Ophelia
As I leave the forest behind, the music and chaos fading into the distance, the ache in my chest lingers.
The arches of the main building rise ahead, stark against the night, but I barely see them.
I circle past toward the rear grounds, where the training fields stretch wide, and keep walking without pause, my steps pulling me further back.
Toward the stables. Toward my peace.
Bellamy is waiting.
The moment the stalls come into view, my heartbeat eases. My lungs expand as though I’ve been holding them tight all evening.
I push open the stable door, the scent of hay and leather enveloping me. From the far end comes a warm exhale and the soft stamp of hooves.
My heart lifts.
“Hello, my beautiful boy,” I murmur, stepping forward.
Bellamy raises his head, dark eyes meeting mine before he lets out a pleased snort. His white coat gleams even after the journey, his mane brushed and flowing.
I unlatch the stall gate, and he steps forward, pressing his nose to my cheek. I cradle his face in both hands, fingers running down his muzzle. For the first time in days, I feel calm.
“I missed you more than you know,” I whisper.
He nudges my shoulder in reply, and I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. This feels right. If only for a moment, the weight lifts entirely away from me.
It’s late, the sky stretched in a dark expanse above, but I’ve ridden in worse. This won’t be the first time I’ve taken him out beneath the stars.
I lift the tack from the wall, a dark English saddle and bridle, the leather embroidered with my initials.
I work through the motions by habit, tightening the girth, adjusting the bit, settling the noseband.
He stands quietly, calm as ever. I reward him with a carrot from the feed box, which he crunches through with satisfaction.
When all is ready, I lead him out through the side exit. There’s a proper trail not far from the stables, kept neat and level for training. But that isn’t what I need tonight. I want the far side of Elaris Isle instead, the old woods, the part left wild.
I mount, settle into the saddle, and guide him forward. Moonlight threads faint silver through the branches, just enough to mark our way. Once the trees fall back and the ground opens before us, I press my knees into his sides.
He breaks into a run.
The earth trembles under the force of his stride, each hoofbeat like thunder rolling through the soil.
The wind claws at my clothes, whips strands of hair free, drags the weight from my chest until it feels as though it might scatter behind me.
Minutes, hours, I can’t tell how long we move like this, only that I don’t want it to end.
The first drop brushes my cheek. I glance upward as the drizzle gathers, light at first. I loosen the reins, and Bellamy falls into a trot before halting altogether. I stay astride, tilting my face to the sky, letting it wash over me.
The stars glimmer faintly between restless clouds. A bead of water trails down my temple, then another, until the rain comes in earnest.
I close my eyes and let the rain soak through me, every layer, every thought, every feeling. It runs down my cheeks, along my arms, down my back, and before I know why, I start to laugh.
A real, unrestrained laugh. Because this is what I needed, to drown out the Circle’s endless games, Arlo’s venom, the gaps in my memory… the boy that—
No. I shake it off, refusing to linger.
I shift in the saddle, give him the signal, and we’re off again. Faster. Deeper into the trees. The ground is slick beneath us, but he knows the way.
Time unravels yet again. We run until my muscles burn and my breath grows ragged. Bellamy’s flanks heave beneath me, his strength finally waning. I ease him to a walk, guiding us back along the familiar trail toward the academy.
By the time we reach the stables, I’m drenched through, hair plastered to my skin, my coat and jumper sodden, my socks squelching with every step once I dismount.
The heat of the ride drains away too quickly, leaving the cold to seep into my bones.
I tremble as I work, slipping the bridle free, unbuckling the girth, lifting the saddle from his back.
He nudges me gently. I rub him down with a dry cloth, fill his basin, scatter a measure of feed. He lowers his head to drink, and I rest a hand against his flank. The air inside the stable is warm enough, so he won’t need a cover tonight.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his nose. “You were brilliant, as always.”
He exhales against my cheek, and I secure the stall, checking it twice before locking the main door behind me. The keys clink softly as I slip them into my pocket.
The walk back to the dorms is long, but I welcome it. My legs ache, my arms are leaden, yet the silence steadies me.
Sleep will likely evade me, it often does after this kind of rush. But at least the night air lends the illusion that the weight on my chest might be carried away with the wind.
At the dorm I climb the stairs slowly. The lock is broken, so the door needs no card. A small prickle of unease flares as I push it open, but I convince myself it’s nothing.
The building is monitored, cameras are everywhere. No one would be foolish enough to risk the Thirteenth Circle’s wrath tonight. Besides, most people are still at the party.
