by May Dawson
“And you have a scar.” I touch the slash through his eyebrow.
His eyes darken before a faint smile turns up his lips. “I have a lot more than one scar, T.”
He pulls away and my hand falls from his face. Suddenly there’s a gulf between us that’s wider than the quilt pooled between our laps.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
I turn away, my cheeks blazing again, and tuck my hair behind my ears. “No, I should be the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was good manners not to leave me embarrassed…”
He lets out a laugh that’s half frustrated sigh. Throwing aside the covers, he rolls off the end of the bed, but not before I see the massive lump pressing against the front of his boxers. He throws the window open, leaning out into the cold air. “I didn’t kiss you for good manners, stupid.”
I’ve never been so happy to be called stupid in my life. It’s a quick flash of warmth in my chest.I turn away from his back, to make sure he’ll never see my sudden rise of emotion.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve been alone, and I’ve been fine. I come here, with good intentions to keep to myself and stay out of trouble and learn magic, and I lose my damn mind.
Airren’s right when he says I haven’t told him what I really want. But what I want is impossible.
I want him, and Cax, and Mycroft.
But I belong to Earth now. The same way that technology poisons magic, I would poison their lives. I can’t imagine any kind of future that involves all of us.
Airren turns around, starting to say something, and then pauses. I swipe my fingers over my eyes, trying to smile even though he can’t see my face.
It doesn’t matter. Airren swears and crosses to me. When he takes my hand, his big thumb brushes over mine. He raises my hand in his to his lips and kisses it tenderly. “Sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, my voice pitched low.
“A kiss should not be that complicated.” He brushes his lips quickly over my forehead. “And it should definitely not make you cry.”
“It’s not the kiss that’s the problem.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you, not with everything you have going on right now. It wasn’t fair.” He takes a step back, moving as if he’s going to shove his hands into his pockets, but he’s only wearing his boxers. He crosses his arms over his chest instead. There’s an abashed boyishness to him now that feels like a different side of Airren.
I smile at his kind lie. “You didn’t kiss me.”
“Are you sure?” In the dim light of the room, his eyes shine. “Let’s go back to sleep, Tera. In the morning, let’s pretend this was just a dream.”
I nod. Airren sprawls onto the bed beside me. He slides beneath the covers and then holds his arm out to me.
I wiggle against his body. His skin feels cool from the room. I push my ass against his hips and feel the heft of his cock But he tucks his arm back around me innocently.
This was always just a dream, wasn’t it? But for a few minutes, Airren played along.
20
Normally, I’d torment myself for agonized hours at night over the way Airren’s eyes widened when I dove at him to kiss him, or the exact pity/lust ratio that went into his gentle response. But for once, I fall into a deep sleep. When I wake up, I rub my hand across my eyes and realize that, for once, I don’t feel gritty and drained by trying to sleep.
The two of us moved around in our sleep, and now my head is pillowed on his broad bicep. His hand lies open, sprawled across the pillow; a tattoo rises along the inside of his wrist, a maze of spiraling dark lines that run up his corded forearm. A sudden compulsion to trace the tattoo overwhelms good sense, and my fingertips slide up his arm.
He sits up fast, pulling away from me.
He smiles at me, but he rubs his palm over the tattoo as if my touch irritated him.
“Morning, princess,” he says lightly. His shoulder brushes against mine when he swings his legs out of bed.
A memory rises quickly, like a ghost slipping through the room; I remember sitting on my mother’s lap, mesmerized by her soft, musical voice and the elaborate pictures in the storybook about the tower princess. A fire had crackled in the elaborately carved marble fireplace of our living room, but the real warmth was in my mother’s arms.
He glances at his clock. “Better get dressed for class, we slept late. I’ll get us breakfast.”
I squint from the bed at the brass clock on top of the mantle above his unused fireplace, and then am surprised by the position of its hands. I don’t often sleep late like this.
There’s the creak of a foot, right outside, the faintest sound. Airren moves quickly to the door.
“It’s me, it’s me,” Cax calls through the door, knowing his best friend well.
When Airren swings open the door, Cax comes in, carrying a tray of food. He pushes aside a stack of books on Airren’s desk with the back of his hand to make room for the tray. The books tumble off the desk and thud against the hardwood floor.
Airren looks at the books balefully. “Well, thanks for the delivery.”
Cax’s eyes flicker over to me. “Dinner in the cafeteria tonight?”
I’m pretty sure he’s thinking I can’t hide forever.
“Maybe.” Airren’s voice is non-committal.
“Is there something that has you particularly worried?” I demand. Death threats from my fellow students? My imminent arrest? True planning to murder me in tribute to my fallen father?
Cax rests his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the desk. The smell of fresh coffee and warm bread and bacon rise up on the air. Cax glances to Airren, but Airren’s face is impassive.
“Yes, there is,” Cax says. Airren makes a small gesture of annoyance, and Cax asks, “Bacon?”
I twist in Cax’s arms, facing his lean chest, and fix my glare on Airren. I don’t want bacon; I want answers. “Tell me.”
“It’s her life,” Cax reminds Airren.
