Cursed: Out of Ash and Flame

this is over, I’ll have to give it a second chance, use it as a squeaky-clean palate cleanse.
As the credits roll, Max quietly replaces my melted ice packs. Once again, a solution pushes at the back of my brain, one so obvious I should absolutely see it. But pain continues to cloud my thoughts and exhaustion gets the better of me. Unable to meet Max’s eyes, I switch off my light, get as comfortable as I possibly can in my battered state, and sink into a shallow sleep.
Midnight wakes me with shivers I can’t get under control and witch laughter I can’t escape. Teeth chattering, I tug at the blankets, but the cold of the ice burrows deep past my muscles and into my joints, burning my skin. Tempting though it is to remove the bags from my broken bones, the pain throbbing just under the numbness drives this idea from my mind.
Exhaustion will overpower the cold eventually, I tell myself, and if it doesn’t, I still have some tequila.
Mashing my eyes shut, I try to direct my thoughts away from the discomfort. The bed creaks with my shaking. I swallow a miserable, pathetic whine. A sob takes its place. If that stupid water spirit had just let me shoot myself in the head — or had done it for me — I’d be sleeping soundly instead of earning a healthy dose of frostbite.
The bed dips behind me, and I gasp quietly, glaring up at Max. A grimace warps his face. “Freezing?”
“Oh no, I’m super toasty under all this ice.”
Snorting, Max scoots an inch or so closer. “Don’t read too much into it, but I could warm you up if you want. No seriously, keep your mind out of the gutter.”
I purse my lips. In terms of sticking to my goal of not letting myself get seduced by his water spirit magic, this is a horrible idea. However, freezing and miserable as I am, the idea of a little extra heat is way too tempting to refuse. Surely, I’m strong enough to resist falling for him just because he shares a little body warmth.
Tilting my head, I say, “Climb in. Hands where I can see them.”
With a small smile, Max lifts the sheets, then slides in next to me. Immediately, his warmth cuts through the cold wrapped around me. He wriggles a little closer until we’re touching. Our knees bump. A thrill runs through me, pooling in my gut like boiling water.
From that spot, right under my belly button, a magnetic tug pulls me toward him. It urges me to curl into him. After the last twenty-four hours, I deserve a little comfort. Even if it is with the guy who refused to kill me like a total jerk.
Sighing, I compromise, and rest my forehead against his shoulder. When I look up, he’s staring down at me. Faint light cutting through the slit in the motel curtains slices a sharp, pale line across his jaw, faintly illuminating his dark eyes so they take on an almost bronze hue. Like coins at the bottom of a wishing well.
“Better?” Max asks, his voice a soft murmur.
“Mm,” I hum in my throat. “You do this with all the girls?”
A grin shifts the shadows on his face so that line of light slides to his throat. “Well, not all the girls. And none quite as busted up as you. Or as stubborn.” He winks.
I poke his ribs with a knuckle, and he flinches out of the way with a laugh. The movement barely jostles the bed, but it’s enough to jar my aching body. I suck in a sharp breath. “You have room to talk, mister won’t shoot me in the head so I can heal quickly.”
“I’m not sure refusing to kill you makes me stubborn so much as a compassionate, warm, kind water spirit, but maybe we’re working off different definitions...”
I jab at him again, but he catches my hand and pins it to his chest. Strong but somehow still gentle, his grip holds me in place. His eyes drop to my lips. Instinctively, I run the tip of my tongue over them. Heartbeat fluttering like phoenix wings in my throat, I swallow, struggling to stay focused, and not give in to the reckless desire to kiss him.
It has to be his water spirit magic. Though I don’t hesitate to throw myself into short-term, firestorm relationships, I’m usually not stupid enough to do that with a mark. Granted the circumstances are a little strange.
Clearing my throat, I uncurl my fingers so my hand lays flat against his sternum. “So how does it work?” My voice comes out much more thin than I’d like it to. “Your powers. Can you turn them on, and then off again? Or are they always cranked to full blast? Do they ever go on the fritz?”
“Passively, they’re always ... on, I guess,” Max says, tracing the pad of my palm with a thumb. “But I can crank up the intensity or turn it down. It can get wonky if I’m sick or injured. And like any magic, words, actions can amp its effectiveness. I try not to use them too much. Charming people without its help feels like a challenge. I like a challenge.”
“What about when your life is on the line?”
Max’s face darkens. “Playing fair isn’t quite as appealing.”
“I can’t imagine it would be. Most people will do anything to stay alive...” Including but not limited to seducing a bounty hunter.
A small, unexpected smile touches the corners of Max’s mouth. “Unless they know they’re going to die every day. What drives them then? What drives you, Fee?”
My mouth dries as he tilts an inch or so closer. Logic and desire battle it out for control of my body and brain. He’s all but admitted to using his magic on me to save his own life. I can’t trust him. Shouldn’t trust him. But my every muscle longs for his touch. The need ripples across my skin like