Chapter Seventeen
The tactical theory exam was the final hurdle before weapon specialization assignments.
Fifty questions on deployment strategies, beast classification response protocols, and emergency field procedures.
Students hunched over their exams throughout the hall, pens scratching, pages turning, tension thick in the concentrated silence.
Cassara finished early, her answers precise and thorough. Eleven days since Auren’s kiss. Five since Julian’s. Four since the confrontation in the rain.
Four days of Auren treating her like a stranger, which somehow cut deeper than any anger could have.
She gathered her materials and slipped from the hall, handing her exam packet to the proctor with a nod. The corridor outside was empty, most students still wrestling with scenarios involving compromised field positions and corrupted beast encounters.
She needed air, a place to think beyond the confines of tactical hypotheticals and the approaching Wildes expedition.
The east wing corridor was rarely used this time of day, its large windows overlooking the mist-shrouded cliffs beyond Vallemont’s floating perimeter.
Cassara made her way along the passage, fingers trailing against cool stone, mind still half-caught in exam questions and half-lost in memories she couldn’t seem to banish.
She was so distracted she almost didn’t notice the figure emerging from the side passage until they were nearly upon each other.
Auren stopped short, regarding her with that maddening neutrality he’d worn like armor since the training room. Since the garden. Since the rain.
“Allencourt,” he said, the formal address like a wall between them.
Cassara straightened, chin lifting slightly. “Instructor.”
They stood in tense silence, neither moving aside, the corridor suddenly too narrow despite its generous proportions. Beyond the windows, rain threatened again, clouds gathering in dark masses that mirrored the tension coiling between them.
“Exam finished?” he asked, voice flat, professional.
“Yes.”
“Confident?”
“Always.”
He nodded stiffly. “Weapon assignments are tomorrow. Make sure you’re prepared for whatever Fenric assigns you.”
“I’m always prepared,” she replied, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Auren’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you? Because lately you’ve seemed… distracted.”
“Have you been watching, instructor?” Cassara said, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m focused on what matters.”
“And what would that be?” he asked, voice dropping lower. “Your training? The expedition?” A pause, barely perceptible. “Or Tremaine?”
Cassara frowned. “That’s not your concern.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice too controlled. “It’s not.”
He moved to step past her, the conversation clearly over in his mind.
Something in Cassara snapped.
“That’s it?” she demanded, turning to face him as he passed. “Eleven days of silence, and all I get is a cold warning about weapon assignments?”
Auren stopped, his back to her, shoulders tense beneath his instructor’s coat. “What did you expect?”
“I expected you to at least acknowledge what happened.”
“Nothing happened that should be acknowledged.”
“We both know that’s a lie,” she said, voice low but intense. “Another one to add to your collection.”
He turned then, eyes growing dark. “Careful, Allencourt.”
“Or what?” she challenged, stepping closer. “You’ll report me? Ignore me? Pretend I don’t exist? Oh wait, you already did that.”
“Because what happened was inappropriate—”
“Because you’re a coward,” she said, the words a quiet blow.
Auren moved so swiftly she barely had time to register it. One moment they were facing off in the corridor, the next he had pulled her into an empty classroom, the door clicking shut behind them.
“A coward,” he repeated, voice dangerously soft. He stood close, too close, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, could see the tension coiled in every line of his body. “Is that what you think?”
“I think you’re running,” she said, refusing to back down despite every fiber of her being that told her to. “I think you’re hiding behind rules and protocols because you’re afraid of what happened between us.”
“You know nothing about what I’m afraid of,” he said, each word sharp, but beneath it, she heard the strain, the crack in his composure.
“Then tell me,” she challenged. “Tell me why you kissed me. Tell me why you can barely look at me now. Why do you walk around like it doesn’t affect you when I can barely—nevermind.”
She moved to push past him, but he caught her arm and swung her around to face him. His eyes locked with hers, searching, assessing.
“You want honesty, Cassara? Fine. I kissed you because I’ve wanted to since I watched you climb that stabilizer like you had something to prove.
