And what a perfect storm it is.
Just for one second, in the tempest of my agony, I doubt myself.
Doubt that he betrayed me in the worst way possible. That for as long as I’ve known him and maybe longer, while we courted and kissed, while I fell in love with him, he was a soldier in the army calling for the eradication of my kind.
That he could have watched as a scribe was held to my throat, as the thorny magic of an omega trap tore at my skin, watched as briars made scars he would later kiss.
And that’s when I fall, just like I did that day, to my knees, trapped once more in dark thorns I can’t escape.
Then Marcus is crouched beside me, and I let myself slump against my stoic, steady honor guard. He helps me to my feet and guides me back to my worktable as the blue and red lights recede, sucked from the room like all the oxygen from my lungs.
I meet my professor’s gaze across the room and concern crinkles his eyes once more. His attention flicks from me to the cellphone in his hand, as he scans whatever’s on the screen, before returning to me.
He taps his scribe against his desk as the class settles slowly, the clamor fading to silence. He grits his teeth, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and then addresses us in a grave voice.
“Classes are canceled for the rest of the day.” His gaze slips to me. “All omega students are hereby forbidden from leaving campus until further notice. Dismissed!”
I shove my things into my bag: jerky, automatic motions that crumple papers and crush the corners of my notebook.
Ian sets a hand on my shoulder, and I know the class must be empty except for me, Alyssa, and Marcus.
He nods to Alyssa. “Miss O’Neill, is there an alpha you trust in the absence of an honor guard?”
The alpha she trusts bursts into the classroom at that very moment. Darika sweeps Alyssa into her arms, covering her face in desperate kisses. “I don’t know what the ever-loving fuck is going on, but Mercury is in retrograde and the world is on fire, and we’re going back to your cottage. I’m locking you in and we’re eating chocolate and drinking tea and you’re not allowed out until it’s safe again, saints fucking help me.” She startles and looks up at Professor Reinhardt. “Uh, sorry, professor. Um, saints freaking help me.”
In any other circumstances, I’d expect a wry smile, but Ian is stone faced. Afraid. “You’ll be safe with Miss Modhi?” he asks Alyssa, and the other omega nods. “Good. She’s right. Stay in your cottage until further notice.”
I watch them go. Raw and numb. Something twinges inside me as Darika wraps Alyssa close, as though she might disappear on a gust of November wind.
When the door clicks shut behind them, Ian sets his other hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him. His scent, spicy cedar and bright bergamot, wraps around me, dulling the sharp edges of anguish inside me until the rawness fades away, if only for the moment. I want to sway toward him, to fall into his arms and find comfort and strength in them. In him. “It has to be a misunderstanding,” he says.
It is. It’s my misunderstanding. My misplaced belief in all of Luca’s lies.
“Are you all right?”
I force a stiff nod and duck my head so he can’t see the lie written plainly across my face, in my trembling lower lip and teary eyes. “I’m fine.”
He sighs and steps away, crossing his arms, idly pacing the aisle between rows of worktables. “I’ll have to cancel our lesson for this evening. With what happened, I’m sure all the staff will be in meetings most of the night.”
“I understand.”
Saints, please let him ignore the catch in my voice.
Finally, he nods. “Be safe, Juniper,” he pleads.
But all I hear is the plea in Luca’s voice, the terror as he called out my name in his mind.
That I was his last thought as he was forced into a police car.
* * *
Letmy courage light my way through the storm.
Fairhaven’s motto has never rung more hollowly than it does as I hide away from all of Marcus’ concerned questions, alone in my nest.
As I rip the list of places Luca and I planned to see on the back of his motorcycle to shreds and then frantically look up the spell to make the list whole again.
As I wish for his flannel, for his wine-and-cherries scent with all of my broken traitorous heart.
