Chapter 35 Lindsay
THIRTY-FIVE
LINDSAY
The east wing corridor is quiet when I finally step out of the rune lab, the door clicking shut behind me like a final punctuation on Auron’s fury.
My chest aches from the raw pain I saw behind his mask and how cruel he tried to be.
He’s fighting so hard, bleeding for it, and all I can do is walk away and hope he chooses to follow.
Tamsin is waiting at the end of the hall, leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed, red hair catching the dim witch light. She pushes off when she sees me, eyes searching my face.
“How’d it go?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head. “He pushed. Hard. But… I think he heard me. At least part of it.”
She nods once, squeezing my arm. “That’s something. The guys said something about meeting in the common room at Nolan’s dorm.”
I manage a small smile. “Let’s go find them.”
It doesn’t take us long to realize the common room is empty.
Maybe we beat them here. We linger for a little bit, feeling slightly awkward in a common room that isn’t our own.
Well, I feel awkward, Tamsin, on the other hand…
I don’t think she knows what that feeling is.
She flops onto the worn couch, kicks her boots up on the low table, and starts fiddling with a small knife she pulled from somewhere in her jacket.
“Relax,” she says, twirling the blade between her fingers. “They’re probably still arguing about who gets to punch Auron first for not immediately falling at your feet. Or Raiden’s trying to scent-mark the entire hallway so no one else gets close to you.”
I laugh despite myself, dropping into the armchair across from her. “You’re not wrong.”
The common room clock ticks softly. Moonlight slants through the tall windows, painting silver stripes across the rug. Tamsin eventually snicks the knife shut and stretches, cracking her neck.
“So,” she says, voice dropping to that conspiratorial tone she uses when she’s about to pry. “You gonna tell me how bad the platinum popsicle made you feel, or do I have to guess?”
I exhale. “He was cruel. Said I was nothing. That I was deluded for thinking I could save him. That I was just collecting broken boys for my own ego basically.”
Tamsin’s eyes narrow. “He’s projecting. Hard. A curse can do that to a person, though.” She pulls her knife back out and starts using it to clean imaginary dirt from beneath her nails.
I nod slowly. “I know. He’s terrified of what happens if he chooses. If the curse will actually go for his father, or if he will die painfully. I get it. I’d have to love someone pretty hard to even chance that. And whatever we have between us, it isn’t love.”
Tamsin flicks the knife closed with a soft click and leans forward, elbows on knees. “Love’s overrated anyway. It’s the wanting that’s dangerous. The kind of wanting that makes you stupid. Makes you stay when you should run. Makes you bleed when you should cut and leave.”
I look at her—really look. There’s something in her eyes tonight that isn’t usually there. A sort of sad knowing that makes me want to hug her.
“You sound like you’ve bled for someone,” I say quietly.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just watched enough people do it that I recognize the symptoms.” She stands, pacing to the window.
Moonlight catches the red of her hair like fire.
“Point is, Auron’s not bleeding because you’re pushing.
He’s bleeding because he’s finally feeling something that isn’t his father’s approval. And that scares him more than death.”
I pull my knees up to my chest. “So what do I do? Keep pushing? Back off? Pretend I don’t care?”
She steps closer, eyes glinting as though she’s already three steps ahead.
“Lindsay, he kissed you. He knew what the curse would do—knew it would rip him open—and he still slammed his mouth on yours. Whatever that was overrode any fear he had inside and made him so hungry for the taste of your mouth that he gave in. And he hates you for it. Hates that you make him want something he’s been told he can never have. ”
My throat tightens. “So what do I do? Wait for him to bleed himself dry?”
Tamsin’s grin turns wicked. “No. You use it. He’s building walls higher and higher because the attraction is already there—burning under the ice of his cold, dead heart.
He can’t kill it. He can’t ignore it. So you flirt with the crack.
Tease the hunger. Make him feel how badly he wants you until the walls aren’t protection anymore—they’re a cage he’s desperate to break out of. ”
I stare at her. “You’re telling me to weaponize the fact that he wants me.”
“Damn right I am.” She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s not going to choose you because you’re kind. He’s going to choose you because he wants you more than his next breath.”
My heart is pounding now—hard and fast, with a mix of fear and something darker. Something reckless.
“And if he still pushes me away?”
