I woke up sooner than I would have expected.

The world outside my bedroom curtains was still dark, mottled with the buzzing yellow glow of streetlights. Early morning, perhaps. Those weird hours just before dawn.

After everything we'd done — everything he'd done to me — I'd expected to sleep longer. Brendan had been... rough. Not that I was complaining about that, not really; rough was usually how I liked it. But this time, he'd pushed that to its limits, edged me into that fuzzy space where the world when hazy and shadows pulled dark over memory. Even now, there were chunks of the night I was missing, my only recollections the bruises he'd left on my body.

At least Brendan had left painkillers on my bedside table before he’d left. That much of the night I could recall without difficulty: The stages of him leaving.

First, he’d left me alone on the bed, standing to redress himself. Then he’d left me for just a moment, returning from the bathroom with the small bottle of painkillers he’d deposited on my nightstand. After that, he’d left the room, flipping the light switch off on his way out, leaving me alone in the darkness.

Last, he’d left entirely. I’d heard my apartment door close just before sleep took me.

Now I was contemplating whether I wanted to follow the dosing table and only take two pills, or to ignore the recommendations entirely and take four — or six.

Except when I tried to push myself upright… and couldn't, not quite. Groggily, I blinked, frowned, tried to get my body to pull free of the last vestiges of slumber. It was normal to be mostly uncoordinated when I first woke up, especially after the night's activities, but this seemed more than that. I was able to roll over to the edge of the bed, swing my legs over the side.

It took more effort than I liked to extricate myself from beneath the covers and get onto my feet, but at least I could walk. I shuffled over to the doorway, reaching out for the light switch with my left hand.

Nothing. I hadn't even felt my fingers brush the wall. Was I that out of it that I'd forgotten the layout of my own bedroom? I should have been able to navigate my entire apartment while sleepwalking. My bedroom I should have been able to navigate as a shambling undead corpse with a half-rotten brain. I stumbled a step closer, reached out again. Still nothing.

With a huff, I reached with my right hand, fingers immediately finding the toggle. The overhead light blasted on, at first too bright for my eyes.

When I finally stopped squinting, I took a moment to glance around, then down at myself — and my eyes shot wide.

My left hand dangled limp from the wrist.

Adrenaline flared, made my heartbeat surge as I stared at my deadened hand, even as the rest of my body went still. I tried to flex the fingers, and felt nothing more than a distant tingle — and got no movement, not so much as a twitch. A second try earned me no better, save the tightness of anxiety building in my chest. This was more than just a hand that had fallen asleep; that came with an odd, buzzy feeling that my hand didn't have. Because it barely had any feeling at all.

Could it be nerve damage? The bruises spiraling around my left wrist and up my arm were darker than the rest, almost crimson, as if that shadow vine had clutched me more tightly, dug in more deeply. Had that been the arm I'd slept on top of?

Panic rose like bile at the back of my throat.

Just as quickly I swallowed it back down. Be reasonable, Severine. You know multiple mages. There was no reason to panic. All I needed to do was call Brendan, and he would come back and heal the injury. Even if it hadn't been incurred during sex, he would have healed it. Brendan wasn't the type to tolerate an imperfect Catalyst, not when he could fix it. He would fix it. Simple. Look at how calm and rational I was being.

Yet when I arrived in the living room, staring down at my cellphone where it sat on the coffee table, I found myself reluctant to dial Brendan's number. He was probably sleeping things off, the same way I had been. Calling him would mean waking him. While I knew he would come if I asked, I didn't know if he would be happy about it.

Instead I chose a different name on my contact list, bit my lip, and prayed he answered.

The call picked up after the fourth ring. For a second, I thought I heard a familiar woman's voice in the background. I couldn't quite place it — someone I knew, but hadn't talked to recently.

That train of thought derailed as soon as the phone's owner answered.

"Severine?" Kasimir's voice was low and smooth, as if I'd called him in the middle of the day, rather than the wee hours of the night. It didn't sound like I'd roused him from bed. A small blessing, though I couldn't help but wonder why he was awake. "What are you doing calling at this hour?"

"I…" Shit. I hadn't thought this part through. I swallowed past the awkwardness and tried again. "Brendan was here and…" And I don't want to tell you that part; I want you to think better of me. Another conversational dead end. I fumbled over words, landed on: "Can you do a healing tonight?"

