Chapter Nine
Callen
I slip through Grimstone ’ s winding corridors. My glamour magic shifts, blurring my features into an unremarkable face. Just another student, nothing to see here. I have zero desire to explain to anyone where I ’ m going. And I know my father—and therefore the Council—has eyes everywhere.
I round a corner and freeze. Shit. The dean ’ s at the end of the hall, talking to Laria. I hang back, lingering where I ’ m sure I ’ m out of sight. I see Laria tilt her head and look in my direction, but then she focuses her attention back on whatever the dean is saying. I wait until they walk away, each in a different direction, neither heading my way.
If I could have used my magic and portalled to my destination I would have, but the wards around the academy detect any kind of magic being used to get in or out, and the last thing I want to do is draw attention to where I ’ m going and who I ’ m about to meet.
The chill night air hits me like a slap as I slip out a side door. Damp mist clings to my skin, seeping through my clothes. I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter.
Fuck, it ’ s cold.
The grounds are unnervingly quiet. I keep to the edges, avoiding the main paths. Can ’ t risk being seen.
My boots crunch on frosted ground as I near the edge of the academy ’ s warded property. Just beyond, a small cottage comes into view. Light flickers behind curtained windows.
This better be worth it.
I approach cautiously, eyes scanning for any movement. Nothing. I raise my hand to knock, then hesitate. If I ’ m wrong about this...
No. I need answers.
I rap my knuckles against the wood in a specific pattern. One-two-three. Pause. Two quick taps.
Silence stretches. This is a mistake. I should turn back. Tiernan was right. Playing both sides is a game I won ’ t win.
Then—a creak. The door opens a crack.
“ Get in,” a gruff voice growls.
I slip inside. The living room is cramped, dimly lit. Professor Azareon sits in an armchair, the source I ’ m here to meet across from him. Two hulking figures flank him—shifters, by the look of them. Their eyes track my every move.
“ You weren ’ t followed?” the professor asks.
I scoff. “ Please. Give me some credit.”
He nods, gesturing to an empty chair. “ Sit. We have much to discuss.”
I slide into a chair, leaning forward. “ Nice place. Very cozy.”
Azareon ’ s eyes narrow. “ This isn ’ t a social call, Callen.”
“ No shit.” I drop the act, my voice hardening. “ I ’ m risking as much as you are by being here.” I gesture at the man in the hooded cloak across from me. “ What do you think my father would do if he knew I was meeting with rebels?”
The professor snorts. “ You entitled fool. You have no idea what your father is capable of doing, what he has done, to some of us.”
I clench my jaw. “ Enough. This isn ’ t what I ’ m here to talk about. You said he had information.” I gesture to the rebel, who has yet to utter a single word.
The man finally speaks. “ Dean Charling ’ s murder.”
“ What do you know about it?” I study his face, partially obscured by shadows.
The rebel exchanges a look with his shifter guards.
“ It was shadow magic,” he says finally.
“ No fucking kidding. Tell me something I don ’ t know.”
“ It was shadow magic wielded by the Council.”
My blood runs cold. I force my face to remain neutral. “ You ’ re saying the Council—”
“ Killed Dean Charling,” he cuts in.
Shadow magic wielded by someone without the innate ability. By people who shouldn ’ t have it at all? The implications are staggering. It ’ s just like I ’ ve been hearing from rebel sources. The Council has been extracting and using shadow magic for their own purposes.
“ Who?” I demand.
Professor Azareon shakes his head. “ We don ’ t know. But whoever it was... they ’ re powerful.”
The rebel ’ s voice drops to a rasp. “ It goes deeper than you know. The Council, your father, the elite families—they ’ re all in this together.”
My stomach twists. I keep my face impassive, but my mind races. “ Explain.”
He leans forward, shadows dancing across his hooded face. “ They ’ ve been harvesting shadow magic for years. Extracting it from those born with the gift, using it to further their own power. They dispose of the shadow magic wielders and pretend shadow magic is extinct.”
“ That ’ s impossible,” I argue, but doubt gnaws at me. “ Shadow magic can ’ t be transferred.”
Azareon ’ s laugh is bitter. “ That ’ s what they want you to believe. But they ’ ve found a way. Dark rituals, blood sacrifices. They ’ re tapping into something ancient, something that should have remained buried.”
The hair on my arm lifts.
I force my face to remain impassive, but my mind reels. “ Which families?”
Azareon stands and stokes the fire in the hearth with a long poker. “ That ’ s something we ’ re trying to find out.”
