"You have to trust me." He holds out his hand.
I look at his hand and then at his face and thunder rolls again, closer this time. I shouldn't trust him. I know I shouldn't trust him. But his eyes are steady and something in me wants to believe that the person who stood up to Eddie Thorne for me isn't the same person who stood in that chapel in a mask.
I take his hand.
His fingers close around mine and he grins, and then we're running.
He pulls me across the quad and down the hill toward the tree line. I'm laughing because the wind is wild, the sky darkening, and this is objectively stupid. I don't care. We hit the forest and keep going, branches whipping past us. He doesn't let go of my hand.
We come out in a clearing I've never seen before.
There's a stone circle here, old and weathered, half-reclaimed by moss and vines. In the center there's a marker, carved with symbols I don't recognize, and when I step closer I can feel something humming underneath the ground.
"What is this?" I ask.
"An old pack boundary marker. Pre-Academy." He's still holding my hand and he doesn't let go as he walks me closer to the center. "My grandfather told me about it. Said his grandfather used to bring him here when he was young, told him stories about the packs that ran these mountains before the Council consolidated everything."
"Why are you showing me this?"
He looks at me and something in his expression shifts. "Because I wanted you to see something that's mine. Something I don't share with anyone else."
Thunder cracks overhead and the first drops of rain start falling.
I should pull away. Should run back to the dormitory before we're both soaked. Instead I stand there with rain starting to soak through my shirt and Nico Rossi's hand warm around mine.
"We should go," I say, but I don't move.
"Yeah." He doesn't move either.
The rain picks up, fat drops turning into a downpour in seconds. I'm laughing again because this is insane, my hair plastered to my face, and Nico is looking at me like I'm something he didn't expect to find.
He steps closer.
His free hand comes up to brush wet hair out of my face and his thumb traces my cheekbone and I stop breathing.
"Nova," he says, and his voice is rough.
He leans in and I meet him halfway.
His mouth is warm despite the cold rain and he kisses me like he's been thinking about it, like he's been holding himself back and he's done holding back. His hand tangles in my wet hair. I grab the front of his soaked shirt and pull him closer. When his tongue touches mine something electric shoots down my spine.
His other arm goes around my waist, hauling me against him. I can feel the length of his body pressed to mine, all lean muscle and contained strength. The kiss deepens. I make a sound I don't recognize, something needy and wanting, and his grip tightens.
Rain pours down around us and nothing else matters. The cold, the thunder rolling overhead, everything fades except the way his mouth moves on mine, the way his hands feel on my body, the warmth spreading through me.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his lips still close enough that I can feel his exhale against my mouth, both of us panting.
"I've wanted to do that for days," he says.
I look at him through the rain, at his eyes dark with something I recognize, and confusion wars with want in my chest.
"We should get back," I say, but my voice comes out breathless.
"We should."
Neither of us moves.
Then thunder cracks again, close enough to make me jump. The spell breaks. I step back and his hands fall away. We stand there in the rain staring at each other.
