Chapter 15
Lyra
WHEN I GET BACK TO the dorm after a particularly grueling mathematics class—seriously, when will I ever need to know that stuff?—the air smells of sugar and spice. Immediately, Juniper pops her head out of my robe pocket and says, “I smell frosting.”
“Lyra!” Alina calls as I peel my loafers off and drop them on the mat beside the door. “Layla brought cupcakes!”
“Oh, sweet goddess,” Juniper whispers, whiskers twitching. “Her red velvet cupcakes are the best.”
I laugh and reach down to stroke a finger over her head.
“Poppy, your mom came by?” I call out as I pad into the sitting room in my stockings.
“Yup!” She’s pouring a cup of tea and looks over at me. “She claimed she made too many cupcakes and needed someone to give them to, but I think she just wanted an excuse to come visit.” Her lips pull up in a smile. “Go on, there are a few left over. Juniper, you can have one too.”
“Part of one,” I correct, looking down at Juniper as I take a seat on the couch next to Alina. “Too much sugar and you’ll be up all night.”
“You,” Juniper says as she scurries out of my pocket and into my lap, nose scenting the air, “can speak for yourself. I’m much older than you in rat years.”
I arch a brow at her. “But I’m the one you keep up when you’re on a nighttime sugar high.”
Juniper pretends not to hear me—or maybe she really is just too focused on the cupcakes to process what I said.
There are a few flavors still available: a chocolate-vanilla swirl, what looks like a chocolate cupcake marbled with caramel, and Juniper’s favorite, a red velvet.
“How about we split it?” I offer.
Juniper nods once. “Deal.”
I cut the red-velvet cupcake into two halves (mine is slightly larger), then settle back on the couch to enjoy it. Juniper readjusts herself in my lap and takes a pawful of the dessert, getting crumbs all over her whiskers.
“Where’s Maeve?” I ask as Poppy takes a seat on the other couch, teacup cradled in her hands.
“Went on a run with Aric, I think,” Alina says from beside me. Yuki is curled up in her lap, and she has her nose stuck in a book.
I grimace. “A run?”
There are few things more painful than forced exercise. The fact that Maeve chooses to willingly exert herself like that is insane to me.
As if to prove my point, I take another bite of my cupcake.
“So, are those for her?” I point to the last remaining cupcakes sitting on the low table.
Poppy shakes her head. “No, she already had one. And so did Raelan.”
Oh, right. I thought he smelled oddly sweet when I passed him in the stairwell.
As I take another bite, I recall the carrot cake Cairn made, the buttercream frosting so smooth and the perfectly fluffy cake beneath it. I’m pretty sure he has a sweet tooth, not unlike Juniper. And he did help me when I sprained my wrist. Maybe I could take him a cupcake as a thank-you gift.
Does he like chocolate? I wonder, staring at the two cupcakes.
“What is it?” Poppy asks, eyeing me over her teacup.
I reach up and snag a curl, then twist it around my finger. “Do you mind if I take those?” I ask.
Beside me, Alina lowers her book enough to gaze at me over the pages. “Take them where?”
Of course she’s going to give me a hard time about it. Must be payback for how often I nettled her about Raelan last year.
In the most nonchalant tone I can manage, I say, “I want to take one to Cairn. To thank him for helping me with my wrist.”
Alina and Poppy exchange a glance. And despite how they try to hide it, they both smile.
THE SUN IS ALREADY GOING down as I leave the castle and start making my way through the courtyard and toward Cairn’s hut at the edge of the trees.
I pass under the barbican, feeling the cold air pebble my skin despite my cloak, then step through to the other side, where the Mistwood towers high over my head, casting long shadows in the falling light.
And there, standing across the valley at the edge of the tree line, is Cairn’s thatched hut. Smoke puffs slowly from the chimney, curling into the cool leaf-scented air before disappearing into the pine trees above.
As I approach, the door to the hut opens, and Cairn steps out.
There’s a cart parked just outside his door, loaded down with wooden boxes and what look like bags of grain and flour.
He hefts one of the huge sacks easily over his shoulder, then starts to turn.
But he must catch sight of me in his peripherals, because he stops suddenly, head swiveling in my direction, wide horns catching the evening light.
