The Catalyst by Kay Camden

Author:Kay Camden [Camden, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kay Camden
Published: 2016-12-23T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Trey

The impact of the water severs our joined hands. My feet touch the slimy bottom, and I push off, the cold almost unbearable in the way that makes me feel alive. The surface appears to be a mile away, and then I’m breaking through it, gasping for something warm to fill my lungs.

No Liv.

I tread water, breathing myself out of a panic. She’s lighter than me, probably didn’t sink low enough to push off. I turn, check the shore, check behind me. I’m about to dive down when she crashes through about fifteen feet away. I swim toward her, stop before her, face to face.

Drops of water run down her nose, fall off her eyelashes like tears. Her bangs are plastered to her forehead. She gazes at me, catching her breath. Water surges around us, the current tugging at my clothes. I’m a live wire in water, prepared to electrocute all life around me. The discharge of magic seems to have brought on more ready power, but I have no outlet. No immediate need for it. Yesterday, her guarded scrutiny would’ve been a red flag I’ve screwed up in some way. Today, it’s proof I’ve finally done something right.

She kicks away, toward the shore. I follow her, rising in the shallows to walk with her to dry ground. She wrings out her hair. Sits on a large rock on the pebble beach. I approach. Still those guarded eyes.

Her teeth chatter. She trembles all over. If this did work, my arm around her might not be a welcome move. So I sit beside her on the lower part of the rock. It’s already warm from the sun, but I discharge some of that unspent magic and make it warm enough to radiate. A group of coyotes arrive with our boots. I give them all a good ear scratch for the favor. I’m far too aware of Liv’s eyes on me. I wish I knew what the hell to say.

She goes to work putting on her socks and boots. “I don’t like it. At all.”

“I’ll make it right.” I’m dying to know the degree of her newfound dislike of me, to know how far I have to work back. I can’t muster the words to ask.

“You might be disappointed, but I don’t hate Dillon.” She says it nonchalantly while cinching her boots tight. She doesn’t seem to give a shit if it proves I wasted my time.

The familiar build of pressure has blood drumming in my temples. I created nine tablets before the one I gave to her—it was sound. But apparently impotent against the work of Dillon Moore. Putting my fist through the nearest tree trunk isn’t going to score any points for winning her back. It’s even harder to restrain now that I realize I’ve removed her love for me and failed to remove him. All she has is him. Nothing of me to counteract it. I’ve made this shit worse.

“I feel sorry for him,” she continues. “I see everything so clearly now.

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