Nova

Chapter 15 #2

I raised my chin defiantly. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say your name. With everything you’ve done so far...and everything you’re still doing, you don’t deserve to be called by one.” Then I stepped to the side with a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me.”

I passed him, letting out my held breath as quietly as I could. His deep, amused chuckle followed me, wrecking the rhythm of my heart.

I didn’t hear him move from where he was for a while, and when he finally did, he didn’t hurry up to catch up with me. He stayed behind me, letting the weight of his gaze brand itself between my shoulders.

Crater Sites and Celestial Myths: A Geological Re-examination of the Nimorran Cataclysm.

My cursor blinked behind the full stop for the hundredth and fourth time—yes, I counted—while my hand stayed glued on the delete key.

I’ve had this dance four times now. I would open my laptop, stare at the document then slam it shut after a while because it was hard to say goodbye to the curiosity that’d lived with me since I knew myself.

I thought I would get answers coming here.

Ugh.

What was I supposed to write now? Weeny Man was nowhere to be found, and he was the only one I knew who understood the history and Nimorran—

Hold on.

Weeny Man wasn’t the only one who knew Nimorran so well. Thrax knew about the Pylath. He was the only one who knew about it. He must know things, stuffs even Weeny Man didn’t.

He should know Crater-related topics.

That thought slapped a new pulse into my brain. I set the laptop aside on the kitchen counter and moved away, my socks padding lightly against the wood floor as I took the stairs two at a time.

On the landing, I paused.

The bathroom door was shut, and the sound of running water pulsed through the hallway. He was in there.

I couldn’t ask him yet. I rolled my eyes so hard it might’ve cracked something behind them. “Great,” I muttered under my breath, almost groaning. Turning around, I hopped two steps down—

But then I stopped.

An improper idea—utterly unethical, wildly unwise, and probably felonious, something I shouldn’t do—slid into my brain. He wasn’t in his room, he was in the bathroom. Which meant…

I could go through it. His room. Not for anything serious. Not really. I just needed a glimpse, a proof or something solid to convince my mind to be more wary of him. Try as I might, my body was beginning to relax around him.

I turned carefully this time, my hand trailing the wall as a small smile tugged the corner of my mouth. Quietly, I walked back up, eased his bedroom door open, and slipped inside.

The untouched looking room greeted me. There was not a sock out of place, not a sheet rumpled. The air smelled of that eerie blend of cedarwood and cold smoke that invaded my senses around him.

The entire space was spotless. Books on the desk were arranged by size and spine height. His pillows were positioned in a perfect diagonal. I could practically imagine him smoothing over them, tucking away every wrinkle.

Did he have a dirt disorder?

I moved to the wardrobe and opened it slowly. Inside, his dark coats hung neatly, and I dipped my hands into each pocket, fingertips skimming over keys, coins, and scraps of paper with notes scribbled in a language I didn’t recognise.

The drawers came next. I was careful not to scatter anything. Not because I cared if he noticed, but because I knew he would. A hair out of place, and he’d know someone had been here.

But I wasn’t looking for anything specific. Just…anything. Something that would tell me I was right to be afraid of him.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except order and discipline that could easily double as obsession. Or control.

I was halfway through sliding the last drawer shut when the bathroom door creaked open.

I froze.

Then unfroze in a manic burst of oh-fuck energy as my brain went full animal-in-a-cage mode.

There was nowhere. Nowhere.

My eyes darted—under the bed? Too low. Behind the curtain? Too thin. Under the desk? Not unless I wanted to greet him with my arse first.

The wardrobe. It was the only place.

I leapt. Like actually leapt. Closed the drawer, flung open the wardrobe, climbed inside and yanked the door shut with a soft snick just as the room door opened.

And closed.

My heart did the same. Thud. Silence. Thud.

It was then I realised just how daft I was. Why the wardrobe of all places? He just came out of the bathroom and the first place he’d go to would be where he’d find clothes to wear.

Shit. Getting caught red-handed was better than this.

Footsteps padded across the room, and I held my breath as they came in my direction, only to change course just before he got to the wardrobe.

My eyes squeezed shut, my knees ached and my lungs were already protesting. But it wasn’t just the position, it was the scent. I was surrounded by it now. Warm fabrics. His shirts. His coats. His body, practically. It was like being held inside his ribcage.

Suffocating didn’t begin to cover it.

A drawer opened and closed.

His steps came again. Then…stopped.

A chair creaked.

He sat.

Minutes dragged. One. Two. Maybe five. I couldn’t tell. I was slipping into madness with each second. Sweat trickled down my back, my pulse thumping in my ears.

“You should be getting suffocated by now.” His voice was low and calm as usual, the last word pushed out with a sigh.

Was he on the phone?

“Come out while I’m being nice.”

My heart stopped, like it had just forgotten how to beat, just like I’d forgotten how to breathe.

He wasn’t on the phone.

He was talking to me!

Fuck. Why did I keep embarrassing myself?

If I hadn’t already been dying inside the wardrobe, I might’ve hesitated out of pure shame. But shame didn’t even have time to settle before I pushed the door open and stepped out, subtly sucking in air.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

He was seated beside the window, but my eyes refused to meet his. They darted everywhere else, clinging to the ceiling corners like they were suddenly the most fascinating things I’d ever seen.

“Your room is...very spotless,” I said, a smile forced on my lips.

“I love control.”

I swallowed, nodding as I rubbed my palms together like that’d erase the awkward tension strangling me. “So that’s why,” I murmured, mostly to myself. Was that why he never let my room stay a mess? What a freak.

“I’m not going to ask why you were inside there,” he added, still seated. “I figured that out the moment I heard the door open.”

