Cherry Magic Novels & Stories

He wanted his cousin. He slammed his palm onto Daryl’s chest, forcing his magic not into the Prisoner but into the thread of his bloodline. A desperate gamble. If their blood was truly rare enough to chain monsters, then maybe — just maybe — it could resist them too. For an instant, the silver dimmed. Daryl’s own voice broke through: “Killian— don’t— let go—” And then the Prisoner roared, using his body like a weapon, flinging Killian backward into the crypt wall hard enough to crack stone.

Of course he did. His dark hair was still messily styled to look unintentional and casual. Always trying so hard to look like he wasn’t trying at all. And the scent, the exact same one from back then, it hit me in the gut. Six years, and it still clung to him like it belonged to him. Cherry. All that time he spent running, hiding, pretending… and he still smelled like six years ago. He’s either cursed or too stupid to pick a new cologne, definitely the second option.