Chapter 6 Lindsay
SIX
LINDSAY
Kael doesn’t slow as we move away from the North Tower. His pace is quick and sure, cutting across the dark courtyard without a glance back. I struggle to keep up, pulse still thudding in my ears. The mark on my arm burns faintly with each step, the lines cooling but not fading.
Tamsin jogs up beside us, breath shallow. “Where are you taking her?”
Kael’s voice is flat. “Not your concern.”
Tamsin scowls. “Like hell it isn’t. She’s—”
He stops abruptly, turning just enough that his stare lands hard.
“She will be returned when I’m finished. Or not. There is nothing you can do to change that.”
There’s no heat in the words. Just fact.
Tamsin’s jaw tightens, but her eyes flick to me. “Linds?”
I swallow, debating if I can trust Kael enough to go somewhere with just him. He did step in to save me. He wouldn’t do that if he meant to harm me. Right?
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll be up to the dorm soon.”
It’s a lie. We both know it. But the last thing I need is for her to get dragged into this, too. Tamsin hesitates, gaze hard on Kael, then on me. Finally, she exhales and steps back.
“I’ll be waiting,” she says. “If you do anything to her, Kael, I’ll make you regret it.”
Kael doesn’t respond to her threat. He turns and walks on, expecting me to follow. After a quick, reassuring, shaky smile to Tamsin, I do.
Through an archway, down a side path I haven’t seen before. The Academy seems to shift around us, the air colder here, the shadows deeper. We stop at a door marked with unfamiliar runes. Kael traces one with two fingers. The lock clicks open.
Without looking at me, he pushes the door wide.
A sigh ghosts out of him when I don’t move. “In.”
I hesitate for half a second, my eyes taking in his lowly lit room.
Then step through. The door clicks shut behind me, sealing the room in quiet.
Kael moves ahead without looking back, a flick of his fingers bringing soft silver runes to life along the walls.
The light is cold, leaving no shadows to hide in.
I hover just inside, gaze drifting. His quarters are sparse. The stone walls are dark and smooth, shelves lining one side stacked with books, scrolls, neat rows of glass vials, and small metal tools I can’t begin to name.
A narrow table sits beneath them, everything arranged with clinical precision; daggers, rune stones, coils of silver wire.
No dust. No clutter. A single chair is pulled back from the table, like he studies there.
And in the far corner, a simple bed. The blanket drawn tight, edges squared, not a single fold out of place.
The whole space hums with restrained energy, cool and clean, like him. I’m still cataloging his space when his voice cuts through.
“Eyes up, little human.”
My gaze snaps to him before I think. He’s across the room now, coat shed, dark tunic rolled to the elbows. Revealing toned forearms with a similar tattoo as the mark that is burned on my skin.
He watches me with the same bored disinterest, like I’m just another problem to sort.
Then, slow and deliberate, he tugs at the fingers of one glove.
Peels it off. Then the other.
I can’t stop watching, completely transfixed as his hands come into view.
Long fingers, with dark, sharp nails. I suck in a breath.
The air feels charged with something, and my heart is beating like it belongs to a rabbit and not me.
I’m almost ready to bolt, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground and wait.
He crosses the room without hurry, every step measured. When he reaches me, he lifts one hand.
“Let’s see it.”
It’s not a question. I hesitate, throat tight, then extend my marked arm, fingers trembling just slightly. Kael takes my wrist in his bare hand, cool and steady. And pushes up my sleeve with the other.
The second his skin touches mine, a jolt sparks low in my chest. A rush of heat and something alive. Too alive. Too much. The mark flares faintly under his grip, glowing against the pale skin of his fingers.
My breath catches. The sensation coils low, unexpected and too strong. I grit my teeth, forcing the reaction down. The mark must be sensitive. That’s all.
Kael says nothing, thumb brushing once, slow and deliberate, along one of the glowing lines along my fingers. His expression doesn’t shift, but something flickers behind his eyes. Not surprise or concern. Something colder. Calculating.
His grip is steady around my wrist, cool fingers circling the skin just below the mark. The lines flare faintly under his touch, heat pulsing in time with my heartbeat. He studies it in silence. No wasted movement. His gaze tracks each glowing line like he’s cataloging a weapon.
When he looks up, the shift is subtle. The air between us draws tight.
“What triggered it?” His voice is clipped, flat as the stone walls.
Oh, he knows. Of course he does. That question isn't for him, it’s for me. To see if I know. Or to see how I lie.
I pull in a shallow breath. “I don’t know.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. His thumb drifts along the edge of one line, slow and precise. The contact sends another flicker through me, heat blooming low in my stomach, uninvited.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “The Wraith hounds came for you. No one else.”
“I didn’t call them,” I say, tighter this time. “I didn’t even know what they were.”
The pressure of his thumb shifts. Not painful, just enough to remind me he’s in complete control of this moment.
His thumb brushes one glowing line again, and it takes everything in me not to jerk my hand back. Not because it hurts. Because it doesn’t. I like it.
Because it feels like a warning or a promise. Or both.
“You felt them coming,” Kael says. Not a question.
I hesitate, jaw tight. He’s not wrong. I did. I just didn’t understand what it meant—only that it felt like the universe exhaling straight into my chest.
“I felt... something,” I admit. “It didn’t exactly come with a label. And before you saved me in my shitty little apartment, none of this existed outside of fairytales and crappy CGI movies.”