“I know!” Airren explodes. “I’m not trying to keep secrets from her. I’m trying to make it easier to live in the day to day…”
Cax and I both stare Airren down. Shaking his head, he joins us at the desk. When he pulls out the chair for me, I take the seat daintily.
Airren picks up one mug of coffee, then the other. Glancing between them, he says, “I think I need more than one cup of coffee to deal with the two of you.” He sips from one, then the other, and sighs. “Fine, Cax. Tell us both the latest.”
“With the stage of rigor mortis Luca was in when he was found, they estimate his time of death between midnight and five in the morning.”
“That’s a big window,” Airren mutters.
Cax nods. “I’ll ask first, Tera. Where were you between midnight and five last night?”
“I was in bed.”
Cax looks to Airren. “Stelly says she saw Tera when she came in just after midnight. She’s sure Tera was there when she went to bed around one.”
“You checked my alibi?” I ask.
“Might as well do it before anyone else,” Cax says. “I don’t think you murdered anyone, Tera.”
“Sweetest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”
“Tera made an interesting point,” Airren says. “Donovan’s standard M.O. was to break the spine, early in the ritual. Someone who only had a newspaper-level familiarity with his practices wouldn’t know that.”
“So you think it was a bad copy? His fan club hasn’t done their due diligence?”
“I think we need to get our hands on the old autopsy records and the new one and cross-reference.”
“Shouldn’t the police do that?” I interrupt.
Airren glances at me, his full lips pursing, and dreadful reality slams into me.
He wants to prove my innocence because the authorities might not care.
“Are we going to investigate this?” I demand. “Because I can be very helpful. Also, I’
m rather deeply invested.”
“I don’t want to put you in any more danger,” Airren says.
“You can’t help that,” I say bluntly. “You’re going to babysit me anyway, right? You have to make sure I am not, in fact, evil—”
“No one in this room thinks you are,” Cax blurts out.
I ignore the interruption. “…and you have to make sure that no one pre-emptively takes another wicked Donovan out of the picture. Right? You guys intend to make sure I don’t die during freshman year?”
Airren sighs, running his hand over his face as if he doesn’t appreciate my honesty. “Yes. Keeping you alive is definitely part of my RA duties.”
“Don’t even bother. This has nothing to do with you being my RA.”
His eyes widen, his lips parting as if he’s about to protest. He glances toward Cax.
“This is about you Divide vets not being able to stop giving orders.” That’s not the whole reason, though it is the most annoying part. Divide vets like him can’t leave the violence behind; they can’t stop trying to save their country. I don’t know if they’re all like this, but certainly Airren and Mycroft never put down the shield and wand.
“He is really bossy,” Cax confirms. He looks at Airren hopefully. “So we’re doing this? We’re going to solve the case ourselves?”
Airren runs his hand through his hair. “We’re going to get ourselves kicked out of school.”
“And Mycroft too,” Cax says brightly. “I’d better go get him. He’d hate to be left out if we’re doing something stupid.”
21
“Just get through class without any drama and then we’ll get to work,” Mycroft tells me as we head across campus.
I hurry to keep pace with his quick stride. The man seems to forget he’s a foot taller than me.
“Without any drama?” I repeat. “Mycroft, you are the drama.”
He turns his head over his shoulder to quirk an eyebrow at me. Beyond that, he doesn’t bother to respond.
I raise my hands, pretending to be a robot moving jerkily. In a monotone, I say, “I am My-croft. I on-ly cause dra-ma. I do not par-ti-ci-pate.”
“You’re a mouthy little thing, blondie. And your robot impression could use some work.”
“And you could slow down!” I scold, reaching out to grab his forearm.
He tows me along at his quick pace. A few students walking in the opposite direction side-eye us, the tall warrior with the gift for the magic and the petite evil girl with her ponytail flapping behind.
He finally comes to a stop, facing me. He glances down at my hand on his arm. I start to pull away, but he puts his fingers over mine, holding me there. The steady beat of his pulse pounds under my thumb. “Are you okay?”
“Nope. And I can’t imagine that History 101 is going to help with that. But I’ll manage.”
His dark-chocolate eyes are worried. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Oh really? “And I’ve got a secret for you.”
When he leans forward, I whisper into his ear, “I hate surprises.”
My lips brush against his smooth cheek as he turns toward me, and I take a quick step back. He releases my hand, only to catch me by the elbows. His lips part like he wants to tell me a real secret. Then he looks up, at the people passing us, and his face shifts back to that damned neutral expression he always wears.
He squeezes my elbows and lets go. “Okay. Well, Stelly swapped Special Projects for your history class. So you’ll have a friendly face in the crowd.”
“Stelly?” I repeat skeptically. “Radner didn’t mind her transferring?”
“Radner doesn’t get to pick her students,” he says. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I repeat.
Mycroft’s hand suddenly wraps around mine. His touch is gentle, despite the power of his body. “You set the pace, little-legs.”
“You know girls don’t really appreciate being told their legs are stumpy,” I say as we head toward the Arts building.
He doesn’t answer, but smile-lines crinkle at the corner of his gorgeous eyes.