"Are you okay?!" Alarm rang like a siren through Kasimir's voice, notching the volume up. "Severine, what did he do to you? How badly are you hurt?" There was rustling on the other end of the line, then the thudding of heavy footsteps; Kasimir was already on the move. "Are you at your apartment? I can be there in— shit, ten minutes. Can you last ten minutes?"

It took me a moment to process the flood of words — and the rush of warmth I felt at his sudden, intense concern. "It's just a small injury, Kasimir. You don't need to rush. I can wait."

In the pause before he responded, I thought I heard him pull in a deep breath. "I'm coming over, Severine. Stay there. Don't contact Brendan. I'll be there soon."

The line went dead before I could answer.

---

By my best estimate, getting from Kasimir's apartment to my own in ten minutes was an ambitious goal, even if the streets were empty of traffic.

Somehow he made it in less than eight.

I'd flopped my way into a bathrobe, but hadn't been able to figure out how to tie it closed one-handed. The best I could do was clutch it tight at my chest as the door burst open, and Kasimir rushed in like a raven riding the front edge of a storm. I half expected lightning to crackle around him as he dashed into the living room, the door slamming shut behind him.

But then he saw me, and stopped as if he'd been the one hit by the bolt. A hint of rain glittered at the corners of his grey eyes.

I knew I had to be a sight. All four limbs were wrapped in bruises, still furious red against the pallor of my skin. My dark eyes were probably too wide, and my normally sleek hair lay in tangles over my shoulders.

"Severine…" His voice came out as a croak.

"It looks worse than it is," I offered lamely. This… wasn't exactly how I'd pictured being nearly naked with Kasimir for the first time would go. Well, me at least. He was fully clothed.

"You don't have to explain anything." Kasimir closed the distance between us, hands rising to hover just over my shoulders, as if he were afraid to touch me. As if I were something fragile that might break under his touch. Up close, I caught the faint scent of smoke on his skin, noted a smudge of ash on his cuff. His face looked tired, and not just from a lack of sleep.

"Severine," he started again, eyes scouring over my expression, trying to find… something. Reassurance, maybe. "Are you— Did he— Do you need healing—" His eyes flicked down, towards my thighs, then rose back up. When he spoke next, he sounded sick. "Did he tear you?"

I flushed when I realized what he was asking. What did he think had happened? Brendan could be rough, but not…

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "No, no, Kasimir, not like that. I'm fine. I…" Staring into his wet eyes, I realized I'd never heard him speak so hesitantly, never heard him question Brendan's behavior so directly. He'd always offered his boss blind loyalty, always excused everything Brendan did without blinking. Was this the real Kasimir, when he was out from beneath Brendan's scrutiny? Had his worry for me overridden his usual caution? The thought flickered like a small, comforting hearth within me, that I might matter so much.

"I passed out on top of my own arm," I finished at last, half-true at least, lifting my left arm so Kasimir could see the hand that swung limply from my wrist. "I must have slept on it wrong."

"Oh," he said, instantly sounding relieved. A wan smile tugged at his lips. "That is easy enough to heal."

I couldn't help but smile in return, despite the urge to fidget. Part of me was embarrassed to have panicked him over something so minor; the other part was glad I had. "Sorry for making you rush over here, thinking it was worse than it was."

Kasimir just shook his head. "I'd rather you call me than not." His fingers finally lowered enough to touch my shoulders, steering me towards the living room. "Here, let's get you settled. Sometimes this can leave you a little dizzy."

We ended up with me seated on the couch, my right hand still clutching my robe closed, and Kasimir kneeling in front of me. He carefully steadied my left arm in one hand, long fingers almost able to curl all the way around the limb. With the other, he used his fingertip to trace invisible runes onto my skin.

Magic is strange. Up until the last stroke, the runes don't feel like anything. He could be tracing the alphabet on my skin for all the effect it had. And then his finger made that last line, transformed the runes into a spell. Power glimmered like a tiny rainbow over my skin, rushing over me — rushing into me. That feeling I had never quite gotten used to, the tingling sensation that was halfway between uncomfortable and sexual as it sank down into my flesh, made my whole body come alive until my teeth were chattering with it.

The bruises on my arm melted away, not healing so much as winding themselves backwards, turning back to a state wherein they had never existed. Not all mages could do that; some were more skilled at speeding healing, at driving time forward until the wound was gone. Not Kasimir. I had once seen him wind back a pile of ashes into the stack of papers they had once been.

Cautiously, I flexed my fingers. My left hand responded, the fingers moving easily. No numbness, no tingling. "Thank you."

