Chapter 33 Nolan
THIRTY-THREE
NOLAN
The rune lab door slams shut behind us with a finality that echoes down the dimly lit corridor.
I can still hear Auron's barbs ringing in my ears—cold, cutting, designed to slice right through any hope Lindsay might have offered.
My chest aches for her, left alone in there with that Bloodborn and his self-inflicted prison.
But she insisted. "I need to do this alone," she'd whispered when we reached the door, her voice steady, even as her eyes begged us to trust her.
I glance back once—Raiden's pacing restlessly, Kael's shadows coiling around him as though they're debating going back in despite her orders, Dorian's magic flickering restlessly.
The four of us are a mismatched pack, bound by her and this damn prophecy, but right now, all I want is a stack of books and a quiet corner to make sense of it all.
"I’m heading to the library," I mutter, adjusting my notebook under my arm. "There has to be something in the restricted archives about reversing blood curses. If the prophecy ties Auron's choice to love over obedience, maybe there’s a ritual or counter-sigil that can—"
Raiden claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip warm and firm. "Good thinking. We’ll regroup in the half-blood common room in two hours."
Kael nods once, shadows already swallowing him as he steps into the darkness. "Watch your back. Draven eyes are everywhere."
Dorian flashes his trademark grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. "Don’t bury yourself too deep in those dusty tomes, scholar. We need you breathing for the next apocalypse."
I manage a small smile and peel off down the side hall toward the library wing.
The academy is quiet this late, the stone walls absorbing sound like secrets they’ve heard too many times before.
My footsteps echo softly, mind already racing through indexes: Blood Magic Compendium, Volume III; Curses of the Elder Lines; Veil-Tainted Bindings.
If I can find a precedent for redirecting a paternal hex, maybe we can—
Footsteps sound behind me. Light. Casual. Not Raiden’s heavy tread or Kael’s silent glide.
I turn, notebook clutched tighter. Dorian saunters up, hands in his pockets, golden hair catching the faint witch light from the sconces as if it’s his own personal sun.
"Thought you were heading back with the others," I say, pushing my glasses up. My voice comes out steadier than I feel—courage over caution, right? The prophecy’s words still burn in my mind.
Dorian shrugs one elegant shoulder, that lazy smile curving his lips.
"What can I say? It felt a bit too crowded with all that brooding testosterone.
Besides—" He steps closer, thigh brushing mine as he leans against the wall beside me.
"—I couldn’t let our resident genius wander off alone into the stacks.
Who knows what forbidden knowledge might seduce you away from us? "
Heat creeps up my neck. I clear my throat, willing my cheeks not to flush. Dorian’s flirting is like sunlight—warm, relentless, and impossible to ignore. But I’ve seen how he uses it like a shield, deflecting anything real.
"I don’t need a babysitter, Dorian. I’ve been navigating the library since before you figured out how to charm your way out of detention."
He laughs, low and melodic, the sound sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
"Ouch. Sharp tongue for a scholar. I like it.
" He pushes off the wall, falling into step beside me as I start walking again.
His arm brushes mine. "But come on, Nolan. Admit it. A little company couldn’t hurt. I promise not to distract you…much."
I glance sideways at him. His eyes are sparkling with that familiar mischief, but there’s something else underneath tonight—something quieter, almost restless. Like he’s chasing distraction as much as I’m chasing answers.
We reach the library doors—massive oak carved with glowing runes that part silently at my touch.
The familiar scent of aged paper and ink washes over me, grounding.
I head straight for the restricted section, flashing my access sigil that I earned recently at the magic containing the area.
Dorian follows without hesitation, his magic humming faintly as it slips through the barriers.
The stacks are empty—good. I pull down the first volume: Hexes of Hereditary Binding. My fingers fly through the pages, scanning for keywords. "If the curse is anchored to paternal will, there might be a transference rite. Something to redirect the flow without triggering the full backlash."
Dorian settles into the chair across from me at the reading table, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. "Fascinating. Tell me more about these rites. Do they involve candlelight? Soft music? A little wine to loosen the magic?"
I don’t look up, but I feel the heat rising again. "Dorian. Focus."
"Oh, I am focused." His voice drops lower, velvet-smooth. He leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in his hands. "On you. The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. The little furrow between your brows. It’s adorable. Makes me wonder what else could put that look on your face."
My pen stutters across the page. I set it down and meet his gaze. Courage over caution. The prophecy echoes in my head. "You’re flirting. Again. Why?"
He blinks—surprised, but recovers fast with that grin. "Can’t a guy appreciate the view? You’re part of my little family now, Nolan. And families…share."
I feel my cheeks burn, but I don’t look away. "Why are you deflecting? You do it with everyone. Lindsay. Me. Even Kael, in your own way. What are you avoiding?"
Dorian’s smile falters—just for a second.
He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. "Ouch, again. You’re getting bold, scholar.
I like this side of you." His eyes flick to the empty chairs around us, the small area the light touches, and the silent library stretching out like a void.
"Maybe I just don’t like quiet rooms. Too much space for thoughts to echo.
And right now, with Auron being his charming self and the prophecy becoming more than a hypothetical maybe… company sounds better than solitude."
He doesn’t say it outright, but the way his gaze lingers on the shadows in the corners, the slight dimming of his golden glow…
he’s not here for me. Or not just for me.
He’s here because being alone means facing whatever ghosts the prophecy stirred up.
The lost friendship with Kael. The watcher who’s tired of watching from afar.
I soften—just a little. "You can stay. But no more flirting. I need to concentrate."
