Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
AURON
The western tower has always smelled of old blood and older secrets.
Stone walls that have watched generations of Bloodborn heirs sharpen their cruelty into something elegant. Something inevitable.
I stand at the tall, arched window, arms folded tight across my chest, watching the quad below like it owes me answers. Students drift across the frost-kissed grass, laughing at nothing, oblivious that the world is one thin thread from unraveling.
My palm burns.
Not the curse mark—this is older, deeper. A dull, persistent ache I’ve spent months pretending is phantom pain. A leftover scar from something I cut away.
Or tried to ignore at least.
I told myself that the bond could never be. That my father’s command had severed it clean, that the curse prevented it. That the faint tug I sometimes felt in the middle of the night was just guilt playing tricks.
Lies I’ve polished until they shine.
But lies don’t pulse.
They don’t flare hot and ragged when she’s in trouble.
The wards on my door shiver. Someone’s coming—fast, unsteady, trailing magic that feels like copper and desperation choking the air.
Her.
The bond I buried flares to life in my chest—faint, yes, but unmistakable. A thin red thread stretched taut across months of silence, never quite broken. Flickering. Stubborn. Alive. Even after I told her to leave me alone.
Footsteps stagger up the spiral stair. Too slow. I don’t turn until the door slams open.
Lindsay stumbles across the threshold, one hand braced on the frame, the other clamped over her shoulder. Blood slicks her fingers, dark and steady, soaking the torn sleeve, dripping in fat drops onto my floor.
Her face is ashen. Eyes glassy with pain and something sharper—purpose. Hair wild, streaked with ash.
Ash.
My stomach lurches. She looks straight at me, with raw, exhausted need. Then her knees give out.
“Lindsay—” Her name tears free before I can cage it.
I’m across the room in three strides. She collapses forward, and I catch her—arms locking around her waist, pulling her against my chest. Her blood soaks instantly through my shirt, hot and accusing. Her breath rasps against my throat in shallow, broken bursts.
“Who did this?” My voice comes out low. Dangerous. The kind of quiet that promises someone will bleed for this.
She tries to push back—stubborn even now—but her fingers twist into my collar instead, clinging.
“Your father,” she rasps. “He came through a portal. In Headmaster Veyne’s quarters.”
Ice floods my veins. “Headmaster Veyne?” I ask, even though I know demons turn to ash when they are killed.
“Gone.” Her voice cracks. “Turned to ash. Right in front of me.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint. Headmaster Veyne—untouchable, ancient headmaster—reduced to dust. For a moment, the room feels too small for the fury clawing up my spine.
My father has always been ruthless. But killing Veyne inside the academy? That isn’t strategy, it’s a declaration of war.
Lindsay’s weight sags harder against me, dragging my focus back to the present. Blood continues to seep through my fingers where I’ve instinctively pressed my hand over her wound.
Too much blood.
Her magic flickers wildly under my skin where our bodies touch—Veil power lashing like a storm barely contained.
“You shouldn’t be standing,” I mutter.
Her laugh comes out thin and breathless. “That’s… kind of the least important problem right now.”
“Disagree.”
I tighten my grip on her waist and steer her toward the chair beside the hearth before she can argue. She collapses into it with a sharp hiss of pain. I kneel in front of her.
Up close, the damage is worse than I thought. The sleeve of her shirt is nearly shredded, the fabric soaked dark with blood where the spell struck her shoulder.
My jaw tightens. “Hold still.”
“Auron—”
“Hold. Still.” The command slips out sharper than I intend.
For once, she obeys. I tear the ruined fabric away carefully, revealing the injury beneath. The spell carved through muscle but missed the bone—deliberate, precise.
My father wanted her alive. Just weakened. My hands curl into fists before I force them steady again.
“You’re lucky,” I say tightly.
“Funny,” she mutters. “That’s not how it felt.”
I place my palm over the wound. Heat flares instantly. The curse mark on my palm burns in response, the familiar chain tightening around my magic like a leash.
My father’s control. A reminder. I ignore it. Lindsay gasps softly as the magic takes hold, the bleeding slowing under my touch.
“Since when do you heal people?” she whispers.
“Since you started bleeding on my floor.”
Her mouth twitches despite the pain. The wound knits halfway closed before the curse snaps tight around my magic again, cutting the spell short. The crimson glow sputters out.
I exhale slowly.
“It’ll hold,” I say. “But you’re going to feel that for a while.”
“Great.”
She shifts, wincing as she straightens slightly in the chair. Then her eyes lock onto mine again. The exhaustion is still there.
But underneath it—fire.
“Auron,” she says quietly.
I know that tone. Whatever she’s about to ask, I’m not going to like it.
“What.”
“Your father took Tamsin.”
The words sink in slowly. My shoulders go still.
“Explain.”
“Tamsin tried to stop him,” she says hoarsely. “He knocked her out and dragged her with him.”
Of course he did. Hostages are efficient leverage. I stand slowly, turning away from her before she can see the fury bleeding across my face.
“My father does not take prisoners without purpose,” I say quietly.
