Chapter 23 Lindsay
TWENTY-THREE
LINDSAY
Once we leave the council chambers, we don’t make it far before we start peeling off in different directions.
Kael’s voice is low beside me, pitched just for me to hear. “There’s something I need to handle,” he says, already turning toward the opposite corridor.
My stomach tugs a little, stupidly, at the idea of him walking away. Again. But then he pauses.
“I’ll find you when I’m done.” His eyes meet mine. Steady and intent.
I nod, and maybe it shouldn’t mean so much—but it does. He’s not retreating into the shadows this time. He’s coming back to me.
I’m still trying to process that when we step into the main hall and see a man waiting who looks like an older version of Raiden.
Raiden tenses beside me, jaw locking.
“Son,” his father says with all the warmth of a sword drawn in greeting. “A word.”
Raiden doesn’t argue, but the muscle in his cheek ticks as he glances down at me—like he doesn’t want to leave, like he isn’t sure he should. I give him the tiniest nod, letting him go.
One by one, the group thins.
“I’ll be right back,” Tamsin chirps, already backing away with suspicious brightness in her tone. “Important mischief to check on.”
I narrow my eyes. “Uh-huh.”
She winks and disappears around the corner like a cartoon villain who’s proud of herself.
Which leaves me with Nolan, standing a little stiffly a few feet away. His hand lifts halfway, like he’s going to run it through his hair or maybe offer it to me, before he drops it again and adjusts his glasses instead.
“I, um… I’m glad you’re okay.”
I smile softly. “Thanks.”
His shoulders dip with relief, but he’s not done.
“And I mean, I know that’s a loaded statement, because you’ve probably got emotional whiplash and a headache and maybe magical whiplash even, and I don’t even know if that’s a thing, but if it is, you probably have it—and I didn’t get a chance to say it back then but I’m sorry. ”
I blink. “For what?”
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking away. “The student protest. The Council. The binding thing. If I hadn’t brought attention to what was happening… maybe they wouldn’t have tried to force it so soon. I didn’t mean to—I was just trying to—”
“Nolan.”
He freezes.
I step in, close enough that his scent wraps around me—ink and old books and something earthy that’s entirely him.
Then I kiss him.
It’s not our first kiss, but it’s the first one that feels like an answer. Like a yes to all the things neither of us are brave enough to say out loud yet.
His hand lands on my waist, tentative at first, then more certain. And when I pull back, he’s breathless and red to the tips of his ears.
“I’m fine,” I say, looking up at him. “And I’m really glad you’re here.”
He swallows. “Yeah. Me too.”
His hand is still on my waist when the silence folds in again. A soft, uncertain hush between us.
But my thoughts aren’t quiet.
You have to choose before someone else does.
The words echo in my skull, ripped from the mouth of the version of me that lived in that dream state—jaded and a little cruel, but still me. Still right.
I’m not sure if she meant in the romantic sense or a path in general. But standing here, circling into Nolan’s gravity, I feel that pull. I need something solid. A hand to hold that isn’t going to hurt me or drenched in power too old to understand.
I need something real.
And Nolan—awkward, brilliant, quietly brave Nolan—is real.
My heart stutters, and before I can overthink it, I kiss him again.
This time it’s not gentle.
His inhale is sharp against my mouth, his lips parting with surprise before he melts into me, hand tightening at my hip like he’s been waiting for permission. Like he’s been holding back everything.
I push up on my toes, one hand gripping his shirt, the other threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans—low and almost broken.
Somehow, we end up moving.
He backs me into the nearest darkened alcove, his body slotting between mine and the wall like he’s been there a thousand times before. One hand braces against the stone beside my head; the other presses flat to my waist, grounding me, even as he kisses me breathless.
His mouth trails lower—along my jaw, then down my neck—and I swear I feel him smile against my skin when I gasp.
“You smell like Kael’s soap,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I freeze for half a second.
He pulls back immediately. “Shit—Linds—I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I whisper, fingers tightening in his shirt. “You’re the one I’m kissing right now, aren’t you?”
His eyes go wide behind his glasses. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”
Good.
Because I need this.
Not a prophecy. Not a mission. Not ancient magic and cracked veils and Council fallout.
Just this.
Nolan’s mouth crashes into mine again, and this time there’s nothing hesitant about it. We kiss like we could’ve died four days ago—because we could’ve. As if this might be the only moment we’ll get—because it might.
His thigh slips between mine, and I let it, shameless in the way I rock against him, chasing pressure, chasing heat. He makes a sound that shoots straight through me, half-desperate and all him.
My head tips back against the wall, and he follows, tasting down my throat, teeth grazing lightly before he seals his mouth over the hollow of my neck.
And stars, I feel that.
All of it.
A hot rush of need I haven’t let myself feel—not with the world burning, not with everything falling apart. But it’s here now. In the dark. In the hush. In the hands of a boy who sees me, who wants me, who almost lost me.
I don’t want to stop.
I should pull away.
I should care that anyone could walk by.
