Forgotten Sea by Virginia Kantra Page A

his legs disappearing down the stairs. He turned his face to watch her, eyes open, unmoving, like a wounded animal.
    She bit her lip. There was no way she could undo the Master Guardian’s heth. She didn’t have the power. Or the nerve. But she couldn’t stand idly by and watch him choke. Not if she could help him.
    “Here.” She knelt in the long grass beside his head, feeling his thin breath warm and moist against her bare knee.
    Cautiously, she touched his throat, tested the leather thong. It didn’t feel tight. The bead, black and smooth as onyx, was almost invisible in the dark. She gave an experimental tug, and her fingers stung as if she’d grabbed a thistle in the garden. Ouch. She jerked her hand away.
    She drew a slow breath. Now what?
    In her mind, she could hear Simon’s calm, lecturing voice as he addressed the fundamental powers class.  “Magic is a matter of discernment, will, and grace. Before you attempt to use your gift, you must understand what should be; what can be; what must be.”
    What should be . . .
    She was already on her knees. Ignoring the bead, she gripped the cord between two fingers and her thumb. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and focused on the knot. Imagined it loosening, softening, sliding . . .
    She felt a faint vibration in her fingertips, a lurch in her stomach. Opening her eyes, she peered hopefully at Justin.
    His widened gaze met hers. His mouth opened soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Like a man dying.
    Oh, skies. She had to do something.
    What can be . . .
    Air, she thought frantically. That was her element, wasn’t it? If she couldn’t break the heth’s power, she would at least give him air.
    She flung herself on him, rolled him to his back. With one hand, she tilted his head, pinched his nose. The other she slapped to his chest. His throat arched. His mouth gaped.
    Drawing a deep breath, she leaned forward and opened her mouth over his. His lips were warm, moist, firm. She blew her breath into him, poured herself into him. The world spun.
    In you. Me, in you. My breath, my life, in you.
    She was the air filling his mouth, dilating his throat, swelling his lungs. He tasted like salt and sweat and freedom, dark, rich, forbidden flavors.
    What must be . . .
    Inside her, something fluttered and erupted, a thousand beating wings fighting the sky. Roaring filled her head, a rush like wind or the sea. Power thrummed and thundered along her veins, welled and spilled from her eyes, her mouth, her hands. It lifted her up, she was rising, falling, flying . . .
    No, that was his chest, she realized, dazed. Justin’s chest, rising, his lungs expanding with air.
    His arms closed around her. She gasped and released him. They both shuddered.
    She pushed herself up, one hand on his hard, lean torso, one hand on the cold ground. Dizzy, she looked down at him. “Are you all right?”
    His eyes met hers, black as night with a thin edge of gold like the sickle moon. “What . . . was that?”
    She rocked back on her heels, pressing her lips together, holding the taste of him inside. What was she doing? What had she done?
    “First aid,” she said.
    Wicked laughter lit his eyes.
    It was more than first aid, and they both knew it.
    More than a kiss. Did he realize?
    She was no magic handler. All nephilim were taught what they were and what they once could do. Most learned to shield and make a little light, to bend air and set wards. But most gifts remained latent. This went beyond anything Lara had done—or felt—before.
    She rubbed her arms, holding herself together. “We have to get you back.”
    The animation drained from his face. He was still very pale, she noted with a thrum of anxiety. “Can’t.”
    She felt another flutter. Panic, this time. “I can’t hide an attempted escape. But if I return you—if you return of your own volition—the governors will be more lenient on us both.”
    “Can’t . . .” Another slow, rasping breath.