That’s it. That’s all I get. His lips don’t crack into a smile. But I still feel better for his hand in mine.
When we turn into the long hallway to the classroom, Stelly is leaning against the wall. She’s chatting with a few of the girls from class, including Grace, the one with the intense desire to discuss current events. My posture stiffens, my chin rising. I don’t want Stelly to be friends with those girls; eventually, they’ll make her choose. Stelly wouldn’t pick one battered, ineffectual witch as her new best friend.
“I need to find more friends,” I mutter.
“I think your social skills are at their limit with four,” Mycroft tells me.
Jerk. But he’s a beautiful jerk. I squeeze his hand and release it. I don’t want to ruin his image as a TA.
“You’re one to talk about social skills.”
“You should’ve known me before my brother was torn apart by a ravager.”
I stare at him, but Mycroft’s face is a mask. He hesitates, then reaches out and ruffles my hair. His broad hand rifling through my hair sends gentle sparks through my scalp and down my spine. It’s such a weird, but sweet, gesture—what the hell does it mean? Am I turning into the little sister?
Now I don’t want to be the little sister.
“Sorry.” He turns and heads into the classroom, his tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway before he turns and he’s gone.
I don’t know why he just said that. He doesn’t have to be sorry for talking about his brother to me.
“Tera!” Stelly calls from down the hall. She waves me over, her hands a quick flutter as she smiles brightly.
Reluctantly, I head over to the knot of girls. They give me cool smiles and lingering once-overs. I look at Stelly, wondering if she’s seeing this. When they say hello, I say hi a beat too late.
Behind us, people begin to file into class.
“We’d better go too,” I say. As soon as Stelly and I are in the crowd, I glance back to make sure they can’t hear me and then grab her arm. “Stelly, what are you doing?”
“If people get to know you, they’ll like you,” she tells me.
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss. “People do not like me once they get to know me! Have you met me?”
“I already love you.” She pinches my cheeks. Her face breaks into a wide grin as I bat her hands away.
“You know I’m a total jerk.” I always say the wrong thing.
“You’re adorable. Mycroft said so.” She slides into a row, throwing her bag at her feet, and gives me a sly look. “I saw you holding hands. What’s up with that?”
“I have no idea.” When I replay Mycroft’s hand in mine, and Airren’s tender lips, I don’t know what to think. But I feel a rise of something wild and tremulous in my chest, and I shake my head.
“You’re not all bad, you know.” She reaches down and unzips my backpack, pulling out my textbook. “You’re going to have to share. I didn’t get the chance to buy my own.”
“Whose bright idea was this, anyway?” I demand.
“It must be so hard for both you and Mycroft,” she says sympathetically. “You try so hard to be scary—”
I glance back over my shoulder at Mycroft, who sits in the very last row, so far away that there’s no way he can hear what we’re saying. He’s still staring at us stonily.
“Mycroft is scary,” I whisper back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He’s a marshmallow on the inside.” She taps her fingers against her chest.
“Leave it to me to like all the impossible guys,” I say, and then Radner begins to talk. Stelly’s eyes light up as I swivel to face the front of the room.
But while Radner talks about pre-historic magic, Stelly writes furiously in her notebook. She looks fixedly at the front of the room, nodding slightly, as she slides the notebook in front of me.
Feeling like
I’m a kid in one of the Disney specials I loved to watch at my favorite foster home, I look down at the notepad. Guys? Plural? You have a thing for all 3 of my big brothers, don’t you?
I shake my head, ignoring her. She pokes my arm and then points at the notebook.
Radner’s eyes fix on me again. I try to compose my face into Mycroft-level neutrality.
When Radner’s gone back to speaking, I write back, No freshman/Upperclassman pairings, remember? All impossible even if they weren’t LITERALLY just impossibly exasperating.
She shakes her head as she writes. No one follows that rule
These guys do
I write it and then cross it out. Because it isn’t true. Airren kissed me. Airren, who seems like the biggest rule-follower of them all.
Stelly grins like she’s figured out way too much.
As soon as class is over, Stelly leans in and whispers, “You are so lucky that I have to be at another class. I need details.” Then she crinkles her nose. “Just…not about my brother.”
“You’re not mad?” I twist a strand of my hair around my fingers and then realize it gives away my anxiety. I aim a smile her way as I pull my hair back into a ponytail instead, smoothing it out in my hands.
“No, silly,” she says. “I like you. I actually do like my brother, despite the closets.”
That’s twice in an hour that she’s said she likes me. Her eyes are bright and guileless, and I can’t quite meet her gaze. Tera Donovan shouldn’t care that people like her. Mycroft is making his way down the aisle behind us—can he see my cheeks turning pink again, just like when Stelly pinched them playfully?
She pats my shoulder as she stands up, the movement heavy and awkward, as if she can tell there’s something going on behind my Resting Bitch Face. “I think we’re going to be good friends, T. I’m a bit on the weird side, but maybe you’ll come to like me anyway.”
I should respond, but she’s heading down the stairs toward the front of the lecture room, her bag thrown over her shoulder. She waves at me, offering a grin like our conversation wasn’t awkward at all, before she turns the corner and heads out of the class.