She pushes herself to her feet behind me.
“I know,” she says.
I glance back over my shoulder. She’s pale. Still bleeding slightly. Barely able to stand steady. And still glaring at me as though she intends to finish the war my father started.
“What are you planning?” I ask carefully.
Her answer is immediate. “You’re going to take me to him.”
The words hang in the air between us. I stare at her.
“Absolutely not.”
Her jaw tightens. “He told me to find him.”
“That was bait. Tamsin is bait, Lindsay.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you—”
“Because she’s my best friend, and I’m not leaving her to die,” she snaps. The force of her magic ripples outward, shadows along the walls twisting in response. “And you’re the only one who can get me there fast enough.”
Silence settles over the room. Lindsay watches me as though she already knows there’s a war happening inside my head.
My father would want me to bring her. He wants her to come, so he can do whatever he is planning to her in private, where no one will ever know.
But she’s weak. She can’t face my father and survive, not like this.
And the curse prevents me from acting against him.
“No.”
“Auron,” she pleads.
“Don’t.”
“If you’re worried about the curse—”
“I’m not worried about the curse.” I turn fully toward her. “You think my father is inviting you to tea by taking Tamsin and telling you to follow? If I take you to him, he’ll kill you.”
“He already tried.”
“That was restraint.”
Her chin lifts. “Then I’ll survive that, too.”
Gods help me.
“You’re bleeding,” I snap.
“Minor detail.”
“It’s a fatal one.”
“I’ll heal.”
“You might not get the chance.”
“And Tamsin definitely won’t if we stand here arguing.”
I close the space between us and fight the curse as my fingers hover just above her cheeks, meeting her eyes. “I don’t care about Tamsin.”
She swallows, tears welling in the depths of her blue eyes.
Silence stretches again, and my resolve cracks ever so slightly when a tear tracks down her cheek.
I stare at her. At the ash streaked through her hair and the blood soaked into her clothing.
The fury mixed with fear in her eyes for her friend. Gods, she’s fierce.
My thumb brushes the tear away before it can fall any farther.
I didn’t mean to do that.
The moment my skin touches hers, the thin thread of magic between us tightens—sharp, bright, impossible to ignore. The bond I tried to bury flares in my chest like a spark catching dry tinder.
Lindsay’s breath catches. For a second, neither of us moves.
Her eyes search my face, trying to read the lie I just told.
“I don’t care about Tamsin,” I repeat.
The words still hang between us. But they sound hollow even to my own ears.
Her voice comes out small. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
My jaw tightens. Because the truth is more dangerous than any curse my father ever carved into my skin.
“I don’t care about Tamsin,” I repeat, quieter now. “I care about you.”
The confession slips out before I can stop it. Her eyes widen slightly.
“You are not walking into my father’s hands,” I say, each word measured. “Not bleeding. Not half conscious. Not when he’s expecting you.”
Another tear slides down her cheek.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she whispers.
“I absolutely do.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“And I’m trying to save her!”
For a moment, the room feels too small to contain it. I tighten my grip on her face slightly, forcing her to focus on me.
“Listen to me,” I say, my voice dropping low. “My father didn’t take Tamsin because she matters.”
Her throat works.
“He took her because you do.”
The truth settles heavily between us.
“If you walk into that trap right now,” I continue quietly, “you give him exactly what he wants.”
Her gaze flickers, uncertainty breaking through the fury.
“And if I don’t go?” she asks. “He kills her anyway.”
Gods. She’s right. And I hate that she’s right.
My curse mark burns hotter, sensing the shift in my thoughts, the subtle rebellion forming beneath the surface of my magic. The spell tightens like a leash.
Do not defy him.
Do not act against him.
Do not interfere.
I grit my teeth against it. Lindsay watches me carefully.
“You’re thinking about it,” she murmurs.
“I’m thinking about how stupid this is.”
“But you’re thinking.”
The stubborn hope in her voice cracks something in my chest. Gods help me. She shouldn’t look at me like that. As if I’m the one who might save her.
My forehead drops briefly against hers before I can stop myself. Her breath hitches.
“If I take you to him,” I say quietly, “you follow my lead.”
“Yes.”
“No arguing.”
“Fine.”
“And if I say run—”
“I won’t.”
“Lindsay.”
Her mouth presses into a stubborn line.
“…I’ll consider it.”
I close my eyes for half a second. That’s the best I’m getting. My hand drops from her face, and I step back, lifting my palm.
Ancient runes ignite across my skin as warlock magic coils through the air, crimson sigils weaving together into a portal spell. The air fractures with a sharp crack as reality tears open in front of us.
Darkness churns inside the gateway. My father’s domain waits beyond it. The curse on my wrist burns viciously, warning me exactly how badly this could end. Lindsay steps up beside me anyway.
“For Tamsin,” she says softly.
The bond between us pulses again—bright, stubborn, alive. I glance down at her.
“You stay behind me.”
“Deal.”
I grab her hand.
The moment our fingers lace together, her Veil magic sparks violently against my own, power flashing through the bond like lightning.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Then I pull her forward. And step into the portal.