“Doubtful, have you looked at yourself in a mirror? You are hot with a capital H. And he’s been circling you for a while now. Even since your very first day on campus, he made sure you knew who he was.”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure it was a ‘human, you disgust me, and I’m going to make your life hell here’ type of knowing he wanted me to feel.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek as she watches me. “I mean, that’s probably his love language.”
“I’m pretty sure I outgrew the whole ‘he pulled my hair so he likes me’ phase in the third grade.”
Tamsin barks a laugh, loud and bright enough to echo off the common room walls.
“Fair. But think about it—the guy’s been trained his whole life that wanting anything is a weakness.
So he turns it into hate. Into cruelty. Into ‘I’ll make her life hell so she never gets close enough to make me feel anything.
’ Classic deflection. Textbook asshole-with-a-crush behavior. ”
I roll my eyes, but the laugh feels good. “So your advice is… what? Bully him back?”
“Nah.” She drops onto the couch beside me, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
“My advice is to give him exactly what he’s terrified of.
Attention. Heat. You. Walk up to him tomorrow and look him dead in the eye like you know exactly what he tastes like.
Brush past him in the hall and let your fingers linger on his sleeve just long enough to make his magic twitch.
Whisper something that makes him think about your mouth on his again.
Make him ache for it. Because the second the wanting gets louder than the curse? That’s when he cracks.”
I swallow. “And if the curse wins? If he bleeds too much and shuts down?”
“Then you catch him when he falls,” she says simply. “But trust me—he’s not going to let it win. Not when the alternative is never tasting you again.”
“If only this was just about the curse and not saving all of the realms from themselves.”
“You gotta start somewhere,” she says with a shrug.
We sit in companionable silence for a while longer. Until footsteps echo from the side hall.
Nolan rounds the corner first, notebook clutched to his chest, glasses slightly askew, and a smile on his face. Dorian is right behind him, hair tousled, wearing a matching grin that is wide and triumphant.
“Lindsay!” Nolan calls, voice breathless. “We found it. The loophole. The way to break Auron’s curse.”
Tamsin raises a brow. “That was fast.”
Dorian winks at her. “What can I say? The scholar’s a genius. And I make excellent company.”
Nolan takes a breath, flipping to the right page.
“It’s a mirror rite. The curse is anchored to Lord Draven’s will, not Auron’s soul.
If Auron makes a genuine choice—something that directly defies his father—the energy reverses and seeks the caster.
And you become the mirror. Your bond with him reflects it back. ”
Dorian leans against the couch arm, arms crossed.
“But the stronger your bonds are—with all of us—the more powerful the reflection. It’s amplification.
One bond might sting Lord Draven. Five? It could shatter him.
Weaken the entire Draven conduit that’s been feeding the Veil’s hunger for generations. ”
I stare at them. The ache in my chest shifts—lighter, sharper. Hopeful. “So if we’re all bound—fully, willingly—the curse doesn’t just break. It destroys the source.”
Nolan nods, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Exactly. The five of us create a node. It forms naturally when the bonds are real. As long as we all make the choice to bond.”
Dorian’s grin is slow, wicked, but soft around the edges. “And we choose you. Every time.”
The room feels smaller suddenly. Warmer. Their eyes on me—Nolan’s steady, sweet gaze; Dorian’s bright, teasing warmth—send a different kind of heat curling through my veins. The bond hums between us—bright, insistent, pulling tighter with every breath.
Dorian pushes off the couch arm, stepping closer. “We thought…maybe we should start strengthening those bonds. Right now.”
Nolan glances at him, then me. No jealousy. Just quiet agreement. “If you want.”
“Well, that is my cue,” Tamsin snorts. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find me later if you need backup for round two with the platinum popsicle."
She slips out, leaving the three of us alone.
I nod. “I want.”
Dorian’s smile turns softer, more real. He glances at Nolan, then back at me. “My rooms are close. And… private. No one will interrupt.”
Nolan’s cheeks flush deeper, but he nods. “If that’s okay with you.”
The thought of being alone with them, really alone, makes my pulse kick harder. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Dorian leads the way. His chambers are on the upper floor of the east wing; opulent without being ostentatious.
Golden light orbs float lazily near the ceiling, casting a warm glow over silk sheets, dark wood, and a wide balcony overlooking the frost-covered quad.
The door seals behind us with a soft hum of wards locking into place.