When he meets my gaze, a full-body shiver goes through me, and I tell myself it’s just from the chill in the air and not the depths of his dark brown eyes.
I close the distance between us, holding the covered platter of cupcakes in my hands. Cairn doesn’t move as I approach, just watches me curiously, that huge sack still slung over his shoulder. It probably weighs nearly what I do.
“Hi,” I say as I come to a stop a few paces from his door.
He stares at me, brow furrowed. Then, slowly, he says, “What day is it?”
Tipping my head, I say, “Wednesday.”
My community service is only on Saturdays, and I’ve never visited him on any other day of the week. Maybe that’s why he’s confused.
He reaches up to scratch his scruffy beard, and I get the overwhelming desire to know what that beard would feel like beneath my palms, running through my fingers.
Uh-oh.
“So . . . why are you here?” he asks.
Clearing my throat, I hold out my hands, and his gaze slides to the platter held aloft. “I brought you a little something to say thank you for helping me with my wrist the other day.”
Cairn’s eyes meet mine again. As I recall how careful and gentle his hands were when he wrapped my wrist, my cheeks start to tingle with warmth.
Quickly, I turn my face and body toward the cart, trying to banish the rush of heat. “D-do you want some help unloading this?”
A long moment of silence passes. It’s long enough that I actually glance over at him.
He still looks confused.
I sigh. “Here, I’ll put these down, and then I’ll help.”
Instead of waiting for his okay, I brush past him—and try to ignore the even bigger rush of heat his proximity causes in me—and step into the little hut.
The fire is crackling, and it smells like woodsmoke and mountain sage.
A few bags are already sitting on the floor in the kitchen, and there’s a wooden box atop the table.
As Cairn steps through the doorway behind me, I set the cupcake platter on the kitchen table.
We sidestep each other—this space feels significantly smaller with him standing in it—and I hurry outside to the cart.
There’s a sack of flour sitting at the edge, and I look at it with determination.
I can get that.
Grabbing hold of the edge of the bag, I grit my teeth and heft it up and onto my shoulder. And immediately, the weight tips me off-balance, and I stumble back, already preparing myself to hit the ground.
Stupid, stupid, stup—
Strong hands grasp my waist, steadying me. They’re big enough that they could probably encircle my entire waist. Such big hands . . .
Heat rushes through my veins as I tip my head back and find Cairn looming over me.
Okay, maybe not so stupid . . .
Cairn huffs out a breath, and with what looks like no effort, he lifts the bag of flour from my shoulder and transfers it to his own. “Why don’t you get that instead?” He points to a small wooden crate loaded with what look like gardening supplies.
“S-sure,” I say, trying (and probably failing) to banish the blush from my cheeks.
Taking hold of the crate, I lift it (definitely more my size) and carry it into the hut. While Cairn sets the huge sack of flour down, I put the crate onto the table.
We work in companionable silence, unloading everything from the cart. Once it’s empty, Cairn leaves me standing by the front door while he pulls the cart around the back side of the hut. And I’m still standing there, wondering what the heck I’m even doing here, when he returns.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing the taut muscles in his forearms, and his chest looks even bigger as he crosses his arms and regards me with an arched brow. His tail whips behind him, though I can’t tell what the sharp flicks of it mean.
“Why are you really here?” His voice is deep and cautious.
I draw myself up. “Already told you.” Gesturing toward the hut, I say, “I brought cupcakes.”
“You came all the way here to bring me cupcakes?”
I can’t tell if he sounds annoyed or amused. Maybe a bit of both.
“Well, I assumed you like chocolate, but if not . . .” I shrug. “I could take them back. Raelan will probably eat them.”
“Raelan?” His tone sounds slightly sharper, and his brown eyes narrow.
For some ridiculous (and probably immature) reason, I opt not to clarify. He doesn’t need to know Raelan is Alina’s mate and fiancé.
“I guess I’ll go, then.” I turn and start into the hut. “I’ll just grab the cupcakes and—”
“Wait.”
A smile wants to curl across my mouth, but by some miracle, I’m able to keep a straight face as I look back at him.
With an unnecessarily heavy sigh, he drops his arms and says, “I like chocolate.”
