He was hot, sweating, hard. My heartbeat thrummed, pounding in rhythm with the pulse of his mouth drawing magic from the lines against my collarbone, the hollow of my neck. Sliding waves of pleasure rolled through me, and I tangled my fingers in his thick, curled hair, pressing his head closer to my skin. He drew my hands up and above my head, lacing his fingers with mine. The heat of my right hand and chill of my left were uncomfortable so close together, but his hand cradled between my palms felt strong and solid and warm.
Magic coursed through me in waves of heat and ice, wrapping around his hand, wrapping around his body as he lowered against me and paused. I groaned. The weight of him between my thighs and against my hips and breasts, and the pressure of magic beneath my skin, begging to be released, turned every breath into an additional, aching pleasure.
He bent and gently licked my right nipple, and I luxuriated in the nerve-hot sensation.
Yes. Now.
Need shuddered through me as he licked my left nipple, then nipped, and sucked at the magic that filled me and filled me.
He was no longer Grounding me, no longer drinking the hot, fast flow of magic from me, and I was filling too full, too fast. The ache was unbearable. The pleasure immense.
I trembled, gasped for air.
“Ground me,” I begged.
Zay plunged within me, within the magic, and I cried out in joy.
I arched against him and rode the pulsing waves of hot, silken pleasure, emptying of magic, emptying of hunger, emptying of need.
We kissed, a little sloppily, a little slow, and didn’t stop until the heat of magic, the heat of our passion, pooled into a sweet warmth between us, until our heartbeats slowed, until we could breathe again.
I rested curled against him, warm and languid. The magic within me was quiescent, satisfied. And so was I. I had never felt anything like that. I now understood why some people willingly paid painfully high prices to use magic during sex.
But this had been more than a dime-store sex toy or three-step spell. Somewhere during the wild storm of magic Zay had called up within me, we had joined together, manipulating the give and take, the flow of a massive amount of magic.
And I felt absolutely no ill effects from it.
“How come I don’t hurt?” I asked.
His chin was tucked so his lips were near my ear. “What do you mean?”
“We used a lot of magic just now. A lot. And we did not set a Disbursement spell. So why aren’t we paying a price for it?”
His breathing caught, and I counted three strong beats of his heart against my chest before he spoke. “Soul Complement,” he said, as if that explained everything.
I pulled back so I could see his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Didn’t your father teach you anything?”
That kind of question usually made me defensive. But here, in his arms, I had no desire to put up my guard. “Other than how to balance a checkbook? No. Is it a magic term?”
Zay took a deep breath and stared at the wall behind me. I figured he was trying to decide what to tell me, or maybe how much.
“Listen,” I said. “You probably have lots of reasons to be all secretive and such. But my life has been changed by things I don’t understand. It would be fabulously decent of you to let me in on all this.”
He still didn’t say anything, so I tucked back into the warmth of him. “Would it help if I promised not to tell anyone?”
Still nothing.
“Scout’s honor?” I offered.
“Are you a scout?” he asked in the kind of voice that told me he was smiling.
“Not that I know of. But for you, I’d totally get started on that.”
He shifted, drew his hand down my hip and thigh, and I pulled back so I could see him again.
“There are terms among the Authority,” he said.
“Wow. Why don’t you start with authority? Authority of what?”
“Magic.”
“Really. Magic experts? Are there magic lectures? Magic bake sales? Magic bingo night?” I had a bad habit of making jokes when something startled me. The idea that there really was a group of secret magic worshippers scared the hell out of me.
He made an exasperated sound and rubbed his face. “Do you want to hear this or not, Scout?”
“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
He looked back down at me. “There are terms among the . . . people who use magic. A Magic Complement is someone who can either support or aid another caster, or whose magic style and ability are similar to another caster so that complex spells, like Grounding, are possible between them.”
He could Ground me without it seeming to hurt him. “You and I are Magic Complements?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why we can manipulate so much magic without burning out?”
“Possibly. There are other ways two magic users can work together. Besides being a Magic Complement, there is also a Magic Contrast. A Contrast is someone whose magic style and ability are at an opposing stance with another caster. Contrasts can often achieve even more power or control when they work together. The conflict of magical styles can bear strange advantages. But there is always a grave price to pay for that kind of magical interaction.
“Complements can also achieve a lot through working magic together, and there is usually a smaller price paid. There are many degrees of Complement and Contrast. You and Cody are Complements on some levels.”
“That’s why he could pull magic through me?”
“Right.”
“So what is a Soul Complement?”
“The highest joining and expression of two magic users manipulating magic as one.”
I swallowed to try to find my voice. “Does that happen very often?”
“It is believed there is a Soul Complement for each person who uses magic.”
“Believed?”
His voice softened. “So few find each other. Fewer still risk death to discover if they can cast magic in perfect complement. It’s hard to prove if there is a Soul Complement for each person.” He paused, golden eyes studying me. “There have been some throughout history.”
“And there’s us,” I said.
“And there’s us.”
He didn’t look sad or excited about it. Just calm. Patient. Waiting for me to say something.
What did one say to someone who had just told you that they may be your perfect soul match? Predestined companion. Yang to your yin, and all that?
“I think this might get a little complicated after all,” I said.
“Mmm.” He reached over and gently brushed my bangs away from my face. “Want to ask me anything else?”
I laughed. “Not yet. Let me think this over, okay?” And there I was, asking him to give me time, to take it slow. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Sure.”
I rolled over and pressed my back against his warm, wide chest, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me tight.
After what felt like a long time, he said, “Allie?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t expect this.”
“What?”
“You.”
I was quiet, thinking about that. I hadn’t expected him either. Hadn’t expected to care for him. To need him. Maybe even love him. “Are you sorry?” I asked in a small voice.
“No.”
I couldn’t help it. I sighed. “Good. Neither am I.”
I slept soundly and deeply, which was rare for me. First of all, I had a million thoughts spinning through my head. Second of all, when I’m first sharing a bed with someone, I wake up all night long, forgetting and remembering that I have someone in the bed with me. But Zay’s sheets were soft, his body warm, so warm we had to drape the sheet between us so we didn’t stick together, and his steady breathing lulled me. If he snored, I did not notice.
A beeping alarm clock, however, I did hear. Zay rolled away from me and turned it off.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Five thirty.”
I groaned. “Why would anyone want to get up at this hour?”