That Kael said he’d find me, and he could re-appear at any moment. That Raiden is likely dealing with some kind of fall out with his father. But none of that matters when Nolan groans against my throat and presses closer like he can’t stand to be any further away.
It’s not polished or perfect—there’s too much emotion for that. Too much breath caught between our lips. Too much heat thrumming between us like we’ve both come unmoored and finally found the same anchor.
His hand slides up my side, fingers splayed wide, and he murmurs my name like it’s a spell he’s still learning to cast. Like he’s afraid it’ll disappear if he doesn’t say it again.
“Lindsay…”
It’s reverent.
Slightly breathless.
Real.
I drag him back down into a kiss, hungry now. Desperate. Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m made of smoke and pain and power I don’t understand. I want to feel human. Grounded. Tangible.
His hips press into mine, and I can feel just how much he wants this—me—and I swear my whole body sings from the contact. I shift against him instinctively, and his breath catches like I’ve short-circuited his brain.
He drops his head to my shoulder, groaning softly. “Linds, I—I don’t want to stop, but if you keep doing that…”
I smile, teeth scraping my bottom lip. “Doing what?”
His hands tighten at my hips. “Being you.”
Something warm flickers in my chest. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m dying,” he mutters into my neck, voice strained and full of so much want it makes my knees weak.
He lifts his head, forehead resting against mine, eyes searching.
“This… is real, right?” he asks softly.
“Yes.” I answer without hesitation, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging gently until he kisses me again.
And this time, there’s nothing holding us back.
No fear. No logic.
His mouth claims mine in a kiss that burns, his hands exploring my curves like he’s memorizing every line and every sigh, like he’s trying to prove that we survived—not for fate, not for prophecy, but for this. For us.
The stone at my back is cool, but he’s anything but.
I moan into his mouth, hips arching toward him as his thigh brackets mine again, and he growls low and needy—a sound I didn’t know he could make. Didn’t know I wanted to draw from him again and again until he forgets how to speak.
And stars help me, I would if we had more time.
But even now, I hear the shift of footsteps down the corridor. A cough. A door. Something that reminds me the world is still turning. And that we’re not as alone as I want us to be.
Nolan pulls back slowly, panting, eyes glazed and lips kiss-swollen. His glasses are slightly askew and his tie is crooked, and I’ve never seen anything more adorable or more devastatingly hot in my entire life.
I reach up and straighten his glasses with shaky fingers.
“Definitely real,” I whisper.
He grins, dazed. “Definitely.”
I’m still catching my breath, still trying to wrap my head around what just happened—what we just let happen—when a slow, sarcastic clap breaks the moment like a blade through water.
“Touching,” Auron drawls, voice echoing off the stone walls as he steps into view like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to ruin everything. “Is that the reward we get for saving your life, princess? Because I gotta say, I expected at least a thank-you card.”
I groan, head thumping lightly back against the wall. “You didn’t save my life, you insufferable brat. You haven’t helped me at all. As I recall, you ran at the dance.”
Auron tsks and folds his arms, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light. “You sure about that?”
I narrow my eyes.
He flicks a lazy glance at Nolan, clearly enjoying himself. “You want to tell her, or should I?”
Nolan stiffens at my side. “Auron…”
Auron just raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Nolan sighs, pushes up his glasses, and mutters, “It was his idea to organize the student protest. To rally them. He figured if the Council had to publicly answer for binding you, they’d back off.”
I blink.
Once.
Twice.
And then slowly turn to stare at Auron, who’s clearly reveling in my speechlessness.
“You?” I say finally. “You started that protest?”
Auron shrugs. “Technically, I just lit the match under your nerdy little sidekicks. The student body already hated the Council. I gave them something new to burn.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t like owing him anything, but I also can’t ignore the truth. He did help. In his own manipulative, opportunistic, completely Auron way.
And now that I’m looking at him—really looking—I see something I didn’t before.
Not softness or kindness. But maybe…motive.
Maybe he’s not the villain I painted him to be. Just a weapon forged by someone else’s hand.
My brain flashes back to the books I used to hide under my blankets and read with a flashlight until dawn. The platinum hair. The sneer. The bruises left by expectation and bloodline and fear.
Draco Malfoy had never really been evil—not in the end. Just…cornered.
And maybe Auron is the same. Not some heartless villain. Just a product of power games and legacy curses and a father who probably thinks love is a weakness.
Maybe not. But the realization shifts something in me anyway.
“You’re still an ass,” I mutter.
“Obviously,” he says with a mock bow.
But I don’t miss the way Auron’s eyes flicker—not quite pride or relief—as he takes in my reaction. Like maybe…that was all he needed. Not thanks, just acknowledgement that he did something good.
Nolan’s fingers flex gently at my waist. “You look like you are somewhere else. Are you good?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to him. “Yeah. Just…readjusting the chess board in my head.”
Auron smirks. “Make sure you keep me as the King to your Queen.”
I flip him off. He grins wider. Then he turns and strides off, his coat snapping dramatically behind him.
An exit Draco Malfoy would be proud of.