Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
NOLAN
The night is calmer than it has any right to be.
No rustling in the trees. No flicker of shadow where it shouldn’t be. No pulse of wrongness in the Veil.
Just Lindsay walking beside me, the lantern light catching in her hair, and the soft rhythm of our footfalls along the warded path.
Honestly? I’ll take it. After everything that’s happened lately, I’m grateful for the quiet.
“You okay?” I ask, because I’ve already checked on her three times and am trying very hard to pretend I’m normal about it.
She glances over, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve asked me that four times.”
“Have I?” I pretend to count on my fingers. “I’m only at… three.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine, playful and warm. “Four.”
I grin. “Right. Four. I’ll try to keep it under ten.”
“Please don’t,” she says softly. “It’s… nice.”
My chest does something ridiculous. I look forward so she won’t see the way my cheeks go pink.
We walk a little farther, lanterns flickering in the faint breeze, stars scattered overhead like someone spilled a jar of them across the sky.
“You look tired,” I say gently.
She snorts. “I fainted and then ended up in Kael’s room and slept the whole night. I think you’re projecting.”
“Possibly,” I admit with a shrug. “I didn’t sleep much.”
She pauses, turning toward me, eyes warm with worry. “Nolan…”
“It’s fine,” I assure quickly. “I just… didn’t know where you were. And Raiden was freaking out, and Tamsin was muttering about omens and your aura looking weird yesterday, and—” I clear my throat. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Her expression softens in a way that makes my heartbeat feel too big for my ribs.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I want to say always. Because I will always be here for her, no matter what. But I don’t.
Instead, I try something less terrifying.
“I like being on patrol with you,” I say quietly. “No offense to Raiden or… Kael, but you don’t make me feel like I’m going to accidentally mess up and awaken a cursed artifact with my breathing.”
She laughs. “You’re the least likely person here to awaken cursed anything.”
“That is statistically inaccurate,” I say. “I’ve awakened at least three cursed books. And one mildly haunted candlestick.”
“Haunted?”
“It jingled at me.”
She laughs again—this light, musical sound that hits me right in the sternum.
We keep walking. The night stays gentle and calm, the wards humming in steady pulses. For a moment, I let myself believe this is how it could always be: peaceful, safe, Lindsay leaning just a little closer to me every time the path narrows.
“You’re easy to be around,” she says suddenly.
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” She nudges me with her elbow. “You make everything feel… less heavy.”
There goes my heart again.
“I, uh—” I push my glasses up, because my face is definitely warm. “You do that for me too.”
She smiles. A slow, warm curl of her lips that makes me want to memorize her all over again.
It makes me want to whisk her away, back to my secret tower and kiss every inch of her body until she’s trembling in my arms. I don’t even know if it was a one time thing, but my body doesn’t care if it was, it wants more as much as my heart does.
We walk another stretch in silence, but it’s comfortable. The kind that feels like a blanket rather than a barrier.
Then—she stops.
I freeze beside her. “Lindsay?”
Her head tilts, expression shifting—confusion first, then tension.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Shh.”
I fall silent instantly.
She turns toward the line of trees near the ward’s edge. Her eyes unfocus, like she’s listening to something far away.
“Linds?”
Her breath hitches.
“Nolan,” she whispers, voice thin. “I… I heard something.”
My grip tightens on the lantern. “What did you hear?”
She swallows, throat tight, eyes fixed on the tree line.
“It said my name.”
Every drop of blood in my body seems to evacuate at once.
“What said your name?” My voice is low, shaking at the edges despite my best effort to steady it. “Lindsay—what said your name?”
She doesn’t look at me.
“Something on the other side of the Veil.”
My heart slams into my ribs. No. No, no, no.
“Okay,” I breathe, stepping in front of her before I even realize I’ve moved. My voice firms, turning into something I barely recognize—controlled, certain. “I’m here. Stay behind me. We’ll call patrol backup. Don’t go near it. Don’t—”
A whisper slides through the air again.
