“The school transports are the smallest of the fleet—” Professor Brendn’s voice fades as the ripples of electricity drown him out. Colors flood the edges of my vision, and I have to roll out my shoulders.
“Princess,” I feel his breath on my ear like a full-body caress. I keep my face forward while my lips curl into a full grin.
“I thought you weren’t going to be back until tonight?” I ask.
He sits beside me, and the heat from his body surrounds me.
“Also, aren’t you supposed to be in Aeronautics right now?”
“I didn’t see the point in staying. Plus,” he leans closer. His lips barely brush the shell of my ear, and my body goes crazy. “I missed you. And I’m ditching Aeronautics.”
I close my eyes and press my lips closed, sealing in the gasp that threatens to escape. He should not be doing this during class. I reach my right hand over to him, linking it with his under the desk.
Energy surges between us, and I’m drowning in him. I don’t let go, though. Neither does he. We both breathe erratically, consumed by the spiraling energy and vibrant colors of our Bond.
Okay…fine, I more than just ‘like’ him.
The power subsides, becoming more manageable after a minute or so, and I can open my eyes. Ryker chuckles low so only I can hear. I smile again. He missed me. Ciara and Tate are hiding their own chuckles at my side. I want to glare at them, but that would attract more attention.
My grip tightens, my arm protesting the lingering connection. When I let go, I take a deep breath, willing my emotions to subside. After class, he tells me to clear my schedule for the night because he’s taking me on a date.
forty-three
. . .
ryker
I am tryingto focus on reading these new reports about the veil instead of the smile on Trysten's face. I didn’t plan on returning early, but for some damn reason, I missed her and couldn’t wait. Do I care one bit? No. I’m man enough to own how thoroughly she owns me. Bond or no Bond. Prophecy or no prophecy. I’ve been falling for this girl for years. And then last night, gods, I couldn’t keep my hands off her.
Last night, we wandered into shops looking at trinkets and books. I told her about the tree on Sgya, the one I had been searching for, and explained my mother’s depression to her. Thankfully, the bark from the Butterfly Woodbine was exactly what my mother needed. By the time I had left Malaya, my mother was already feeling much better.
The rest of the evening, we sat at a bar and ate pub food that was a little too greasy, and she may have gotten a little tipsy from the dryerstead. She made me dance with her, and she had rested her head on my chest.
Visions of our future and what it could be assaulted me. By the time we returned to the pod, she was exhausted and fell asleep with her head in my lap. This time, I did carry her straight to bed, and Aolyn just cooed like she’d been witnessing a fairytale.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, slamming my Prism onto the desk. The reports show no new activity, but I can feel it. It’s as strong as before. An icy rage trickles through me.
Trysten leans against the wall, crossing his ankles. “Ry, we need to talk about Raea's powers. She almost lost control.” That gets my attention as I look up. I’m about to respond when there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll be on the terrace and give you two some privacy.” He slaps my shoulder, disappearing as I reach the door and swing it open.
It isn’t Raea standing there, but Sienna. “Hey.” I lean against the door, blocking her way in.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asks. I shake my head, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I just need to tell you something personal. Please.”
I stare at her for a moment, grinding my molars. Then I step back—not to welcome her in, but to make it clear there’s no invitation in my silence. I put as much space between us as I can without making it obvious just how badly I want her gone.
“Talk, Sienna. I have things to do.”
She pouts. “Why are you being like this?” she says, voice all hurt and soft. “I thought we were friends.”
Godsdamn.
“We are. And I said I’m busy.”
She grins and pulls open her cloak, revealing her naked body. Her robes slip from her shoulders in one fluid, practiced motion, pooling around her bare feet.
“Sienna.” I hiss, turning away, my body going taut. Not from desire—never from that—but from the effort it takes not to throw her out myself. “Get dressed and get out, now.”
Fingertips glide up my back. My skin crawls. “I want you,” she breathes. “Let me make you feel good. You’ve been so tense lately.”
