In another, I reached across a table toward the viewer. There were papers strewn around me, and it looked like one of the tables in the library where Ayaz and I worked on our history project. My lip curled back in a scowl, but he’d drawn my eyes with these bright sparks so it was clear I wasn’t entirely serious.
In another, I had my head tossed back, my short hair feathering my face as I laughed from deep in my belly. I wondered with a pang if I was laughing at something Quinn said.
In still another, I stared out at the viewer, my eyes cruel. Fire wreathed my head, licking against my skin without burning me.
I flipped the page and nearly dropped the folder again. There I was, lying down on my stomach, my chin propped up with my palm. Ayaz had lavished attention on my face. In all of his other pictures, my gaze was intense, packed with the rage and venom that lurked just below the surface. Here, I was soft.
I was also completelynaked.
“My my,” Quinn whistled from over my shoulder.
I slammed the sketchbook shut and shoved it back into the stack. “This isn’t the book we’re looking for.” Heat flared on my cheeks.
Quinn sniggered. I turned my head to the ceiling. The rats circled in front of the door to the closet.
I threw open the door.Bingo. The book lay open on the floor, notes strewn in all directions. I grabbed it up in my arms, stuffing loose papers into the pages. “Thank you, rats. Let’s go.”
“Not so fast.” A dark voice said from behind me. “That book belongs to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I froze. Ayaz stood in the doorway, his jaw tight and eyes blazing.
“Is this why Bloomberg kept harassing me about my cues?” he murmured as he flicked his dark eyes between Quinn and I. Tension crackled between us like lightning. “To give you two time to sneak in here and take my property?”
Quinn stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his. “Listen, mate, I know this looks bad, but we can explain.”
“You’re right – it does look bad. It looks like you’re trying to steal from me.”
“You’ve been working on the translations.” I hugged the book to my chest, searching his eyes for some sign of the Ayaz I knew, the one who drew those amazing pictures, the one who had held me and told me I was beautiful. “Some of these are new. Have you found—”
“That’s none of your business. Give that to me.” Ayaz crossed the room in two strides. Quinn tried to block him, but Ayaz shoved him aside. He grabbed a corner of the book and tugged. I staggered back, and his hand flew off.
Ayaz raised his hand to lunge at me again, but something made him freeze. “It’s you,” he whispered, his eyes sweeping over me.
“You’ve been studying the book,” I pressed him. “What have you found? Do you know how she made you? If we find the ritual, we can reverse it—”
My words caught in my throat as Ayaz stepped forward, his fingers grazing my cheek. My heart hammered against my ribs as his touch seared me.
“They sent you away,” Ayaz murmured, his fingers floating over my hair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch it.
“Why did you tell those lies about me?” I demanded. “Why did you want me to believe I imagined everything between us?”
“You did imagine it. I don’t know you.” But his hand remained fixed over my hair.
“Youdoknow me.” I was practically shouting now. “Don’t you remember that night in my room, the things you said, the way we made each other feel? What about the grotto? We kissed under the waterfall, and you…”
“I don’t know you,” Ayaz murmured, but he sounded less sure of himself.
“Of course you know me. You spent the first quarter of this year torturing me because you believed you might be able to save me. You became my friend. You became so much more than that. We worked on the history project about the Salem Witch Trials, and I know that you love to draw, that you’re an amazing cook, that you hate anything licorice-flavored. I know you had a sister named Zehra who wanted to free you from this hell—”
At the mention of Zehra’s name, Ayaz staggered back, his eyes wide. Quinn swooped in on him, but Ayaz shoved him so hard, Quinn hit the wall.
“Had?” Ayaz managed to get out. “What do you mean, I ‘had’ a sister? Is she dead? She can’t be dead. They promised—”
“Ayaz, honey!” Courtney’s voice called from the hall. The doorknob jiggled. “Open up. I thought we could do a little late-night studying.”
The flirtatious tone in her voice turned my stomach. Ayaz must’ve seen something in my eyes. He stared from me to the door, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked utterly flustered. He didn’t know who to trust, what to believe.