Dorian’s grin returns, full force, but there’s a hint of gratitude in it. "No promises. But I’ll try to behave." He picks up a nearby tome—Arcane Reversals—and flips it open, pretending to read. "See? I’m helping. What are we looking for? Thorns? Eyes? Paternal overreach?"
I shake my head, fighting a smile. "Start with transference hexes. Chapter five."
He slides his chair closer, his thigh brushing mine under the table. "As you wish, handsome."
We work side by side. His leg stays pressed against mine. I don’t move it, there’s a sort of comfort in the touch.
Half an hour later, I find it.
My finger freezes on the page.
“Dorian—look.”
He leans in, close enough his hair brushes my cheek.
The diagram is small, tucked into a footnote: a secondary rite for paternal redirection.
A willing conduit, someone of equal or greater emotional tie, can act as a mirror.
The curse’s energy reflects back on the caster when the vessel makes a true, uncoerced choice of love.
“It’s not just Auron choosing,” I whisper, excitement bubbling up.
“Lindsay can be the mirror. Her bond with him—if it’s strong enough—can amplify the redirection.
The prophecy’s ‘five hearts bound to hers’…
it’s literal. The more we strengthen the bonds, the stronger her conduit becomes.
The stronger she becomes, the more she can reflect the curse back. ”
Dorian’s eyes light up, genuine excitement this time, not flirtation.
“That’s brilliant,” he breathes. “You’re brilliant.”
He turns to me, face inches from mine. For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me.
He doesn’t. Instead, he presses his forehead to mine.
Dorian’s forehead stays pressed to mine for one long, suspended heartbeat.
His breath is warm against my lips, scented faintly with honey and something else—like winter and summer trapped in a bottle.
My pulse thuds in my ears, loud enough I’m sure he can hear it.
The library around us feels suddenly smaller, the stacks closing in as though they’re listening.
He pulls back slowly—only far enough to look at me. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown, the teasing glint softened into something rawer. Vulnerable. He doesn’t speak right away. Just searches my face like he’s memorizing it.
Then—quiet, almost reverent—he says, “I think I will quite enjoy being bound to someone as smart as you.”
My breath catches. The words land soft, but they ignite like a spark against dry tinder.
Heat floods my face, my chest, lower. How did I go from being the nobody low-born warlock—the one who always assumed he’d end up in some bloodborn’s employ like my uncle, shuffling papers and staying invisible—to this?
To Lindsay choosing me. To Dorian looking at me like I’m more than just the researcher in the corner.
I’m not sure, but I’m glad it happened.
Dorian’s thumb brushes once more over my knuckles before he finally pulls his hand away. I flex my fingers, trying to shake off the lingering warmth, and force my attention back to the page.
The marginal note stares up at me like it’s been waiting centuries for someone to notice.
I read it again silently, then aloud for confirmation.
“It does mean what I think it does, right?” I glance up at Dorian.
He’s nodding before I even finish my question. “This is old blood magic. It looks like someone found a loophole in the curse structure itself and jotted it down like a cheat code.”
I am already flipping to the cross-reference index in Conduits of Reflected Will.
My pulse is racing now—properly racing, the way it does when a theory clicks into place.
“Exactly. It’s not about cosmic destiny, it’s purely about spell mechanics.
The curse is anchored to Lord Draven’s will, not Auron’s soul.
If Auron makes a genuine, uncoerced choice—something that directly defies his father’s command—the curse’s energy reverses direction. It seeks out the source.”
His eyes flick to mine, bright with excitement, mirroring my own. “And Lindsay can amplify the return.”
“Yes.” I tap the diagram on the opposite page: a thorny sigil reflected in cracked glass, blood dripping from the vessel’s palm into the reflection.
“If her bond with Auron is strong enough—if she’s willingly bound to him as the emotional conduit—the curse reflects back on Lord Draven.
The stronger the ties feeding her power, the clearer and more powerful the reflection. ”
He exhales through his nose, a low, impressed sound. “So it’s not enough for Auron to kiss her once in a moment of weakness and hope the curse snaps. It has to be sustained. Real. And the rest of us…” he trails off, glancing at me sideways. “We strengthen her by being bound to her, too.”
I swallow. “Exactly. I think we can save everyone.”
Dorian’s grin is wicked. “That sounds like the perfect excuse to build our bonds with each other, too.”
I glance at him. He doesn’t seem like he’s trying to flirt his way into my pants this time, he’s being genuine. “Yeah,” I say softly.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes after that, the library’s hush wrapping around us like a blanket.
I keep copying notes—transference rites, mirror amplification, emotional resonance requirements—while Dorian flips through the next volume, actually reading this time, light steady and focused.
Twenty minutes later, he stops on a page near the back. His fingers trace a small, hand-drawn sigil tucked into the corner of a rite description.
“Look at this,” he says, voice low with discovery.
I lean over. The sigil is simple but elegant: a circle of thorns with five inward-facing points, a single unbroken line running through the center like a mirror’s edge.
“It says it’s an amplification node,” Dorian says, trailing his fingers over the words. “When five willing hearts bind to one conduit, the node forms naturally. What are the odds that Lindsay has five bonds and that’s what makes an amplification node?”
I stare at the sigil. The five inward points. The unbroken line. It’s so simple it’s terrifying.
“If we can get Auron to make the choice—really make it—the node activates,” I whisper. “And we don’t just free him. We cripple his father’s hold on the Veil itself.”
Dorian’s grin is slow, feral, and triumphant. “Then we stop playing defense. We turn the curse into a weapon.”
I nod, already scribbling the sigil into my notebook. “We need to tell the others. Tonight. Before Auron digs in deeper.”
Dorian stands, offering me his hand again. “Come on, scholar. Let’s go find the pack. We’ve got a loophole to weaponize and a Bloodborn to thaw.”