Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty Nine
The creak of hinges pulled Cassara from restless dreams. Her mind, still thick with sleep, tried to make sense of the sound. Had Liri come back early? Or perhaps it was one of the other girls, confused after too much celebration wine?
She pushed aside her bed curtain, ready to redirect whoever had stumbled into the wrong room, and froze.
Auren stood, no, sagged, against the doorframe, one arm wrapped tight around his ribs. Even in the darkness, she could see the wet gleam of blood seeping through his fingers.
“Auren?” His name came out as barely a whisper.
He lifted his head with visible effort, and the moonlight from her window caught his face, pale, drawn with pain, but unmistakably him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… there was nowhere else…”
She was out of bed before conscious thought kicked in, catching him as his knees started to buckle. He was heavier than she expected, solid muscle that now trembled with exhaustion.
“What happened?” She tried to keep her voice low, aware that the rooms around them were empty but not wanting to risk discovery. “Who did this?”
“Can’t.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she shifted to better support his weight. “Please. Just… trust me.”
A thousand questions burned in her throat. Where had he been? Why had he left? What was worth this, blood and secrets and showing up in her room like a ghost made flesh?
But his weight against her was real, warm despite the blood loss, and she found she didn’t care about answers. Not yet. He was here, he was alive, barely, and for now that was enough.
“Your room,” she decided. “Can you walk?”
He nodded, though she felt more than saw the gesture.
Together they made their way through the silent corridors, Cassara bearing more of his weight with each step.
She’d never been to his quarters before, instructors’ wings were off-limits to students.
But he guided her with mumbled directions, until they reached a door that looked identical to all the others.
His room surprised her. She’d expected something austere, military. Instead, it was… warm. Rich colors, worn leather furniture, books stacked on every surface. A fire burned low in the grate, as if he’d left it lit with plans to return to it.
“Medkit,” he managed, gesturing vaguely toward a cabinet. “Top shelf.”
She eased him into a chair by the fire and retrieved the kit, military grade, comprehensive. Of course he’d have quality supplies.
“I need to see,” she said softly.
His hands shook as he worked at his coat buttons. She brushed them aside, taking over with careful efficiency. The coat came away heavy with blood. His shirt was worse, torn along the left side, fabric stuck to what looked like claw marks.
“Auren, what—”
“Please.” His hand caught hers, grip surprisingly strong. “No questions. Not tonight.”
She nodded, swallowing her demands. The shirt had to be cut away, too much blood, too much damage to pull it off normally. And then she forgot about questions entirely.
The wounds were deep but clean, three parallel gashes along his ribs. Claw marks, definitely, but from what? She worked in silence, cleaning and disinfecting, applying the healing salve that made him hiss through his teeth.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“’S fine.” His head tipped back against the chair, eyes closed. “Had worse.”
She believed him. Some of those scars were old, faded to silver. Others looked more recent. A whole history written on his skin that he’d likely never share.
The bandaging required her to wrap around his torso, bringing her close enough to feel his breath against her temple. His eyes opened then, dark and unreadable in the firelight.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“Don’t.” She tied off the bandage with hands that wanted to tremble. “Don’t thank me for this.”
“For not asking, then.”
“I want to.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. “I want to demand answers. Where you went. Why you left without a word. What did this to you. Why you came to me instead of the healers.”
“But you won’t.”
“No.” She sat back on her heels, studying his face. “Not tonight.”
Relief softened the hard lines of his face before guilt chased it away, leaving behind only exhaustion. He reached out, fingertips brushing her cheek with phantom lightness.
“I thought about you,” he said, so quiet she almost missed it. “Every day. Every night. You were…” He stopped, jaw working. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Like what?”
But he was already standing, wavering slightly. “Stay here tonight.”
“Auren.”
“Please.” He caught her hand, tugged gently. “Just… stay.”
She let him lead her to the bed, wider and more comfortable than what they had in the first year dorms. He eased down carefully, favoring his injured side, then drew her down beside him.
He simply held her close, pulled her into him, her back pressed to his chest, his arm careful around her waist, his breath warm against her neck.
