Rune?I swear Draven’s voice has dropped into my mind, like he heard me. Is that panic in his voice or my heart halfway in my throat?
“You little bitch—” Morgan grabs for my ankle, and I kick him in the side of the face, staggering and running up the steps. I need to put a lock between me and him. I lunge for the door handle. Before I can reach, it swings wide and Draven’s standing there. I duck under the prince’s arm and then turn back to the threat. Morgan’s hand rests against the door just above Draven’s, his body still going through the motions of boxing me in. Morgan straightens in surprise.
Draven merely lifts his chin and stares down at him, looking him over slowly from head to toe.
“Can I help you?” Draven drawls.
Morgan takes a full step back, his hand releasing the door though I see some gouges across the wooden surface. My hair stands on end, my breaths not catching, as though my lungs are made of mesh. I bristle when I notice my cards in Morgan’s clutches.
“Rune and I were just having a conversation—” Morgan starts.
“I think running away implies it’s over, don’t you?” Draven snaps his fingers and the World and the Emperor rise into hishand in an instant, their golden light blinding as he summons my tarot deck straight out of Morgan’s grasp. “This doesn’t belong to you.”
Morgan chuffs as Draven hands it back to me. “Look, you got it all wrong—”
“I think I have it exactly right.”
Morgan scoffs at our positioning and I think he’s about to apologize, but then he deflects to something I’ve heard before. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little drunk.” His shoulders shrug casually, an invitation for Draven to relate as though this was some moment of weakness. Some male way of being.
“You say that as if it’s any excuse.”
Draven takes a step forward and Morgan retreats. Shadows explode behind Draven’s back, framing his wings, blotting out the full moon until the night presses in from all sides. A kingdom of darkness spreads across the front steps, seeping like tipped ink into the Oval. As the Death Arcana he’s casting expands, the color of the world begins to change, to that grayscale hue between spaces, and my heart jolts.
Draven’s voice descends a few octaves, no longer his own. “You are a poorexcusefor a man.”
“Wait, please!” Morgan’s shriek cuts against the night. I race forward, my figure slicing through the darkness like a knife, my feet swift, my legs surprisingly sturdy considering all I’ve drank. When I reach Draven’s side, his eyes glow like the pits of hells, crimson fire consuming everything as he looks down on Morgan crawling away.
Try not to stick your hand into a dragon’s mouth …
Damning his warnings and my common sense I slide my hand along Draven’s wrist ever so gently, careful not to touch his cards whirring with enchantments. His attention shoots to me. The magic fetters out, like water thrown over a fire. Thedarkness blows out into ash, clearing on the breeze. Draven’s brow rises a bit at the touch of my hand against his bare wrist. I don’t remove it. I want to make sure he’s still in control. He glares down Morgan.
“Come near her again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Now get out of my sight.” Draven waits until Morgan scrambles to his feet and runs across the lawns, sprinting toward the Moon’s Hearth.
I shadow Draven, the two of us standing in heated silence. I try to prepare myself for whatever he’s about to say, but it’s impossible to guess. Finally, I look up into his face, his eyes the faultless dark of gathering dusk.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“For what?” He shrugs, eyes locking with mine, a little smirk gathering in the corner of his lips. I smile, relieved at his casualness. His tone is playful, but I’m not sure if he’s kidding as he adds, “I just did that for me. I love watching people squirm. Don’t go thinking I’m some knight in shining armor, Rune. You’ll be disappointed.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” I tell him with a small, uncertain laugh, crossing my arms, swaying slightly. The adrenaline chased off my drunkenness but hasn’t left behind sobriety. As the fear seeps out of me, my gut starts churning again. He offers his hand. I don’t bat it away, allowing him to help me inside.
He stumbles slightly at the threshold.
“Are you all right?” The sudden possibility of him burning out hits me low in the gut.
“I’d have to push a lot harder than that.” He side-eyes me, clearly having read my thoughts, my mental shield suffering with so much alcohol. “Magic usage is like building a muscle. I’ve been lucky to have the greatest trainers the realm can afford. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
I stop short when I realize our Hearth is crowded with five or six people, all druids of upper years, all with wings. We’ve never had anyone over before. Not that we’re awe, exactly. I don’t know why the sudden appearance of his friends has made me nervous. Draven ignores them all, leading me pointedly to my room, again stopping at the threshold, and I’m embarrassed there was an audience.
I stumble inside without him, my vision blurring, the drinks threatening to rise. Draven leans against the doorframe, keeping the door slightly ajar between us. His cunning gaze flits to every shadowed corner.
“I’m canceling your classes tomorrow.” He’s finally focused on me again. My nausea reaches another high, yet I manage to give him an incredulous look. He rolls his eyes, smirking in that seductive way of his. “Don’t get insulted, I know you can handle yourself. If you really want to go, then feel free. But if you want to know whereIgo every morning, then tomorrow, I’ll take you. Hopefully you get the alcohol out of your system before that, one way or another.”
I hesitate, pretty sure it’s about to come out the same way it went in.
“What about … Morgan?” I shift on my feet.
“He’ll pay for what he’s done.” Draven’s gaze is so severe there’s no escaping it. I notice his friends go quiet, and his wings arc higher, the light from the living space all but blotted out. I hate the way Morgan made me feel. Shame and rage in equal measure heat my cheeks.