I ignored you because I crossed a line, one that I know I’ll cross again given the chance and I can barely look at you now because every time I do, all I see is you in Tremaine’s arms.”
“That wasn’t—” she began.
“What?” he cut in. “What wasn’t it? Because from where I stood, it looked exactly like what it was.”
“It wasn’t what I wanted,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Auren regarded her carefully. “Then what do you want?”
Cassara didn’t answer with words.
She closed the distance between them in one step, hands curling into the front of his coat, and pulled him down to her.
Their mouths collided with the same desperate heat as before, but this time there was no hesitation, no surprise. Only hunger. Auren’s arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly as he backed her against the classroom wall, his body pressing against hers with delicious weight.
Her back hit the stone wall hard enough to rattle the chalkboard beside it, the edge of a desk biting into her hip. She barely noticed.
She gasped against his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair, gripping tight enough to earn a low groan that vibrated through her entire body. His lips were demanding, almost punishing, teeth grazing her lower lip in a way that made her arch against him.
“This is a mistake,” he murmured against her mouth, even as his hands traced the curve of her waist, slipped beneath the edge of her uniform top to find bare skin.
“I know,” she breathed, tilting her head back as his mouth trailed down her throat, leaving a path of fire in its wake.
“We can’t—” His words broke off as she tugged his hair again, bringing his mouth back to hers.
“You keep saying that,” she gasped, before kissing him again, deeper, slower, her tongue sliding against his in a way that made him shudder against her.
His hand found her thigh, hitching it up around his hip just like before, pressing closer until she could feel every part of him, the evidence of his desire impossible to miss.
The room was silent save for their ragged breathing and the soft, desperate sounds that escaped when his teeth found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.
“Cassara,” he groaned. “If we don’t stop—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, hands sliding beneath his coat, feeling the heat of him through his shirt, the rapid thunder of his heart that matched her own.
For one breathless moment, she thought he might listen.
Then, with visible effort, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire and something far more complicated.
“Not like this,” he said, voice rough. “Not rushed. Not angry.”
She started to protest, but he silenced her with another kiss, gentler this time, devastating in its restraint.
“Not when there’s so much at stake,” he murmured against her lips. “The Wildes expedition. Your standing. My position.”
He was right, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Cassara let her forehead rest against his chest for just a moment, allowing herself this small comfort before the inevitable separation.
“So what now?” she asked, voice steadier than she felt. “More silence?”
She wasn’t sure she could stand it.
Auren’s hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the heat still simmering between them.
“Now we focus on what matters,” he said quietly. “Your training. The expedition. Becoming the tamer I know you can be.”
“And after?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, vulnerable in its hope.
His expression softened, just slightly. “After… we’ll see.”
It wasn’t a promise, but it wasn’t a rejection either.
Auren finally stepped back, creating distance between them, though his eyes never left hers. She could see the effort it took for him to rebuild his composure, to straighten his coat, to become the instructor again when moments before he’d been simply a man wanting a woman.
“One week until the Wildes,” he said. “Be ready.”
Cassara nodded. “I will be.”
He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. “And Cassara?”
She looked up, heart still racing.
“Whatever you felt with Tremaine… was it anything like this?”
Cassara met his gaze and smiled. “Not even close.”
Something flickered in his eyes, satisfaction, perhaps, or relief. He nodded once and slipped out, leaving her alone with tingling lips and the lingering heat of his touch on her skin.
The forge classroom smelled of scorched metal and hot iron woven with the sharp ozone tang of stored spellwork. Cassara stepped inside with the others, her boots clicking on the soot-streaked stone as the heavy door sealed behind them.
Racks of weapons lined the walls in neat formation. They shimmered faintly with arc-thread stabilizers, each marked by glyph-locked containment fields. No two were alike. Blades, gauntlets, staves, whips, guns, all gleaming with restrained potential.
Fenric stood at the center of the room, oil-streaked, bronze-skinned, goggles perched atop his forehead. He looked half-bored and fully unimpressed.
“Congratulations, first-years,” he said, arms crossed. “You’ve managed to survive long enough to be trusted with something sharp.”