“ How long?”
“ Years. Decades. Ever since they sent the Raven King packing.” Azareon sits back down and picks up his mug of tea, taking a sip.
I lean back, processing. “ Why tell me this?”
“ Because you ’ ve recklessly involved yourself. Did you think your poking around wouldn ’ t get noticed?”
The hooded man speaks. “ We ’ d rather have you on our side than against us. But if you betray us, we ’ ll slit your princely throat from ear to ear.” One of the shifters chuckles.
I stand abruptly. “ I think we ’ re done here.”
As I move to leave, his words stop me cold:
“ They ’ re after the girl.”
I freeze, hand on the doorknob. Brigid. Of course, it all comes back to her.
It ’ s colder than an ice mage ’ s tit and I curse at not being able to portal back to my room. The moon is high in the sky and there ’ s a frost ring around it. As I ’ m looking at the moon, I think of Rory. After I relay the information I learned tonight to Tiernan and Lochan, we need to focus on getting our friend back—alive and in one piece, preferably.
As I approach the academy gates, I feel a sense of being watched. Something ’ s off. The shadows seem to thicken and grow.
I freeze mid-step as a figure emerges from the darkness. Marius. His eyes glitter as he blocks my path.
“ If it isn ’ t the little princeling, skulking around like a weasel.”
I allow myself half a second of picturing Marius ’ s head sliced off and rolling down the hill behind me. But the name of the game tonight is not drawing attention to myself, so I resist the urge to end him. “ Just enjoying the night air.” I force a casual tone.
Marius steps closer. “ Don ’ t play dumb. Though on second thought,” Marius examines his tattoo-covered hand, “ You ’ re probably not playing.”
“ What about you, Marius? What the fuck are you doing out here?”
His eyes narrow. “ My business is my own. Stay out of it if you know what ’ s good for you.”
“ Is that a threat?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft.
“ Consider it friendly advice,” Marius sneers.
I step even closer, nearly nose to nose with him now. “ When were we ever friends? Fuck off.”
For a moment I think Marius might actually take a swing at me.
But he just melts back into the shadows, like a fucking wraith.
I shake my head. The further that asshole stays away from Brigid, the better. I make a note to discuss how to make that happen with the guys when I get back to the suite.
I watch the spot where Marius vanished. Fucker thinks he can play mind games with me? Amateur hour.
As I make my way into the building, I notice that the academy hallways feel colder tonight. Darker. Like the shadows are watching me. Judging.
My feet carry me down familiar paths. Before I know it, I ’ m in Brigid ’ s hall.
Shit.
How the hell did that happen? I run my hand through my hair and sigh, then turn around to retrace my steps.
And there she is.
Brigid. Walking towards her room. Hair a mess, eyes tired. Beautiful. She spots me. Smiles. That rare, genuine smile that lights up her whole face.
Fuck.
I can ’ t.We agreed on a plan and we have to see it through if we ’ re going to keep King Cillian in the dark about what we ’ re doing behind the scenes. Better my father thinks I ’ m a no-good lazy idiot who's fucking half the academy, than that I ’ m—that I ’ m what?—in love with Brigid? Willing to do anything to keep her safe? It ’ s all of that and it ’ s also so much more.
The Council is watching Brigid ’ s every move. There ’ s no way we can help her if we ’ re under the same magnifying glass.
So I keep walking. Eyes forward. Like I don ’ t see her.
Her voice, soft and uncertain. “ Callen?”
Keep walking. Don ’ t look back.
“ Callen, wait—”
My fucking heart feels like it ’ s being sliced down the middle. But I round the corner without breaking stride.
Behind me, silence.
I fucked up. I know it. But, better she hates me. Makes it easier to pull off this fucking sham of not wanting her, easier to throw off the Council and King fucking Cillian.
Brigid ’ s face flashes in my mind. The hurt in her eyes.
I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Like go back and pin her against the wall, tasting those soft lips I ’ ve been dreaming about. Run my hands through her messy hair, feeling its silky strands between my fingers. Trace the curves of her body, memorizing every dip and swell. Breathe in her scent that drives me wild.
I imagine throwing her onto the bed. Slowly peeling off her clothes to reveal her smooth, pale skin. Exploring every inch of her with my mouth, savoring her gasps and moans as my touch sets her on fire. Feeling her nails dig into my back as I thrust into her, losing myself in her tight heat. Making her come apart beneath me again and again until she begs for mercy.
Fuck.Just the thought of that girl makes me crazy.