He’s still watching me, but something shifts slightly. The look in his eyes sharpens, focused like a blade sliding home.
“You were never supposed to be ignorant,” he says quietly. “Someone kept you in the dark. Why would they do that?”
My pulse stutters. I don’t think he’s asking me that question.
“I didn’t ask for this. Any of this. The school. The magic. Shadow monsters—if that’s what they even are.”
Kael releases me without warning. The loss of contact leaves my skin burning, empty. My arm drops to my side, fingers curling instinctively. He turns away, crossing to the table. The slow, deliberate way he picks up a narrow rune blade feels more thoughtful than threatening, but no less unsettling.
The metal catches the light as he turns it once in his hand.
“The Bloods won’t ignore this,” he says. “Neither will the Council.”
That pulls me up short. “Why?” I ask. “Why them? What makes the Bloods have any part of any of this?”
I can understand a Council…every school has something like that, right? A magical school wouldn’t be any different. But other students? It makes no sense.
He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t raise his voice.
“Because they think power belongs to them. You just single-handedly proved it doesn’t.”
The words hang in the air like smoke.
I take a shaky step closer. “You keep saying things like that. Dropping hints. Acting like you know what I am but won’t say it.”
His fingers tighten around the blade. Not threatening—restraining.
“I think I deserve an answer,” I say, louder now. “What am I?”
Kael finally turns, gaze cool and unreadable. He says nothing for a beat too long.
The blade clicks softly against the table as he sets it down, precise as everything else in this room. Then he faces me again. His gaze holds mine for a long beat. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
Finally, he speaks, voice low, even, cutting straight through the weight in my chest. “Do you want to survive here, Lindsay Blake?”
There’s no threat in the words. No kindness either. Just a simple, brutal question.
I swallow, my throat tight. “Yes.”
The corner of his mouth lifts—too faint to be a smile. More a knowing flicker.
“Then you need a mentor. And training.” He turns back to the table, fingers dragging a scroll aside like this conversation is already over. “Your magic is unstable. I’ll have to tell the Council.”
That pulls me up short again. “Wait.” My voice cracks, raw from everything. “I thought you weren’t going to tell them. You said—down there—you implied I’d be safer if they didn’t know.”
Kael’s posture stiffens slightly, but he doesn’t turn around.
“You made that choice irrelevant,” he says, calm and cold. “You cleared Wraith hounds in front of half the Undercourt. There’s no hiding now. Even if I don’t tell the Council, a Blood will.”
I stare at him. So that’s it? Too much attention, so now he tosses me to the wolves—Council wolves.
I open my mouth again. The questions are there—What do you mean by unstable? Who would even mentor me? What will the Council do?—but the words tangle behind the knot in my throat.
Kael doesn’t wait.
“Not tonight.”
It’s not an answer. It’s a wall he’s throwing up between us. He moves back to the table, sliding the scroll aside with precise care. The finality in the motion says clearly: I’m done with this. Without looking at me, he reaches for his gloves, fingers sliding them back on one at a time.
“You’ll return to your dorm.” His tone is flat, as if I’m another item on his list. “Someone will contact you when the Council decides how to proceed.”
I stand frozen. Every instinct is screaming that I should argue, should demand something—anything—but the space between us is already shut like a slammed door.
He finally glances up. “I’ll escort you.”
That single sentence feels more like an order than protection. Of course he’s not letting me walk alone. Not after all of this.
I nod mutely, and he strides past me, opening the door without waiting. I follow, the mark under my sleeve pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
We walk in silence. Through the twisting halls, past torchlit corridors, past closed doors. Kael doesn’t speak. Doesn’t slow.
When we reach my floor, he finally stops. Just outside the threshold.
“Stay inside your warded rooms. Do not leave without permission until morning.”
I hesitate at the door, hand on the latch, and glance back once. He’s already gone, swallowed by shadow and silence.
I step inside alone.
The faint silver light from the rune sconces hums low, shadows pooling in the hallway. Inside, most of the beds are drawn in with heavy curtains. Soft breathing fills the room, the occasional rustle of blankets.
But Tamsin is awake. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, cloak still on, hair unbraided, eyes sharp in the dim light. The second she sees me, she’s on her feet.
“Linds,” she whispers, crossing the space in two quick steps. “You okay?”
I nod, but it’s shaky at best. My pulse hasn’t fully settled since Kael dismissed me. The mark thrums quietly under my sleeve, constant and wrong. Tamsin grabs my wrist—not the marked one—gently steering me to sit on my bed.
“What the hell happened?” she murmurs, careful not to wake the others.
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. The words feel too big, too tangled, but I manage, “He said my magic’s unstable. That he’s going to tell the Council.”
Tamsin’s mouth tightens. “Of course he is.”
She glances around, making sure no one’s listening, then drops her voice even further.
“And the mark?”
I hesitate, then push up my sleeve enough for her to see the faint glow still coiling up my arm. Tamsin sucks in a breath, fingers hovering like she wants to touch but doesn’t dare.
“Shit,” she whispers again. “Okay. Okay. We’ll figure it out.”
I nod, though my stomach twists tighter.
Tamsin squeezes my shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Sleep sounds impossible, but the weight of exhaustion is already dragging me under. I change quickly, pulling the curtain around my bed closed. The faint light of the mark pulses, soft and steady in the darkness.
I shut my eyes.
The whispers in my head won’t stop: Kael’s voice, the Council, the watching crowd.
But eventually, exhaustion wins. And sleep takes me.