I walk to the window, peering out at the expanse of the fraternity’s grounds bathed in the harsh light of security lamps. My mind races with worry for Xavier, and frustration courses through me. I’m powerless to do anything but wait.
The feeling of being forcibly removed from the control room, from a position where I could at least witness the outcome, to this isolation—it’s suffocating. Leaning against the cool glass, I force myself to take deep breaths, to think clearly despite the fear. It doesn’t work.
I begin pacing like someone in a padded room, slowly losing my mind. Cursing with every step until my throat gets sore.
Although the constant motion eventually wears me out, it does nothing to relieve my emotional turmoil. I can’t just stay here and do nothing while Xavier’s…
I can’t mentally go there.
I walk over and flop onto the bed, splaying my arms wide and staring up at the ceiling. Time, the most crucial thing in this life, drags until several hours pass with me lying there in a daze.
Until a niggling suspicion rises to the forefront of my mind. I sit up, leap from the bed, and rush over to the security monitor by the door. I peer at the screen, checking the hallway outside. The grainy confirms what I dreaded: the crow who brought me back here is still keeping watch, his frame rigid and alert.
Turning away from the monitor in a huff, my gaze inadvertently lands on the ornate fireplace dominating one side of the room. The mantle above it holds the crest of the Order. It’s a large, intricately detailed crow, wings spread wide as if in mid-flight. And there’s an additional decoration, courtesy of Xavier. It’s a knife, the blade embedded deeply in the middle of the crow’s head.
The memory of Xavier throwing the knife has my flesh prickling with both admiration and sexual attraction. Watching him toss that weapon with such accuracy, as though it was nothing, turned me on more than I care to admit.
Now, that same man could need me, and I’m not there to help.
I blow out a breath of frustration. Xavier gave me a beautiful, jeweled dagger, and I left it in my dorm room when I went shopping with Raven and June. I really could’ve used it earlier when dealing with Edward and his near assault. Here I am again, wishing I had the weapon to incapacitate the crow keeping me from Xavier.
I squint up at the knife embedded in the crest of the Order, and my task becomes clear. If the guard outside doesn’t let me out, then I’m taking him out.
With a sense of determination, I grab a chair from the desk, dragging it noisily across the floor to stand beneath the crest. Holding my skirts, I climb up and reach for the knife, my fingers wrapping around the handle. I tug on it, and when it doesn’t budge at first, I pull harder, leveraging all my weight until it comes free in my hand.
I almost topple over but right myself at the last second. After my near miss, I hop down from the chair, knife in hand, feeling its weight grounding me somehow. It’s a small, tangible piece of defiance, and holding it makes me feel less powerless.
All I have to do is change my clothes—and stab some motherfuckers.
I’m quick to strip from the dress, watching the material gather at my feet like a pool of blood. Damn, my thoughts are morbid, but what did I expect?
I don’t have a plan except to do whatever it takes to find Xavier.
And Ben. Right. I’m such a dick for forgetting my foster brother. I blame it on stress, because at what point did Xavier become more important than my family?
Or is Xavier part of my family now?
I shake my head as if it’ll clear my mind of the confusing thoughts. After putting my shoes on, I march over to the door, relying on instinct to guide me. Or it could get me killed. At this point I’m a clusterfuck of emotion and adrenaline.
I reach for the handle, ready to wrench it open. Just as I’m about to, the metal bolt shifts, unlocking the door. I jump back and raise my knife right before the door swings open.
“And who are we stabbing today, little raptor?”
Chapter 30
DELILAH
Xavier stands in the doorway, his eyes locked on mine, and my heart thrashes in my chest to the point it hurts. He’s here, right in front of me. Breathing, talking, and alive.
I rake my gaze over him, hungry for the sight of him, still not sure if I’m imagining everything. His black slacks are rumpled, his shoes no longer shiny but scuffed in various places. His dress shirt carries stains and grime from the dungeon cell, and his hair is a tangled mess, hanging limply around his temples while other pieces stick straight up.
Then there’s his face. It’s drawn and pale, shadowed by fatigue and illness. Around his eyes and mouth are deep lines, the remnants of the harshness and stress he endured during the second Trial. His beautiful eyes, usually bright and glinting with fierce emotion, are a dull metal gray.
However, the longer he looks at me, the more they shimmer with fervor. Something deep and primal, an instinct that goes beyond possession.
I flick my gaze to the space behind him, confirming the crow standing guard isn’t there. When I go back to looking at Xavier, he quirks a brow, but it doesn’t hold the same amountof challenge as usual. The strength in him, the tenacity that I’ve always admired and revered, remains evident in his posture, despite the way his body trembles from exhaustion.
All of the emotions I’ve experienced from the past twenty-four hours rush me at once. They zip along my extremities, and the knife falls from my hand, instantly forgotten. I’m shaking with the effort it takes to keep my shit together, to stop myself from bursting out into tears.