I step inside and pull the door shut hard enough to make it sound secure. A chair wedged beneath the handle will have to do, it’s hardly effective, but at least it feels like something.
I peel off my soaked boots at the threshold and head further in, shivering as I reach for the light switch.
The room floods with brightness, and my heart lurches violently. A startled sound escapes me as my hand flies to my chest.
Arlo is sitting on the sofa.
As if it were his own room. His shirt is damp and creased, his hoodie tossed carelessly to the floor, shoes abandoned beside it.
His hair is slightly mussed, arms spread along the back of the sofa in a show of ease that doesn’t match the storm in his face.
His expression is thunderous, his gaze fixed wholly on me.
“What the hell are you doing in my dorm?” My voice hovers between fury and disbelief. Twice in one day. Has the man truly nothing better to do?
He doesn’t even blink.
“Is this your idea of habit?” I snap, pulse hammering in my throat. “Breaking into other people’s rooms, sitting about in the dark? Do you make a practice of it, or am I simply the unlucky exception?”
His gaze drifts to the damp strands at my temple, the rain clinging to my skin, then returns to my face. Still nothing. The silence infuriates me. He has no sense of boundaries.
I remain rooted where I am, I don’t trust myself to step closer. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you can’t abide me. So do as you say, and stay the hell away.” My words come out clipped.
His jaw tightens, but he still doesn’t move. I narrow my eyes. “Say something. Anything. Or better yet, keep your mouth shut and leave.”
He keeps watching. Then, without warning, he rises and takes a step toward me. Another follows. His scent reaches me, and I have to brace myself not to buckle at the knees. The distance shrinks until my back finds the wall.
There’s a look on his face I don’t recognise, no smirk, no cold indifference. Something else entirely.
And it strikes me, with sudden force, that I don’t truly know him at all. The thought unsettles me.
His eyes hold something I can’t name, and it leaves a fine tremor beneath my skin, fear… and something far less sensible.
“Where the hell were you?” His voice cracks the air, sudden enough to make me flinch.
My brows snap together. “Excuse me?”
“I asked you a question,” he bites out. “And you’d do well to answer.”
I lift my chin. “I don’t owe you a damn thing. Where I go is none of your concern.”
“You can’t just vanish for hours,” he snaps, stepping closer, eyes burning. “No one knowing where you are—”
“And why does that matter to you?” I throw back. “You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t give a damn.”
His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring. “I don’t,” he says flatly, though the heat in his stare betrays him. “You could fall off a cliff and it wouldn’t touch me.”
I laugh under my breath. “Right. That’s why you’re sitting here, in my room of all places, breaking into my dorm like some deranged stalker, demanding answers.”
He takes another step, chest brushing mine, his voice vicious. “I’m here to remind you that actions have consequences.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to waver, though I don’t even know where this comes from anymore.
I’m tired, tired of him and his endless games, and tired of myself for always stepping straight into them.
“No.” My lips twist into a cold smile. “You can’t hate me and want to fuck me in the same breath, Vass. It’s one or the other. Make up your bloody mind.”
His smirk turns cruel. “Why settle on one, Bellanti? Perhaps I’d rather hate fuck you.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. In the next instant, his mouth is on mine. The impact is fierce, almost brutal, and maddeningly, I answer it without hesitation. My hands lift instinctively to his chest, but he catches them mid-air, pinning them above my head.
When he finally pulls away, his voice is as infuriating as I knew it would be. “Go take a hot shower before you catch pneumonia and drop dead.”
“Let go of my hands and I will,” I retort, still breathless from the kiss.
He doesn’t. He holds me pinned against him. For a long beat, we simply stare, our breathing jagged, rising in tandem.
I can feel him through his clothes, the hard line pressing into my stomach, infuriating and impossible to ignore. My panties are damp, my body betraying me as it always does around him, tightening with need.
Our eyes stay locked, wills clashing in silence.
Damn him for being so obscenely handsome. If he could just be a normal man, one not blinded by his hatred of me at every turn, I wouldn’t hesitate, I’d let him take me apart in an instant.
The pull he has on me is too fierce, too consuming, and it feels dangerously, intoxicatingly good.
Then his mouth seizes mine again in a fevered kiss, and damn him, I know I’d let him take me apart this instant, even if he is the worst kind of arsehole.
I hate myself for it, yet I can’t bring myself to care, not when my body feels so alive pressed against the unrelenting strength of his.