Not the fact that he could have let me go.
And didn’t.
The witch’s voice grates like a rusted hinge. “It doesn’t matter. Soon enough we’ll start picking off Vireldan students. One by one. They’ll have no choice but to surrender themselves.”
The wizard grunts in agreement, bending down again. His fingers smear through the droplets Ares left behind, and then, slowly, reverently, he lifts them to his nose and inhales.
I flinch so hard my shoulder bumps Ares’s ribs.
His reaction is immediate.
Not spoken...felt.
His palm curls around my hip in a fierce, wordless command to stay still. His other arm bars across my stomach, angling me back, pressing me deeper into the shadow with his body fully blocking my view. I can see nothing but the edge of his throat now, the hard, taut line of it moving as he swallows whatever violence wants to rip out of him.
The wizard sighs as if savoring perfume. Disgust curdles in my gut, and my instinct is to recoil, but Ares tightens his hold, drawing me back flush against his chest. The movement forces my spine into the shape of his body; his breath shudders out against my temple. I can't breathe without feeling the exact rhythmof his breathing.
“I have her blood,” the witch croons. “It’s all he needs to keep tracking her.”
Ares stiffens, so sharply I feel every muscle lock beneath my spine.
“Let’s tell Andrew that Parker has at least made contact with the kids,” she continues. “Andrew can decide for himself what he wants to do with the little shit for keeping it from us.”
The wizard snorts approval. Their wands flash in unison, and the air around them warps with dark magic. A gust presses against the mirror as both figures dissolve into swirling shadow and blink out of sight.
Silence crashes down.
Ares doesn’t move.
Not at first.
His arm stays wrapped tight across my middle, his chest pressed fully to my back as though he expects one of them to reappear. His breath fans hot across the curve of my jaw, too steady to be natural, he’s forcing it, controlling it.
But the tremor in his fingers where they grip my hip betrays him.
We stay like that far too long, his body braced around mine, mine trapped inside his, until the weight of it becomes unbearable, until every shared breath sparks down my spine.
Finally, he exhales once, low and unsteady, before his grip loosens just enough for me to feel the sudden absence of pressure.
But he doesn’t step away.
He doesn’t release me.
He just speaks, voice pitched low enough that only the inches between us could carry it.
“They shouldn’t have been able to track you this fast.”
His breath touches my ear.
His fingers tighten once more on my hip.
“And now,” he adds, quieter, darker, “your father will know I've made contact.”
Ares releases me too slowly, as if peeling himself away takes effort he’d rather not spend. The space between us is thin, crackling. His chest still brushes mine with every breath he forces out, and I haven’t yet decided whether it’s grounding or suffocating.
My voice breaks the silence first.
“Who were those people?”
