Her mouth fell open as he walked away without another word.
Seren arrived at the Hatchling dorms, chest heaving and lungs on fire. Her dark hair was a mess of tangled waves and wind as she rushed into her room. She couldn't believe her luck, that he hadn't expelled her on the spot. It was almost enough to keep her from wondering why.Almost.
She quickly closed her door, bolting the lock, and raced to her bed. Her fingers traced along the mattress edge, searching for the sleek handle of the wand.
Nothing.
Trembling now from adrenaline, she pulled her hand back, ready to rip the mattress off its frame, when she noticed it. A powdery emerald residue that stuck to her fingertips. A familiar, faint tingling sensation where it touched the pale skin and rested along the side of the mattress like a handprint.
This was magic.
It left a vibrant thrum where it lingered. A metallic taste in the air, unlike the sweet essence witching magic left behind. It wasn't just any magic; it was wizarding. There was onlyonewizard who'd known she had the wand and could leave behind such a shocking shade of green. Only one who could have possibly beaten her here and snagged it first.But how? Hadn’t he left that night?
A sudden pulling sensation echoed through her gut. She looked up from her hand to see a shimmering green trail forming in the air. It twisted like dandelion seeds carried by the breeze and led to her window. Too stunned to do anything else, Seren stood up and followed it. She reached for the latch, let the smells of outside pour in, and watched in amazement as the sparkling trail wisped by her, dancing on the wind. She watched it for a long time, moving its way over the land until it reached its summoner.
And even from all the way up here, high in her tower, Seren imagined his wicked smile and his fingers beckoning her down to him.
Fury lived in her heart as she tore across the trimmed chartreuse field that separated the Tower from the dark, twisting woods. She felt it writhe within her chest like a cold-skinned viper, aching to sink its fangs into something, anything, and bring the sting of venomous pain. Once upon a time, the feeling had frightened and disturbed her, but not anymore. Now her anger was her companion—a black-scaled familiar full of ancient, witching power. It fed her veins, her sinewy muscle threading beneath her skin, and propelled her quick transcend over the grassland to the wizard waiting just within the shaded treeline.
Calder Darkmore leaned heavily into the twisted willow behind him, its bark seasoned and scarred from the legendary Magnus wars with branches that bent in the shape of a stooped old woman. The silvery, green catkins swayed in the playful breeze, brushing over his broad shoulders and tickling Seren's cheek when she drew close to meet him.
"Where is it?" Seren demanded just as her boot caught the edge of a particularly thick root. She stumbled, almost fell, but steadied herself against his solid chest, grazing the thick muscle that dwelled beneath the fabric of his shirt. A rush of embarrassment threatened her ivory skin, warm and unbidden, but she grit her teeth against it and glared into his amber stare, stepping back a pace. His returning grin was something sinful.
His voice twisted, lilting, a song of mock innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Miss Marudas?" He said her last name slowly and blinked at her, wry and purposeful.
Thoughts of the night they spent together fluttered through her mind. Their quiet exploration of the tower and its grounds, unlocking room after room with the wand like it was a silly game. Had his claim that something of his was stolen even been true?
"Stop messing around. How did you get it from my room? The door was locked."
To be sure it was still there, she fingered the little silver key all students wore around their necks so they could lock their dorms up between classes.
That smile again. Seren glimpsed a flash of ashwood as the wand twirled within his fingers. He closed his palm around it before offering it out to her like a gift.
"You mean this? Come on, Seren, you knew a locked door couldn’t stop me. A smarter witch would have seen me all the way to the boundary edge."
Another pulse of that familiar anger stirred in her chest as she thought of his spelled lock pick. She lunged for his clamped fist, desperate to right her wrong, but with one quick grab her wrist was captured in the fingers of his other hand, and he tugged her in close enough to feel the heat that leached off of him. Their noses grazed one another. Seren reared back in surprise, a jolting, fierce current rushing through her. He tugged her back toward him, and she was aware of each place their skin met. She knew at that moment she hated him, more entirely than she'd ever hated anyone before.
His impish smile widened as if he thought she was playing coy when she tried to jerk away from him.
"Why do you fight me? Where's my thanks? Hiding the wand under your mattress where anyone could have stumbled upon it to rat you out? Amateur. You owe me, little Hatchling." His breath was cool as he leaned forward so it washed over her face.
Darker thoughts of what he might want raced through her head, making her squirm beneath his touch. Her voice was cutting when she glared up at him and ground out, "Name your price."
His warm fingers released her wrist, and a look of confoundment replaced the smile that had been there. "You really don't like me, do you?"
It was as though the idea had never occurred to him before that a female might not fall to her knees and sing his praises to the gods above.
The darkly sweet air around him evaporated, dying as surely as withered petals on a rose when she shook her head, laughing bitterly. "What gave me away?"
He blinked, staring down at the wand held between his long fingers. "If you want this back, which is why I now assume you came out here at all, you'll need to do something for me." His playful edge was gone, like dust carried in the breeze, replaced by a look that sent a frigid chill down her spine.
"I told you. Name. Your. Price," she spat, slow and venomously.
“Arabella.”
When he spoke the name, whispered like a curse or a prayer, she thought perhaps she'd misheard him.
"What?"