“What happened?” she asked, despite saying she wouldn’t.
“I can’t tell you,” he murmured into her hair. “I want to. But I can’t.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know that too.”
His arm tightened fractionally and she could feel his heartbeat against her back, could still smell the sharp tang of blood beneath the antiseptic.
All the anger she’d carried, at his silence, his absence, his secrets, melted away. Tomorrow she could be furious, she could demand explanations.
Tonight, she just wanted this. The solid warmth of him. The rise and fall of his chest. The way he pressed his face into her hair like she was air and he’d been drowning.
“Sleep,” she whispered.
“You’ll stay?”
“I’ll stay.”
His breathing slowly evened out, exhaustion finally claiming him. But even in sleep, his arm remained around her, holding on like she was the only real thing in a world of shadows.
It was enough to make her heart ache, hating that the warmth of Gideon’s mouth still lingered while she was holding someone else together with shaking hands and silence.
Cassara stared at the dying fire, questions churning behind her ribs. Where had he been? What had those claws belonged to? Why her, why had she been the only one he could trust?
And underneath it all, guilty and persistent—the memory of another kiss, another taste, another pair of hands gentle on her skin.
She closed her eyes, trying to quiet her racing thoughts. Auren shifted behind her, murmuring something unintelligible into her hair. His warmth seeped into her bones, familiar and necessary and impossibly complicated.
Morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains, and for a moment Cassara couldn’t place where she was. The bed was too wide, too warm, and there was a weight around her waist that—
Memory crashed back. Auren. Blood. Bandages.
She shifted carefully, mindful of his injuries, and found him already awake. His dark eyes studied her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“Hi,” he said softly, and the smile that curved his lips was so unexpectedly tender it made her chest ache.
Before she could respond, he leaned in and kissed her, gentle, careful, like he was afraid she might vanish. His hand came up to cradle her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone with reverent lightness.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he murmured against her lips.
She pulled back enough to stare at him. “If? You showed up bleeding at my door in the middle of the night. There’s no ‘if’ about it.”
His smile turned rueful. “Fair point.”
All the questions from last night rose like a tide. Where had he been? What had attacked him? Why the secrecy? Why her? She could see him reading them in her expression, see the moment his walls started to rebuild.
“Don’t,” she said quickly. “I’m not asking. Not yet. I just…” She traced a finger along the edge of the bandage, careful not to press. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “Thanks to you.”
“Auren—”
“You should go.” The words came out pained, like they cost him. “Everyone returns today. If someone sees you leaving the instructor wing…”
He was right. She knew he was right. But leaving felt like abandoning him, like if she walked out that door he might vanish again.
“The others can’t know I’m back,” he said quietly. “Not yet. Please.”
“Why?”
His body tensed. “Because whoever did this might try again if they know I survived.”
The words sent ice through her veins. “Someone tried to kill you?”
“Cassara.” Just her name, but weighted with plea. “Please. Trust me. Just for a little longer.”
She wanted to refuse, wanted to demand answers, truth, something more than shadows and secrets. But his hand was still wrapped around hers, and she could feel the tremor in it, pain or exhaustion or fear, she couldn’t tell.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
“I know.”
She rose quickly, aware of his eyes tracking her movements. At the door, she paused, looking back. He’d pushed himself up despite the obvious pain it caused, sheets pooled around his waist, morning light catching on the silver scars across his chest.
“Be careful,” he said.
“That’s my line.”
His smile was sad. “Not anymore.”
The corridors were blessedly empty as she made her way back through the academy. Most students wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon, and the early morning staff were busy preparing for the influx. She’d almost made it to the common room when footsteps made her freeze.
Gideon rounded the corner, clearly heading for the dining hall, and stopped short when he saw her.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. The memory of last night, firelight and chocolate and the soft press of his mouth, was suspended between them like a physical thing.
“Cassara.” His voice was carefully neutral.
“Gideon.”
Silence stretched, painful and awkward. She could see him struggling for words, trying to address what had happened without making it worse. She needed to say something, anything, to break this terrible tension.
“Is that blood?”