirty minutes after you left... Wayden, I feel stupid now."

"You're not stupid, Malikah. And I'm sorry I lied to you."

"You should be," I agree, but I let my sternness melt into a smile, "But I understand why you did it. Just don't do it again."

A year ago, I would have paid to see Cal cry. I would have relished it. Now, though? Now it tears at my heart.

"Didn't think I'd forgive you?" I tease, walking over to pat him on the back. Wayden, this feels awkward. I never have been good at giving comfort. I've also never been great at flirting on purpose, so the next few months should be really interesting.

He swipes at his tears, a half laugh escaping him as he admits, "No. I figured you'd make me bleed first. Or grovel. Or something."

I punch his shoulder, "Heh, you wish."

His eyes widen, his face reddens, and suddenly he's backing away from me, into the side of the couch, into the door he just opened, and he's babbling, "Thirty minutes is all it'll take. I'll be back then. Thirty. Half an hour. I might be two or three minutes later, but no later than—Bye, Malikah."

I manage to wait until his footsteps fade before I explode with laughter. Well. Maybe flirting with Cal is going to be easier than I'd thought. Maybe with the right person flirting becomes something easy and natural.

***

Cal

I take deep breaths and let them out into the frigid air, enjoying the columns of steam that explodes from my mouth. No matter how old you get somethings, like noticing your breath on a cold day, will always make your inner child smile.

"There you are," Juan Rodriguez calls, jogging up to me. "I was starting to—are you blushing?"

"No," I automatically deny, shifting my jacket up higher to hide the redness in my neck and cheeks.

A slow grin spreads across his face, "Has your female become more affectionate? Sometimes it pays to be the hero."

My eyes narrow, "I didn't save her so that she'd screw me."

His eyebrows rise, and he holds up both hands in surrender, "Hey, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying, heroics can work in a male's favor. That's all, Senor Blushy McBlushBlush."

"I don't want her to feel like she has to be with me because of that."

Confusion floods his face, "Why would that be the case?"

"She has a boyfriend."

He stares at me for a minute before quirking a brow, "And where was he when she was taken? And where has he been since she's returned?"

I've wondered the same thing, actually—he's not even called to see how she is. She could be  dead, and he wouldn't know it. Some boyfriend.

"That's none of my business," I say with a shrugged nonchalance I don't feel; my heart screams that it is my business, that anything involving Malikah is my business.