Such is the life of a Cursed.
“And now,” her voice gets a bit stronger, “here come these three Alpha idiots who dare to smell irresistible. Who dare to try and pull me into their orbit until I crash into them.” Her eyes narrow at something over my shoulder. “And one of them is a murderer.”
That gets my attention. “Who?”
Her violet eyes flick to me, then over my shoulder again, compelling me to turn. When I do, at the back of the librarystands that huge, hulking Alpha from Russia. The one who was a part of the councilman’s personal guard or whatever.
I’d heard second or third-hand that he’d gone to the infirmary here at the academy before the rebellion arrived, and didn’t come out until weeks later.
I swivel back to Arlowe. “I’m pretty sure anyone he’s killed, it wasn’t his choice.”
Her laugh is humorless. “Tell that to the Omega he executed on academy grounds.”
My brows rise. I’d heard that something terrible had gone down while we were at a War Games exercise months back, but nobody wanted to give details. “How did you hear about it?”
“You hear a lot when you can exist in the shadows.”
Fair enough.
“Did you talk to him about it?”
She lets out apfft,and that’s answer enough. Then she adds, “Like you’re talking to your pack?”
Ouch.
“Look, Erich. I know you’re a good guy, deep down. You want what’s best for your pack. Or, at least for Nyx.” Her head tilts, and I nod in confirmation before she goes on. “I heard something… distressing. During my time in the shadows. Something about incomplete bonds within a pack.”
I open my mouth to question her, and she puts up a hand in a “stop” gesture. “It’s not my place to tell you, but I say that the other Alpha in your pack knows the truth. You should go to him for answers.”
The growl that builds in my chest is unstoppable.
Fucking Laurant.
Nyxeris
Arare moment alone finds me sitting on the bench at a bay window in one of the ground-floor alcoves, a history book in hand. Not my usual leisure read, but something important to me now that I know nearly everything I’ve been taught since I was born is a lie.
Today, I’m reading about pack formations.
It’s more for Arlowe than me, to be honest. I’m trying to find information on what happens when a member of a pack dies. And it isn’t easy.
A familiar energy warms my skin, and I look up to find Laurant just outside the alcove, his evergreen eyes vacant, like he doesn’t recognize me. That’s when I realize his hair is all disheveled, his face smattered with unshaven growth, glassesslightly askew, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone. If I hadn’t felt his shellshocked energy, I’d say he looks like he’d just been fucked.
But his aura is not in a post-coitus glow. It’s dark and sinking, a lot like Lowe’s has been lately.
I frown despite myself, and in the silence, turn my gaze back to my book when his voice, gruff and scratchy, drifts to my ears. “Please… may we speak?”
When I look back at him, those glassy eyes are focused on me at last, filled with pain like I’ve never seen from him. My brows pinch, but I nod and rise from my seat.
Wordlessly, I follow him to the stairs and slowly upward. I’m prepared to move to the landing on the fourth floor and head for his office, but he keeps going up one more flight to the fifth, where he shuffles to the hallway, leading me to an ornate wooden door I’ve never visited before.
When he opens it, the scent of bluebells carried on an ocean breeze wafts from the room on the whoosh of air, and I know before stepping inside that this is Laurant’s bedroom.
He holds the door open for me to enter his space. Stone floor and walls, like my room, but this one larger with an ornate rug at the center, partly beneath the large bed against one wall. There’s a sitting area close to the entry, a large fireplace opposite it, and another closed door opposite the fireplace.
No decoration save a map hanging above the fireplace mantle.
I have no idea if it’s even his, or if it came with the room.