I nodded again, awkwardly. Of course he did. Then, taking a step forward, I said, “I’ll take my leave now—”

But he stood. And just like that, all motion in my legs shut down. I didn’t even mean to look at him, but my gaze lifted, as though drawn to him by something that wasn’t mine.

Gods.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

He ran a hand through his long damp hair and pushed it back from his face. It clung to his neck like silk that had made a vow to never dry. The robe he wore was black. Simple. But on him it looked like a war priest’s mantle, something ceremonial and lethal all at once.

And he wouldn’t stop walking.

He kept coming.

One slow, maddening step at a time, until my back hit the wardrobe I’d just crawled out of.

He stopped inches in front of me—close enough that if he leaned just a little more, I wouldn’t be able to breathe without inhaling his soul.

“It’s astounding,” he said quietly, “how you really have no sense of danger.”

My brows pulled together. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

His hand lifted so slowly I had time to flinch but didn’t. He reached for my face and gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the pads of his fingers grazing the curve of my cheek like they were reading it in braille.

“Whatever you think.”

He was staring at my hair with a kind of attention I might have used if I were inspecting something forbidden from human’s touch.

His fingers lingered behind my ear, not quite touching anymore, but not falling away either.

My lungs tightened, the fresh air I’d stolen earlier already gone, replaced by something heady and warm.

Then his eyes lowered and locked with mine.

My body went numb.

The room could have gone up in flames and I wouldn’t have broken eye contact.

His gaze dipped again...

Down to my mouth.

I felt the weight of it like a thumb dragging across my bottom lip. He didn’t move, but the effect of his eyes was dizzying, my lips suddenly feeling too full, too dry and too aware.

I parted them slightly, a breath escaping without my permission. His eyes didn’t leave. If anything, they darkened, as though that one breath had fiddled with his buttons.

The urge to wet my lips surged, wild and needy, followed by the stupid, reckless impulse to distract him.

“My question for the day,” I blurted.

His lids lifted, slow and languid, as a deep hmm rumbled in his throat. His Adam’s apple moved with it, sliding up and down.

“Why don’t you have a shadow?” I asked. Then, quickly—“And yes, I know it was taken. By who?”

His finger brushed back another strand of hair, gradually easing to the back of my head. “Selvanyra.”

The name didn’t hit at first, it drifted past me because I wasn’t completely focused on his response but rather what was going on between us. But then it echoed...bounced...landed.

Selvanyra...?

My brows shot up. “What? Selvanyra... like the moon?”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke. You’re meant to answer my questions truthfully.”

His gaze dipped again—to my lips. “You’re choosing not to believe me.”

“Would you believe yourself if you were me—?”

“Stop talking,” he commanded softly, his palm tightening at the back of my head, tugging it forward just slightly. All it would take was one tilt of his head, one breath of surrender, and our mouths would meet. But he didn’t move any closer.

My mouth stopped moving on instinct, silenced not by obedience but by sheer sensory overload. And then, without thinking—because I couldn’t not—I darted out my tongue and ran it slowly over my bottom lip, left to right, wetting the place where his eyes lingered.

His gaze followed the movement as his fingers curled tighter into my hair.

“You’re reckless,” he murmured, voice low and molten. “You walk into places you shouldn’t. Every time.”

I wanted to shout Then stop me. I wanted him to drag me back across every line I’d crossed. My body screamed for it, knowing very well I’d regret these thoughts later.

My voice scraped out, dry and hoarse. “So what?”

Thrax pulled me in, the distance between us dissolving. He dipped his head, just enough that his mouth hovered above mine, breath grazing my skin. “One day,” he whispered, “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk out of here on your own.”

“Not today?” I teased, enjoying this a little too much.

His grip at the back of my head didn’t ease. He held me still, held me captive with just a hand in my hair, his breath warm against my cheek, body radiating heat like a storm held in flesh.

He didn’t kiss me.

He didn’t let go either.

His eyes fluttered shut, and when he finally spoke, it was a command barely holding together. “Leave.” But his hand still fisted my hair. His jaw was clenched. Everything about him screamed don’t go, while his voice whispered the opposite.

“Let me go then,” I said softly.

His grip tightened.

“Don’t come in here again.”

“Why?”

“Don’t. Just.”

I could’ve walked away. A normal person would’ve taken the hint, left the room, and never looked back. But I was too curious to be normal.

“You can’t just tell me not to—”

My words faltered when my eyes fell.

The edge of his robe had parted near his chest. And there, carved across his skin like a canyon, was a scar. It was deep, open and brutal. Unhealed in a way that had nothing to do with flesh.

Without thinking, my hand reached out. I tugged his robe down just enough to see more.

And what I saw made my breath die in my throat.

The scar wasn’t a normal scar. It was inhuman—nothing on earth could have caused it.

Thrax grabbed my wrist and snatched my hand off his chest, stepping back from me like my touch had burned him. He yanked the robe closed with a swipe of his arm, covering the ruin I’d dared to look at. My hand was still suspended in the air, unsure whether to reach again or apologise.

Something inside my own chest cracked. It cracked and broke and I couldn’t contain the pieces. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t explain why.

Tears slid down my cheeks without warning. I didn’t even know why. I didn’t understand why the sight of that scar was shattering something inside me.

But the grief I was feeling didn’t feel like mine alone.

It was deeper, deeper than I could ever reach. Almost as if it wasn’t me crying. It was something inside me. Something sorrowful and full of guilt. What was this? Why was I shedding tears?

Thrax didn’t say a word as he watched those tears slide out of my eyes for a few seconds. Then he grabbed my hand, turned me towards the door, and dragged me out.

He left me in front of my door and walked back to his room, shutting his door.

I stood there with my face wet, heart cracking open, and with more questions than I woke up with.