Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
LINDSAY
The next morning hits like a hangover made of magic and bad decisions.
My thighs ache in the best-worst way, a dull throb that reminds me exactly how Raiden pinned me to that stone bench and fucked every scrap of jealousy out of his system.
My neck is a map of faint bruises—his teeth, his mouth—and I’ve already had to use a simple glamour spell on three of them just to walk to breakfast without drawing a crowd.
The bond hums low and satisfied between us, warm like sunlight on skin, but it doesn’t erase the rest.
Nolan’s softness still calls to me. Kael’s shadows still linger in my awareness like smoke I can’t quite shake. Auron’s kiss still burns on my lips, sharp with pain and something I refuse to name. And underneath it all, the Veil inside me coils, quieter now, but awake. Watching.
I slip out of the dining hall early, avoiding the stares that have only gotten worse since yesterday’s Forbidden Magic disaster. The corridors are mostly empty this early—students still dragging themselves toward first period or hiding in their dorms nursing hangovers of their own.
I turn down the east wing hallway, the one lined with tall arched windows that let in pale winter light, when I hear voices.
Low. Easy. Laughing.
I slow.
Dorian leans against the stone wall near the arched doorway to the greenhouse annex, arms crossed, golden hair catching the light, as it falls over his forehead as though it’s not a fan of gravity.
He’s in his usual half-unbuttoned shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking as if he rolled out of someone’s bed five minutes ago and decided everything else could wait.
Across from him stands Nyssa—Headmaster Veyne’s daughter, all sleek black hair and sharp cheekbones and the kind of effortless poise that makes me feel like I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes even when I’m not. She’s laughing at something he said, head tipped back, hand resting lightly on his forearm.
The sight shouldn’t twist anything in my chest. It does anyway.
Not jealousy—not exactly. More like… recognition.
The easy familiarity between them. The way her fingers linger a second too long before she pulls away.
Friends, maybe. Or something that used to be more.
The bond doesn’t flare with possession the way it does with Raiden or Kael or even Auron’s cursed touch, but it still prickles.
Nyssa glances my way first. Her smile doesn’t falter, but it shifts—polite, assessing.
“Lindsay,” she says smoothly. “How are you today?”
“Still breathing,” I reply, keeping my tone light.
Dorian’s eyes find me then. Blue and glittering with immediate interest. His whole posture changes—subtle but unmistakable. Shoulders rolling back, mouth curving into that slow, wicked smile that promises trouble wrapped in honey.
Nyssa follows his gaze, then steps away with a graceful little shrug.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” she says. “Dorian—don’t break anything this time.”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Me? Never.”
She rolls her eyes, gives me a quick, unreadable nod, and disappears around the corner toward the greenhouse doors. The hallway falls quiet, except for the faint drip of melting ice somewhere high in the rafters.
Dorian doesn’t move from his spot against the wall. Just watches me with that lazy, predatory amusement fae princes must be born wearing.
“Morning, Veilborn,” he drawls, voice low and warm like summer wine. “You look… thoroughly ruined.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I cross my arms, trying to look unaffected. “I look like I slept. Which is more than I can say for you.”
He pushes off the wall in one fluid motion, closing the distance until he’s just inside my personal space—close enough that I catch the scent of him: sun-warmed pine, something sharp and floral, and the faint metallic edge of fae magic.
“Oh, I slept,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to the faint mark peeking above my collar before I can adjust it. His smile turns downright sinful. “Just not alone. And not in my own bed.”
I snort. “Shocking.”
I really don’t want the details. He’s not technically mine. Who he sleeps with or doesn’t sleep with is not my concern.
“Not at all,” Dorian says, the words rolling off his tongue like warm honey, “and not what you’re thinking.”
He tilts his head, studying me with that slow, predatory curiosity that makes my skin prickle in the best way. His eyes trace the line of my throat again—lingering on the faint, glamoured mark Raiden left—before flicking back up to meet mine.
“I was in the stables,” he continues, voice dropping conspiratorially.
“With the horses. All night. They were restless—something about the Veil thinning has them spooked. I stayed to calm the big black stallion, the one that bites anyone who isn’t me.
Slept in the hayloft. Alone. With nothing but equine company and the smell of leather and manure. ”
I snort again, this one loud and disbelieving.
