Jealousy - Amrita

Amrita Singh has never had cause to be jealous of anyone. If anything, her past partners were typically jealous of the attention she got as the heiress of her family. She never really understood it aside from that; her partners knew she would never have eyes for anyone but them, so why were they jealous?

She’s eating her words now as she sees a girl leaving the lecture hall with you, walking so close that your shoulders brush.

What makes it worse is you’re not her partner, so she doesn’t even have a leg to stand should she go and interrupt. Still, she’s watching intensely, thinking maybe her stare could make the girl spontaneously combust or something.

That’s when she notices the tight grip on your wrist, and soon after that she sees the tense line of your shoulders. The closer she looks at the situation, the more something feels off. As an aspiring journalist, he’s quite good at trusting her gut.

So she abandons the picnic table outside the Student Center, leaving her bag and all, and races down the sidewalk to catch up with you both.

“Hey!” She says brightly as she gets closer, “I’ve been looking for you all day!”

You spin around, eyes wide at her sudden appearance. The girl breaks her grasp on you so she can turn as well, and Amri recognizes her almost immediately. Danielle Rhodes, a sorcerer in the same Intro to Alchemy class as her.

“Singh,” Danielle raises an eyebrow as Amri approaches, “What are you doing here?”

Amrita notices you inching away in the corner of her eye. Danielle tries to reach out subtly to grab you again under the guise of reaching for your hand, but you dart away and slide closer to Amri’s side. Your fingers are gripping around your keys like they’re a weapon, and Amri can see the magic sparking behind your eyes.

A surge of pride wells up in her chest; you’d teach this asshole a good lesson if you got the chance. Unfortunately for Danielle, Amri’s going to save you the trouble. This asshole’s life is about to become a whole lot worse and you won’t even need to lift a finger.

She’s quite good at raising hell for a nephilim, after all.

“Oh, just interrupting this friendly chat.” Amrita takes a step closer, brushing a wavy lock of hair from her eyes, “You don’t mind, do you, babes?”

Her eyes slide to you, and you startle at the sudden term of endearment. Danielle also sneers, glancing between the two of you like she’s stepped in something particularly disgusting.

“Listen, I’m only angling for a night or two with them. You have nothing to worry about, Singh.” The sorcerer scoffs, “Besides, I don’t think even the Unchosen One deserves to be associated with you. You’re so good at social suicide, you did it for your entire family.”

She can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. A night or two? Social suicide? Does this dumbass even know when to quit talking? Amri sneers, stepping closer as her hands radiate a brilliant white light in the fading afternoon sun.

Danielle’s face whitens immediately at the sight; she talks a big game, but Amri isn’t weak by a long shot. It’s clear the sorcerer is aware of that by how she scrambles back, but that’s not enough to save her.

Amri slams her palm straight into Danielle’s chest, sending the sleaze bag back a few steps with the force of the blow, light scattering around them as seraphic magic sizzles hot in the air.

The sorcerer staggers but manages to stay upright. What a pity.

Striding forward, she grips Danielle’s shoulder tightly and leans in. Her eyes are glowing with a white ring around her pupil, nearly turning her entire iris a stunning silver. The sorcerer shudders under her grasp, still twitching with the burning sensation of taking so much seraphic magic in a hit.

“Mention my family again and I’ll show you just how little it takes to come up with enough dirt to ruin someone.” Amri says, a deceivingly pleasant smile in place as she delivers her warning, “And if you ever touch them again without their permission, you’ll lose the offending fingers. Understand?”

There’s a heavy pause, and Danielle’s breath is shaking. Amrita realizes too late that he’d let her anger slip; her wings ruffle as flames spark on the very edges of her feathers, creating a halo of fire around her. It’s easy for other supernaturals to forget that not every nephilim family is descended from an archangel.

She shakes her wings, the movement smothering the fire. When she releases Danielle, the sorcerer flees on down the sidewalk and into Robinson Hall, off to find another poor soul to harass.

Amrita huffs slightly, before turning back to you. Your staring, eyes wide, and she feels heat rushing to her face.

The first thing you ask, because damn her luck, is…

“Why did you call me babes?”

She swallows, giving a sheepish smile, “I thought it might annoy her. I’m sorry if it was unwelcome.”

You don’t give any visible reaction one way or the other to let her know, so she suffers in silence. You step closer, nudging a charred spot on the sidewalk with furrowed brows.

“You…catch fire?” You ask slowly, “I never saw Lu-uh, any other nephilim do that.”

She bites her cheek to keep from chuckling at your slip up.

“The Riveras are descended from an archangel,” She answers your unasked question, “I’m descended from a seraph. Vastly different choirs of angels, you see. Seraphim are known as the burning ones…though, I must say, not enough people take that name as literally as they should.”

“Clearly,” Your lips twitch, amused, “And do you only catch fire when you’re mad? Or does it happen other times, too?”

She just barely stops from cringing in embarrassment. She shakes her smoking wings preemptively, giving you a dry look when you laugh.

You chuckle, “Alright, so it happens other times, too. Noted.”

“No,” Amri shakes her head, “Not noted. Don’t note anything, especially not how to make my wings burst into flames!”

“Too late,” You hum, “I can’t unlearn it.”

Your smile is, frankly, unfair. Amrita has never been this flustered in her life and it’s ridiculous that you can reduce her to schoolgirl with her first crush so easily. Regardless, she opts out of wallowing in her own pity for the time being and instead offers you her arm.

“So, pizza?” She asks, “I’ll buy.”

“Well, how can I resist an offer like that?” You shrug slightly, accepting her arm.

She keeps a very tight grip on her emotions as you both walk to the dining hall, but she still sees smoke wafting in the air from the corner of her eye. She would pray that you haven’t seen it, but God has never been particularly fond of her and she can already see your smile growing as you smell a hint of ash in the air.