“So eager,” Tate chuckles, just before I smack his shoulder. He grips my thighs over my gown as I toss my cloak to Ciara. She’d never be caught on anyone’s back—her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Our voices are a symphony of hushed whispers that echo through the hall as we ascend to the top floor. We shush each other, attempting to stifle the flow of laughter.
Kamden and Tate bring us to our door, and with a shared glance, Aolyn and I slide down from their backs. Both men pause, the air thick with an unspoken tension that makes them hesitate. I push past Tate and halt, guilt pinning me to the spot.
“Let’s go, now,” Anders demands, his voice firm and unyielding.His withering glare would make anyone crumble, but I muster the strength to stand firm, although a tremor wracks through my body, betraying my emotions.
The others glance at each other, a silent understanding passing among them, and one by one, they slowly retreat from my side, leaving me facing the angry dorm leader alone.
“Thanks, guys.” I scowl as I witness them all take another step away from me. A part of me wishes for one of them to stay, but Anders looks terrifying shrouded in darkness.
“Do you want—” Aolyn starts, throwing a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing towards the group, attempting to assist my escape. She pauses mid-sentence, flinching as if sensing the weight of Anders’ glare landing on her.
“Just Raea. The rest of you better find your rooms,” he snaps, turning away with a briskness that leaves no room for argument. He marches down the hall, leaving me reeling with my thoughts. I’ve never witnessed him so worked up before. His anger is like a tangible, living thing, radiating off him like a storm, waiting to swallow me up.
Drawing in a deep breath, I brace myself and follow him.
“Good luck,” Kamden whispers, and my shoulders tense with apprehension as I round the corner, disappearing from their view. I should have been more open with Anders to at least alert him that I was leaving. It was a shitty move, and I’ll own the mistake.
When Anders finally turns to face me, I can see the storm raging in his eyes—a whirlwind of anger and longing that is both terrifying and strangely...intoxicating. My body reacts without permission, going on high alert for all the wrong reasons.
“In. Now,” he demands, his voice a rough growl as he holds open the door to his dorm room, the dim light spilling out in the hallway. The air between us crackles with tension, though our Bond is thankfully hidden.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest, determined to stand my ground, even more unwilling to give away my inappropriate thoughts at the first sight of his room.
His room is tucked away down its own secluded hall, away fromany prying eyes. When it finally sinks in that I won’t be stepping inside, he clenches his jaw, working the muscle in his cheek, and with a sharp exhale, lets the door close.
“Where were you?” he snaps, his voice cutting through the thick silence. He towers over me, his frame casting a long shadow as I tilt my head back to meet his stormy gaze. There’s something about the dimness of the hallway, the strong scent of sandalwood and citrus, but the urge to wrap my arms around him and pull him close, somehow bridging the distance between us, overwhelms me and drowns out my anger. Right now, I just want to reach out and beg for forgiveness.
Instead, I bury those emotions deep within me. “The village,” I reply, with a slight shrug. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“Why didn’t you?” His question is laced with fear I’m not ready to acknowledge. It would only further my guilt, but I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those women.
“Can we not do this? Look, I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m not used to having to check in with you. It won’t happen again. But I’m tired and now is not the right time to argue.” I say, as I watch his jaw tighten again, along with his whole body. The fabric of his black shirt stretches taut over his muscles as he stands silent for a moment, his eyes swirling, the only emotion that gives away the war within. His hands swipe through his hair in exasperation as his features crack.
Abruptly, he closes the gap between us, his palm pressing against the wall beside my head, effectively boxing me in. He takes several ragged breaths, squeezing his eyes shut as if to stave off the brewing storm within. After a heartbeat, they pop open again, and I’m met with a silvery gaze, a mix of fury and something deeper...maybe...fear.
My throat feels thick as I try to swallow down the emotions bubbling to the surface. Just as I’m about to apologizeagain, he speaks first.
“Raea, gods, I was worried sick about you and—” He reaches for me, but instinctively, I step back, hitting the wall. Suddenly, this hallway is too small and too intimate.
“And what, Anders?” It comes out a little breathless. I was aiming for stern, but it seems I’ve lost all ability to talk. “I was fine. I’mallowed to do things with my friends. I just want to be normal while I can. You have to understand that.”
He looks genuinely distressed, his hair tousled as if he’s spent the entire evening running his hands through it, and with the faint scent of mead wafting off him, I know he’s been drinking.
“I do,” he sighs. “Gods, I do, Raea.”
His large, calloused hand gently grips my elbow, drawing me closer until we’re nearly touching. I attempt to take another step away, but he follows, eliminating the distance between us.
His hands find my waist, fingers pressing into my hips. His sudden proximity makes my heart race even as my mind shouts reminders to pull away. He bends down so close that we share air, the energy between us humming in delight, taut like a physical string pulling us together.
His gaze flickers to my lips, and my core liquifies, pooling in my stomach. I bite down on my lip to suppress the whimper that threatens to betray me. I desperately need air—fresh air—to gather myself because if I don’t leave, I don’t trust myself not to close the final distance and find out for myself exactly how soft his lips are.
My mind lingers on how it would feel to kiss him while my eyes lock on his mouth. If I kissed him, would it be tender and gentle? Or would he possess me, devouring me and taking control, leaving me craving more? I find myself leaning more toward the latter. The thought is almost as intoxicating as if our lips were to actually collide.
I don’t know who moves, him or me, but the space between our mouths dwindles until our bodies are flush, his warmth stealing every thought from me as I bring my palms to his chest. Beneath my hand, his heart thumps erratically.
Time has slowed around me, the world falling away as he rests his forehead against mine, the rapid rise and fall of our breaths the only sound I hear. If his touch is a spark, his kiss will be an inferno.
