The Secrets of Lore Seymour

20. Cyan's Envy

Cyan P.O.V.

"Stupid, idiotic, bootlicking, son of a bitch, asshole!" I bellow. Thanks to that rude and unnecessary visit, my lab wreaks of the stench of smoke. Again. Suppose I could have used a different spell, but he walked up on me! It was the spur of the moment. Now Draven's--

"What happened now?"

Elminore be damned.

I pivot to find Draven walking slowly among the chaos. He dramatically waves his hand to disperse the smoke. He keeps that hand over his mouth and nose so his voice comes out muffled, "Can't you refrain from blowing yourself up for a few days?"

"I didn't blow anything up, you fucking nugget."

Draven raises a brow while mumbling under his breath, "What kind of insult is that?"

I don't know either. When he's around my brain takes a vacation to Shitsville. Don't know why. It can't smell much better there than the lab.

"That walking disappointment snuck into my lab and I might have, um, threw a fireball... or two or three... at him," I mumble and prepare myself for a possible tongue lashing. Or, wait, um, lecturing, I mean.

Draven drops his hand, revealing a glimpse of anger through his tightened fists. He heaves a long breath through his nose, probably regretting it instantly because of the smoke. Then he swiftly approaches me, almost sending me toppling over one of my benches. I grasp the edge to keep myself up right in time for Draven to lean over me and growl, "What did we say about harming him? He's a member of the church, our enemy that wants any excuse to wipe us off the map. Don't give him a reason to."

"He's fine, in fact, he did more damage to me," I huff while scurrying away from him.

Draven suddenly grasps my arm to spin me back to him. His angered expression causes a few heart palpitations that I'll have to get checked out.

"What do you mean by that? What did he do?" Draven asks. I don't know if I want to believe I hear honest concern in his voice or not.

"Did he hurt you?" Draven's grip tightens. My body shivers in fearful anticipation.

I'm not accustomed to this much contact, even over my plethora of layers and years of trying to get past the incessant need to claw out of my own skin from a mere touch. One graze of a finger or even the bump of a shoulder and it's as if spiders crawled beneath my skin. I itch and itch to no avail. It also doesn't help that Draven's the one touching me. He's always this weird combination of desperation to run and pull him closer. My brain can't process this much information without the threat of spontaneous combustion, which frankly is a risk for me regardless of Draven's proximity.

"Let go," I order far too breathlessly for my liking.

He does so immediately while wearing that apologetic frown.

I itch at the area he just touched. Once, I'd tear through the skin. I'm much better now, although I have moments where the urge is worse.

"I'm fine," I say. "He defended, that's all, and pretty well I might add. Got me caught up in a spell, but he let me go once we started talking."

Draven nods slowly. "What did he say to you?"

"Asked a few questions about why I left the church. He thought I was ensnared by the vicious Lord Seymour," I reply while continuing to clean up the mess. Draven follows, picking up a few singed papers to stack on a table.

"He has it bad y'know," I glance back at Draven, who tilts his head curiously. I hate it because it makes him look cute. He already has too much power with that handsome face of his. Adding cute to his over-stacked arsenal should be against the rules.