Louder. Clearer.
“Lindsaaaay…”
She flinches like it hooked her.
And then she steps around me.
“Lindsay!” My hand darts out, grabbing her wrist, but she slips free, eyes locked on something I can’t see—or maybe something only she can.
The shadows near the Veil ripple unnaturally. The wards pulse once, dimly, as if something on the other side is pressing a palm against them.
“Lindsay, stop.” My voice sharpens with panic. “Don’t—please don’t go closer. Stay with me.”
But she is already drifting forward, breath gone, gaze glazed in a way that terrifies me to my core.
The voice whispers again, hungry. “Come closer…”
The wards hiss. A gust of cold air sweeps across the path, lifting the hair on my arms. Footsteps thunder toward us. Auron arrives first, boots skidding to a halt on the stone path. His eyes widen.
“What happened?” he demands, already positioning himself between Lindsay and the Veil.
Before I can answer, another figure steps through the trees.
Dorian.
Lantern light catches silver in his hair, but his expression is all steel. The lazy princely amusement he usually wears is gone, replaced by something colder. Something dangerous. His gaze snaps to Lindsay—and the entire world seems to still.
“What did she hear?” he asks as if he already knows it spoke to her.
I swallow hard. “It said her name.”
Auron swears under his breath—a vicious, quiet sound.
Dorian steps toward Lindsay, his posture shifting, magic humming around him.
“Lindsay,” he says, tone softer but edged with command, “step back. Now.”
She doesn’t respond. She takes another step forward.
The Veil pulses—a faint, sickening glow threading through it, as if something is tracing her outline from the other side.
Dorian curses in Fae. Auron moves instantly, snapping a ward sigil from his pocket. I tighten my grip on my lantern, pulse hammering.
“Lindsay,” I whisper, terrified, “please come back.”
The Veil whispers her name again. And this time—it sounds like a promise. Something cold sinks into my stomach.
She takes another slow, trance-like step forward.
No. No, I’m not letting this happen.
Fear slams through me like a tidal wave, but underneath it something else rises—steady, immovable, louder than the panic. I will not watch her walk into danger. I will not freeze. I will not lose her.
Before I can think better of it, I move.
My hand shoots out, grabbing her arm—not roughly, but firmly enough to break whatever invisible tether is pulling her toward the Veil.
“Linds,” I say, “stay with me. I’ve got you.”
A shock goes through her. She blinks—once, twice—like she’s waking from a deep sleep. Behind me, I can feel Auron and Dorian react at the same time: Auron swears sharply under his breath. Dorian inhales like he’s about to unleash hell.
But Lindsay is still staring at the Veil as if something behind it is calling only to her.
The wards flicker. The air tightens. The whisper builds again, “Lindsa—”
“No,” I snap, stepping fully between her and the boundary.
I plant myself like a shield.
“If you want her,” I say to the Veil, pulse thundering violently in my ears, “you’re going through me first.”
The world holds its breath. Auron freezes, eyes widening—startled. Dorian’s brows lift, a flicker of respect crossing his face. And Lindsay’s fingers curl into the back of my jacket, grounding herself to me.
“Don’t,” she whispers—but she’s gripping me like I’m the only thing keeping her here.
The Veil shimmers, as if something presses hard against it—then recoils. The wards flare bright gold, humming violently. The whisper cuts off mid-breath. Silence crashes over us.
My lungs burn. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing until Lindsay presses her forehead between my shoulder blades and exhales shakily.
“Nolan…” she murmurs, voice small. “Thank you.”
My throat closes. “Always.”
Dorian steps up beside me, his gaze on the barrier. “Whatever that was,” he says, “it knows her. And it wanted her.”
Auron gives me a long, assessing look—one part irritation, one part reluctant admiration. Then, quietly he says, “That was reckless.”
I swallow. “I don’t care.”