“You’re full of shit.”
“Swear on my scars.” Raze grins. “Kian walked in right as Dom lit himself on fire. The whole bar smelled like burned sugar and smoke for a week. I’ve never seen a man blink that slowly.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask, now realizing I never once questioned Raze’s history with the Blackwoods.
“Since he was five. Scrawny and loud, always trying to impress the wrong people.” He starts assembling what looks like the world’s most elaborate sandwich. “First fight I saw him in, he got knocked out cold by some brawler from the Rift District. No finesse. Justfists. But he stood back up, again and again. That’s when I knew he’d either be something great, or get himself killed spectacularly.”
“And now?”
Raze slides the plate toward me. “Still waiting to see which way the wind turns.” He nods at the food. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” I mutter, but reach for the sandwich, anyway.
“You two are infuriating,” Raze says, settling against the counter with a glint in his eye. “Reminds me of Dom’s first semester at the Academy. Used to storm into The Den every night on cue, face twisted as if someone had personally insulted his entire bloodline.”
I pause mid-bite. “He what?”
“Oh, it was pathetic,” he says with a laugh that rumbles through the kitchen. “Raze, you don’t get it,” he mimics in a whiny falsetto, “she corrected me. In front of everyone, and she’s always with fucking Darkmoor, like he’s so special.” He grins, clearly reveling in the memory. “I swear, half my job that semester was listening to him bitch about you while pretending he wasn’t completely obsessed.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Aria, I endured three months of monologues about your ‘smug little smile’ and how you were ‘obviously showing off’ in practicals.” Raze rolls his eyes. “The staff had a betting pool going. Not on whether he’d finally admit he liked you, but how many glasses would shatter before he did. I lost fifty lumes on that one.”
“Serves you right for betting against his ego.” I try not to smile. “Hope whoever won at least bought you a drink. You deserved it for putting up with all that brooding.”
“Then there was that Academy Winter Ball . . .” He trails off with a smirk.
“Don’t.”
“No, no, this part’s a classic.” Raze leans forward conspiratorially. “He’s at the bar, slouched, lip split from some fight he wouldn’t explain, knocking back whiskey and muttering about how you were dancing with some ‘pretentious idiot who probably couldn’t evencast a proper spell.’”
“Theodore,” I supply.
“You remember?” Raze snorts.
“He wasn’t that bad,” I protest, though the memory of Dom’s glare across that ballroom says otherwise.
“When that Theodore kid’s hands started wandering . . .” Raze shakes his head, still grinning. “One second Dom’s standing there looking ready to commit murder, the next he’s moving across that dance floor like some avenging demon. Never seen him move that fast, and trust me, I’ve seen him in plenty of fights.”
“I remember thinking I was going to have to punch him,” I admit, picking at a crust.
“Oh, we all thought that. The way you looked at him when he grabbed your wrist?” Raze lets out a low whistle. “That’s why I followed, figured blood was about to be spilled. Kian had told me to keep his son out of trouble that night, and there Dom was, dragging you away, and looking ready to set the whole Academy on fire.”
“It wasn’t that dramatic.” My face heats.
“Please. I was standing guard outside an empty classroom like some lovesick teenagers’ accomplice, listening to things I’d rather forget.”
“You never told anyone,” I say softly.
“Course not. Though explaining to Octavia why her son showed up to breakfast the next morning with those interesting marks on his neck . . .” He shoots me a pointed glance, eyes crinkling.
“I still can’t believe you covered for us.”
“Someone had to look out for you idiots.” His voice drops, softer now. “And it was worth it just to watch Dom pretend he was unaffected, while simultaneously threatening to gut anyone who so much as glanced at you.”
Three soft knocks at the door cut through our conversation and my heart lurches. This is it. Kian’s retaliation has arrived.
I push away from the counter, moving toward the door despite Raze’s growled protest.