"Of course." Kasimir leaned up — and I froze as I felt his lips brush against my temple.

He'd never kissed me before. Not even an innocent brush of his mouth against my hand, let alone something as tender as this.

"It's important that you're safe, Severine," he continued as he sat down beside me, one of his hands curling around the fingers he'd just magicked. "Can you tell me what happened?"

I stared at him. He'd just crossed a dangerous line. He knew it. I knew it. If Brendan ever learned about it — and yet Kasimir didn't even seem to register what he'd done. Instead he only watched me expectantly.

"Juhan kissed me," I started hesitantly, unable to resist squeezing his hand back. "Brendan found out. He came over and…" Offered me a choice, and I was the one who picked the Shadowmage as my lover for the night. But I couldn't bring myself to say that, to admit my own deviant tastes to Kasimir.

"You don't have to say any more," he said softly. "I know what those bruises meant."

…meant? I glanced down at myself again, for the first time noticing that all the bruises were gone. Not just on my left arm, but on my right as well, and on both legs. "Won't he wonder why they're gone?"

Kasimir shook his head. "Just wear long sleeves and opaque leggings. He won't even notice."

There was a casual confidence in his voice, as if he spoke from experience. But I'd never had him heal bruises before. Meaghan, one of the other mages in Brendan's employ — much further down the food chain, and a woman who Brendan had never seen as a rival — had, on occasion, taken care of a twisted ankle or bruised elbow. Never Kasimir, though.

He continued before I had a chance to pull my puzzled thoughts into a question. "Juhan… he has some kind of test, doesn't he? To locate Catalysts? Do you know what it is?"

My mouth opened, then closed. Not just from surprise at the change in topic. But from my own response. What I was about to say was treasonous. "I don't want Brendan to know."

Those grey eyes sharpened. "So Brendan doesn't know yet."

"No," I admitted, glancing away. "Not unless Juhan told him."

Strong fingers tightened around mine, but so gently. "But you know."

I looked back at him, that earnest face that I loved. Kasimir cared for me, that was an unshakeable truth. He'd always done his best to protect me, even show me affection, in what limited ways he could. After all, he was here now. With me. For me.

"I won't tell Brendan,” he added, making us both traitors. We'd get to hang side by side in the gallows.

It was dangerous, what I was about to do. Not telling Brendan was one thing; I kept plenty from him. Not telling Brendan and telling Kasimir was something else entirely. But Kasimir was worth the risk. I gave in with a sigh. "There's a ring. He wasn't wearing it in the morning, and he didn't have it on when we returned to the office, but Juhan wore it when he kissed me. I didn't see it, but I felt it. I think it's part of the test. An amulet of some sort."

The grin that graced his face was brighter than the sun that was yet to rise. "You noticed that tiny detail… you're incredible, Severine."

His abrupt change in attitude made warmth seep down into my chest; the compliment brought it spilling up into my face. "Does that help?"

He nodded. "It does." There was a pause, then; Kasimir was internally debating something. I knew him well enough to read that face. "I need Brendan to not know I was here."

"I won't tell him, Kasimir." As if there was any question on the matter — we both needed Brendan to never know he had been here.

Gears turned behind his grey eyes. He was thinking hard, but I couldn't tell about what. Something that made him anxious, but also a little excited. That much I could decipher in his expression, but no more. "And you won't tell him about the ring?"

I gave a quick shake of my head. "I hadn't planned on telling anyone. Not even you." I probably shouldn't ask, but I did anyway. "What will you do with the information?"

Now Kasimir shook his head. "I can't tell you. I just—" He stopped himself abruptly, frowning. "I'm trying to keep you safe, Severine. Trust in that, if nothing else."

I understood none of it, but I nodded. If I had to put my faith in someone, there was no one better than Kasimir. "I trust you."

"Good." He leaned forward, stunned me with a quick kiss dotted on my cheek. "I need to go. Go back to bed. I'll see you in the office."

With that, Kasimir was already up and moving, already half-way to the door before I was even able to recover my senses enough to turn my head to watch him.

He'd kissed me. Twice. In one night. Not on the lips, but he'd kissed me. He hadn't so much as blown me a kiss in six years of flirtations.

As the door swung shut, I reached up and touched the skin still tingling on my cheek.

I hadn't been kissed in over a year — and then, in the last twenty-four hours, three different men had kissed me.

And those three men all had intersecting schemes underway.