I flushed at the memory of what I’d said and done. Of what I’d askedhimto do.
Of his unflinching willingness—eagerness—to oblige.
I closed my eyes, and I could feel the ghost of his touch on my skin. I could still taste him. I could feel the firm strength of his form pressed against me. Over me. Arching beneath my hands, between my thighs.
No.
I shook my head, rattling the memories loose. Banishing them to the abyss that had swallowed more than two years of my life. “I don’t have time for this. I have to find my satchel. My notes. I need to go back to the lab and—”
“The Conservatory is closed,” he said. “For the trial. That’s why I had to leave so early—to get out before they posted attendants at the doors.”
“No…I need my notes, I can’t—”
A familiar plane of leather swung in front of my face, and I looked up to see my satchel dangling from Desmond’s left hand.
“Thank you!” I snatched it from him and threw open the flap. Everything appeared to be in order, though I had no memory of repacking my notes before we’d rushed across campus to his apartment, drunk on lust. Blind to all other concerns.
What in the name of eternal chaos had gotten into me?
“Amber, there’s something else.”
The solemn tone of his voice stilled my hand. I looked up.
“The Bluehelm met me on the path. She was headed this way, and if I hadn’t caught her, she would have shown up here at my door.”
“Why?” Unease churned in my belly.
“She wanted my opinion on whether you should be allowed to undergo the trial.”
“So, you got another chance to plead your case for my dismissal.”
“Yes. And so I did,” he confessed, holding my gaze.
“Even after…?” I glanced at his bed, where the bedclothes were still rumpled.
“Yes. You already know my opinion on this matter, and last night has no relevance to it.”
Of course it didn’t. Desmond was far too logical to let pleasure get in the way of his rational opinion. Or even affection, should that actually exist. Though I was starting to believe that the older Gregory brother and I were saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal—destined to explode upon contact, yet unable to enjoy each other’s company.
I understood that his opinion wasn’t personal, and he’d been honest with me about that from the start. Thus it should not have stung. Yet a brand-new ache had formed just beneath my ribs, clutching me like a vise.
I inhaled slowly. Bracing myself for the inevitable. For a loss that would surely rival the loss of my memory.
“So then…I won’t be allowed to compete?”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I gave my opinion, but her next question was quite specific. She asked if you would be in greater danger than any other student in the Black Trial, and I had no choice but to truthfully answer that in my opinion, after six weeks of study, you are not the least proficient member of your cohort. At which point I was informed that you are passing both of your classes and your professors are both quite impressed with your progress.” He cleared his throat and looked distinctly displeased. “You will be allowed to compete.”
A jolt of anticipation fired throughout my entire body, lighting it on fire.
“I have to go bathe.” I stood and dropped the strap of my bag over my head, onto my shoulder. “And change clothes.” I stepped toward the door, but then Desmond’s left hand closed around my arm, before I even realized he’d stood.
“Just because you are not the least proficient does not mean there is no danger.”
“I am aware.” I pulled my arm from his grasp.
“Amber, you coulddie.”
“I—”
