Chapter 22 Lindsay
TWENTY-TWO
LINDSAY
The second Mistress Cellan dismisses class, the room fractures into noise.
Whispers. Stares. Curiosity dressed up as fear.
I don’t look at anyone. I make it three steps up the tiered floor before I feel Auron behind me.
His steps are measured and unhurried.
“Lindsay.”
I spin before we reach the doors.
“Don’t, Auron.”
The last of the students scatter around us, pretending not to watch, while absolutely watching. The silver runes beneath the floor dim back to their resting state.
“You should not have let her provoke you,” he says calmly.
I laugh. It’s not a nice sound. “You think that’s what happened?”
“You reacted.”
“She touched him.” The admission escapes before I can stop it.
His eyes flicker—just slightly.
“Kael?”
“Don’t say his name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think you know what he means to me.”
“I know he’s one of the five.”
Silence falls.
The chamber empties further. Kael is gone. Mistress Cellan has disappeared through her side door. The heavy double doors at the back stand open, students filtering out into the corridor.
Auron steps closer.
“You weren’t angry at her,” he says quietly. “You were angry that he didn’t stop her.”
Heat rushes up my neck.
“You don’t get to dissect my emotions.”
“Your power went haywire again. In a room full of students this time.”
“And you absorbed it again.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“Why?” I demand.
The last student slinks out, and the chamber is empty, except for the two of us.
“Why do you keep stepping in?” I press. “You don’t owe me anything. And I know you don’t care about any of these people, because you only care about yourself.”
“You’re wrong.”
I snort out a laugh. “Am I? So tell me, which one of those students do you care about enough to protect?”
“You.”
I open and close my mouth, feeling like a fish out of water.
“Me? I’m not your responsibility.”
“No,” he agrees evenly. “You are not.”
The words feel strange. Then he steps closer.
“You are my choice.” His gaze dips to my lips, and I instinctively wet them.
My heart feels like it’s stuck in my throat. I hate him. I know I do. But part of me…it wants him, too.
“Don’t say stuff like that. You have no right. Not after what you did to me.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
The air shifts between us. The shadows at my feet stir again, hungry in a different way.
“You could go insane, Auron,” I say. “Nolan said Bloodborn containment never ends well.”
A faint flicker crosses his expression. “I am aware of the risks.”
“And you did it anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Stop,” I whisper. “Stop acting like you’re a hero and that this is nothing.”
He’s close enough now that I can feel his warm breath ghost over my cheeks. His magic doesn’t flare like mine. It pulls slightly, reaching for my shadows.
“You think I didn’t calculate the cost?” he asks softly.
“I don’t need saving.”
His hand lifts and hovers near my waist. I can feel the warmth of him reaching for me.
“I didn’t save you,” he says simply.
“You stopped me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s the same thing.”
His hand finally settles at my waist, and my blood lights up. I am fully aware of each spot his fingers touch.
“No,” he says quietly. “Saving implies weakness. And you are not weak.”
My pulse stutters. The Veil inside of me hums at his proximity, as though it recognizes him as part of the equation.
“You infuriate me,” I breathe, but it’s barely a whisper and holds no heat.
“I know.” His mouth curves slightly.
My hands fist in the front of his robe before I consciously decide to move. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You keep telling me what I’m not allowed to do. Last I checked, I don’t think you’re the boss of me.”
“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me.”
“Perhaps I do.”
There is no way in hell I’m letting him kiss me. I shove him back against the stone wall. Harder than either of us expect, but he doesn’t resist or fight it. His hands catch my hips as I step into him.
“You think you can just absorb parts of me and that it makes you entitled?” I snap.
“No.”
“Then what does it make you?”
His fingers tighten slightly at my waist. “Aligned to your darkest parts. The perfect counter for you.”
The words vibrate low in my stomach, slowly turning the feelings I’m having to lust.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. The honesty steals my next insult, and the silence stretches between us.
Hot.
Tight.
His gaze drops to my mouth again. The remaining space that separates us disappears in a breath. I grab the front of his uniform robe and yank him down to my level.
“I hate you,” I hiss, the words tasting like venom and truth. “I came back for revenge, and I’m going to make you—”
He cuts me off with his mouth.
The kiss is brutal. Angry. Teeth and fury.
I bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and he growls into me, one hand fisting in my hair, the other slamming against the wall beside my head as he spins us as though he’s trying to anchor himself.
Our magic clashes—my wild magic snapping against whatever cold power coils under his skin.
For one searing second, it feels like victory. Like I’ve finally cracked the ice prince who tried to kill me.
Then he jerks.
A sharp, broken sound tears from his throat—half groan, half pain. His body goes rigid against mine. The hand in my hair spasms, fingers tightening almost desperately before he rips his mouth away with a gasp that sounds like it hurts.
His palm slams flat against his own chest, right over his heart, and I watch the color drain from his face. Veins of black magic crawl up his throat like living ink, pulsing angrily beneath his pale skin. His breathing turns ragged, shallow, every inhale sounding like a fight.
“Fuck—the curse—” he chokes out, eyes squeezed shut.
I should laugh. I should gloat. This is revenge, right? Watching the boy who betrayed me suffer because his own curse won’t let him kiss me without pain.
But my chest twists at the sight of him like this—shoulders curled in, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps, sweat already beading at his temple.
“Auron…” My anger cracks, and I reach for him without thinking.
He flinches away, stepping two more steps back, chest heaving. When his eyes finally open, they’re glassy with pain and something rawer—something that looks dangerously close to longing.
“See?” he rasps. “This is what I am. What my father made sure I’d stay. I can’t—” Another wave hits him; he bites back a hiss, knuckles whitening where he grips his own robe. “I can’t want you, Lindsay. Not without this.”
“Without what?”
“My curse. I can’t love anyone. Or…” he breaks off, glancing away. “Or want anything physical.”
“A curse can do that?” I ask. I mean obviously it can, because he didn’t fake that pain. “Who would curse their own son?”
He huffs out a laugh, his tongue swiping over his full bottom lip. “My father.”
The words aren’t dramatic.
They’re exhausted.
Another tremor moves through him, smaller this time, like whatever ripped through his chest is settling back into place.
“What does it do?” I ask. “Exactly.”
He straightens slowly, one hand still pressed to his sternum as if he’s holding something inside.
“It punishes attachment,” he says. “Physical desire. Emotional bonds. Anything that resembles love.”
My stomach drops.
“Why would a father do that to their kid?”
A faint smile touches his mouth, but there’s no humor in it. “He preferred knowing for certain that I would be the tool he crafted me to be.”
“So he made sure you could never…” I trail off.
“Care,” he finishes for me.
The black veins under his skin fade gradually, sinking back beneath the surface like ink dissolving into water. His breathing steadies, though there’s still a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“And you kissed me anyway,” I say.
“Yes.”
“You knew that would happen.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Probably.”
The echo of our kiss still burns on my lips. The taste of iron. The fury. The way he responded before the pain hit. But I push it all away. Because I don’t want to care about him. I don’t want to want him.
“I am capable of wanting,” he says. “The curse simply ensures I pay for it.”
I swallow. He must be so lonely. Even from friends, he couldn’t be close to them. It explains so much about him.
Nope. We are not softening for the villain.
“You’ll be safer this way,” he says.
“Safer from what?”
“From choosing me.”
“And you think I would?”
His gaze flicks up to mine, something dangerous simmering beneath the pain. “You already are.”
Heat crawls up my spine, unwanted yet undeniable. “I hate you,” I repeat, but it sounds like a lie now.
“I know.”