“Right. You. The fae prince who probably bathes in champagne and moonlight, choosing a pile of hay and horse shit over silk sheets and willing bodies. Sure, Dorian. I totally believe that.”
His laugh is low and rich, vibrating through the small space between us.
“You wound me, stormling.” He presses a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. Deeply. Irreparably.”
But his eyes are sparkling—genuine amusement mixed with something hotter, something that makes my stomach flip.
“I’m serious,” he says, stepping just that fraction closer so his breath brushes my cheek. “No one else has interested me since you walked through that portal looking like you wanted to burn the whole academy down and take names later.”
My breath catches. He’s too close now. Too warm. “Dorian—”
“No, listen.” His voice softens, loses some of the playful edge.
One long finger finally makes contact—trailing feather-light along my jaw, tilting my chin up so I can’t look away.
“I flirt. I tease. I let people think I’m collecting conquests like pretty trinkets.
But the truth?” His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
“The only one I actually want is you. And the ridiculous, beautiful, terrifying harem you’re accidentally building around yourself. ”
Heat floods my face, my chest, lower.
“You’re including yourself in that?” I manage, trying for sarcasm. It comes out shaky.
“I’m hoping to.” His smile turns softer—still wicked, but edged with something real.
“I watch, Lindsay. I’ve watched Nolan look at you like you hung the moon.
Raiden growl and pace as if he’d tear the world apart to keep you safe.
Kael brood in corners while his shadows reach for you anyway.
Even Auron—bloodborn himself—cracking every time you’re in the same room.
And me?” He leans in until our foreheads nearly touch.
“I want in. I want to be the one who makes you laugh when everything else is falling apart. The one who kisses you stupid when you’re too angry to think straight.
The one who stands beside you when the Veil finally rips wide open. ”
My heart is hammering so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“And the stables?” I whisper, clinging to the last thread of disbelief.
“True,” he murmurs against my lips. “Cross my heart. But if you’d rather I prove I can be very, very bad in silk sheets instead of hay…” His free hand slides to my waist, fingers splaying possessively. “Just say the word.”
I inhale and stare up at him. “Dorian—”
“You can believe me or not, Veilborn. But you should know from your half blood friend already, that the fae can’t lie. We can twist the truth, but lying out right—” he shrugs. “Not possible.”
“I believe you.”
A slow smile forms on his face and makes his eyes twinkle.
“Good, but I'm bored of talking about myself, let’s focus on you… you’re glowing.
Literally.” A long finger lifts, hovering near my cheek again without touching.
“Raiden’s work, I presume? That kitsune has a very distinctive signature.
All teeth and tails and territorial snarling. ”
My pulse kicks. “You’re awfully observant.”
“I told you, I watch,” he says simply. “Especially when it’s you.”
The words land softer than they should. No teasing edge this time—just quiet truth. His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back up.
“You’ve got a new mark here,” he continues, voice dropping to a velvet murmur. One fingertip brushes the corner of my lip—light as a breath. “Not his. Someone bit you back.”
Auron.
The memory flashes: fury, teeth, the choke of pain that ripped him away. I swallow.
“None of your business, Prince.”
Dorian’s laugh is low, delighted. “Everything about you is my business, Lindsay Blake. You’re the most interesting thing to walk through these halls since the Veil cracked open.
” He steps even closer, backing me gently against the wall without ever touching me more than that single fingertip.
“And I’m very good at collecting interesting things. ”
My breath catches. His magic brushes mine—warm, golden, like sunlight spilling over skin. Not demanding. Inviting.
“You think you can just flirt your way into my circle?” I ask, trying for sharp. It comes out breathier than intended.
“I don’t think,” he says, leaning in until his mouth is a whisper from mine.
“I know.” His free hand plants on the stone beside my head, caging me without trapping.
“I know you’re angry at half the men in this academy.
I know you’re terrified of the thing waking up inside you.
I know you will taste like lightning and revenge and something so sweet it will make my teeth ache. ”
He pauses, eyes searching mine.
“And I know you haven’t told me to walk away yet.”
I should. I really should.
Instead, my chin lifts. “Maybe I’m waiting to see if you’re all talk.”
His grin is slow. Dangerous and beautiful.
“Then let me show you.”