This time, I do smile.
“WHO MADE THESE?” CAIRN ASKS. We’re seated at the bistro table in the garden, the cupcake platter between us. He started with the chocolate-caramel cupcake, and I think he’s melting into his chair right now as he takes another bite.
“My roommate’s mom. You ever been to the Wandering Cup? In Wysteria?”
Cairn shakes his head and takes another bite.
“It’s a little café. Poppy’s mom owns it. She brought some cupcakes today, and we had leftovers. So I snagged you some.”
He finishes the cupcake and dabs his lips with a cotton napkin, then clears his throat. His eyes flick up to meet mine. “Well . . . thank you.”
“Mm-hmm.” Instead of looking away, like I usually do, I hold his gaze. One second, two, three. A tingle goes through me. And by the way his eyes narrow slightly and his gaze flicks down to my mouth, I wonder if he’s feeling what I’m feeling right now.
And I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I know that. He’s a faculty member, and I’m already on the verge of being expelled. But I can’t help being drawn to him. He’s so different, so unlike anyone else I’ve ever known. And I want to know more.
Like what his beard feels like. What his lips taste like. What his—
Cairn breaks eye contact, looking at something over my shoulder.
I turn and find the red fox he’s been tending to standing just outside the open door. The fox sniffs the air, ears perking up. Then it turns and regards us with a steady gaze.
“I-I must have left the door open,” I say, starting to panic as I push to my feet. “I’m sorry. I’ll—”
“It’s okay.” Cairn stands slowly. A smile tugs on the corner of his lips. “I think it’s time he went home.”
My focus slides back to the fox, even as Cairn walks around the bistro table to stand beside me.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, as if my voice might scare the fox away.
Above me, Cairn nods. “I’ve been leaving the door open, letting him decide. And it seems he’s ready to go.”
On quiet hooves, Cairn walks out of the garden and approaches the fox. He kneels and holds a hand out, and the fox must understand his intentions, for it offers its paw, waiting patiently as Cairn unwraps the cotton bandage and double-checks the wound.
“Looks healed,” he says, though I think he’s talking to the fox and not to me. “You’re fine now, my friend.”
The fox tests its weight on its paw, not limping in the least as it twirls in one circle, then another. Then it leaps up onto Cairn’s knee and licks his chin.
And Cairn laughs. It’s such a deep and beautiful sound, like a song of the mountains. It makes my chest squeeze.
“You’re welcome,” he says to the fox.
And just like that, the fox lopes across the grass and toward the tree line, a smudge of crimson against the darkening night.
At the edge of the woods, it pauses for a moment to look back, as if to say thank you one more time, and then it vanishes into the trees, disappearing into the shadows like a specter on Samhain.
Cairn watches it go, then stares at the place where it disappeared for a few long, quiet moments. I observe his profile: the twirl of his glossy horns, the firm set of his brow, the nose ring he wears as it catches the last of the autumn sunlight.
And I know, can no longer deny, that I want this man.
I want him badly.
He pushes up from the grass, and I swallow as he turns to face me. Our eyes meet. My mouth goes dry.
Does he feel the same? No, of course not. How could he? I’m a fire hazard, an extra duty he has to see to in his day. But the look in his eyes makes me wonder, tempts me to hope.
Cairn glances away, then back. He shifts his hooves in the crinkly autumn grass.
And if I’m not completely imagining things, I think he looks almost . . . nervous.
Of my fire? Or of me?
The thought makes more of that hope shimmer to life in my chest.
“The moonflowers will bloom soon,” he says, breaking eye contact again to glance at his garden. “As soon as the moon rises.”
Tipping my face to the sky, I can just barely see a few tiny stars twinkling into view as the sun finally sinks over the distant horizon.
“I’ve never seen a blooming moonflower before,” I remark, lowering my head to regard him again. Beneath my ribs, my heart pounds harder. “But . . . I’d like to.”
Cairn flexes his fingers into fists at his sides, then releases them slowly. With a quiet voice, he says, “You could stay a while longer, if you’d like. To see them.”
Veins threatening to burst, I give him what I hope is a subtle smile. “Sure. I’d like that.”