I gulped. His reaction had been instant. The way he’d reached for me, the way he’d drawn my fingers to his mouth—my cheeks flushed at the memory—but he’d also been uncertain, seeking something from me. I couldn’t imagine what. His thoughts, the mysterious workings of his mind, were like a siren call I couldn’t resist. I needed to know, except—

Except I couldn’t even imagine asking detailed questions, let alone bringing it up again. Especially since bringing it up might lead to … could trigger … he might think …

My heart started to hammer again, just as it had when he’d first slipped my fingertips between his lips.

Shaking my head jerkily, I refocused. “Sharing our magic isn’t working because I can’t hear your thoughts. We need that connection for it to work, I’m sure of it.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“Is letting me into your head that big of a deal? You can hear loads of my thoughts.”

“But not everything. You hide more than you share.”

I leaned across the table. “Don’t you want to unlock this power? Using my cantrips with your magic could be the advantage we need to defeat Nazhivēr.”

His grimace deepened.

“Will you try, Zylas? Please?”

Grumbling, he braced his elbows on the table. “I will try.”

Excitement flashed through me, fueled by more than my desire to recapture the power of our shared magic. I wanted to taste his mysterious mind and hear his agile thoughts. One brief glimpse hadn’t been enough. I wanted to get inside his brain and figure out what made him tick.

Wariness cooled his eyes as he extended his hand across the table. I eagerly grasped his warm palm, and his fingers curled around mine.

“What do I need to do?” I demanded.

His tail snapped against the floor. “Listen.”

I scowled. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for two weeks?”

“Try again.”

Settling more comfortably on the floor, I gazed into his eyes, straining to hear his inner voice. The seconds stretched into a full minute.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“You are bad at listening.”

“You aren’t telling me what to do!” I growled. “I need better instructions. How do you hear me?”

“It is easy. Your thoughts are there, like you are speaking in my ear.”

“Are you thinking things at me right now?”

His eyes narrowed. He stared at me silently.

I huffed. “What am I doing wrong? You said before that I could always hear your thoughts.”

“That is what I thought, because you had not tried to listen.”

“I’m listening now, but it isn’t working.”

Jaw tightening, he wrapped both hands around mine and again stared into my eyes. I could practically see him shouting thoughts at me, but I heard only silence.

My shoulders slumped. “Why won’t it work? Why am I so bad at this?”

He dropped my hand and shoved to his feet. “Forget this, vayanin. My magic is good. I will find dh’ērrenith.”

I drooped further at the frustrated snap in his voice. He was angry at me for failing. “I’m sorry.”

He paced across the room with his tail lashing, and I curled inward, familiar feelings of inadequacy piling up inside me. We needed this to work, needed every advantage we could get, and I was screwing it up.

“I’ll keep trying,” I told the tabletop. “Is there anything else I can do to—”

Near-silent footsteps stalked in my direction. Zylas stopped and glowered down at me, as though I’d just insulted him, then dropped to his knees and took hold of my head.

He pushed his face into the side of my neck.

I froze, my pulse drumming wildly. A tiny part of me panicked, wanting to tear free of his hold. The rest of me was too focused on the strength of his hands, his hot breath teasing my throat, and his hickory scent in my nose. That part of me didn’t want to move at all—and didn’t want him to move either.

“Vayanin.”

His voice was a whispering rumble. I could feel his lips moving against my skin, and my core swooped with heat.

“Why,” he asked in that quiet tone, “does your skin change color?”

For a second, his question didn’t compute.

“What?” I burst out, instantly angry. I tried to push away from him. “That again? Why do you keep—”

His grip on my head tightened, his face hidden against my neck. “Tell me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with that? This is important, Zylas. We’re beyond ill-equipped to fight a demon like Nazhivēr, and—”

“I need to know this, vayanin.”

“No, you don’t. It has nothing to do with Nazhivēr or Claude or magic or anything.”

A long moment of silence, his breath warming the thudding pulse in my throat. “But it has something to do with me.”

Tension stiffened my back. “It isn’t important, Zylas.”

Again, he was quiet for several slow exhalations. “That is not a lie, but it is not truth.”

He opened his hands. Pushing away, he turned his back to me and sat on the floor, silent.

I struggled to pull myself and my thoughts together. “Zylas … is this related to me hearing your thoughts?”

“I hear what you want me to hear. I do not hear what you are afraid to show me.”

A prickle ran over my skin as I stared at the back of his head, small horns poking through his tangled black hair. A tearing sound dragged my attention down. He’d sunk his claws into the carpet.

“That is why my thoughts are silent to you.”

My brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“I tried. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Let you hear me.”

It took me a moment to figure it out. A sharp, disbelieving inhale caught in my throat. “You … I can’t hear you because you won’t let me?”

The back of his head moved in a nod.

My mouth hung open. At least it wasn’t my fault, but … “Zylas, we need this to work.”

“I know,” he snarled. “I tried.”

“Well, try harder, then!”

“I did!” He whirled around, crouched on the balls of his feet, teeth bared. “I tried, but need does not make all things happen.”