Chapter 33 #2
“I’m not sure,” I hedge. “There’ve just been things that’ve happened, like they’re trying to scare me.
” Like hurling a car into the other version of me.
Skipping past that… “Notes, texts. I don’t know how serious the threat is, but I’d rather sort things out now than wait for the situation to get worse. ”
“You really think that someone connected to the club has been harassing you?”
I splay my free hand in a noncommittal gesture. “Maybe? Some other connections I’ve made pointed here… but they point to other places too. I’m covering all the bases as well as I can.”
Byron studies me with his penetrating gaze, as if he’s trying to read my trustworthiness through my skull. For all he knows, I have a totally selfish agenda and I’m making up this story to get him off my back.
“Look.” I dig out the phone I had on silent in my pocket and flick through to the menacing text that arrived the other day. “This is just part of it. I swear that otherwise I have zero interest in what you stuck-up pricks talk about without the women-folk around.”
As I hold up the phone so Byron can read the screen, his mouth twists skeptically—possibly because I briefly forgot that in this reality, I’m one of the stuck-up jerks too.
But as he takes in the message, everything falls from his expression except concern.
“What the hell? And your family is okay with you poking around—”
“My family doesn’t know,” I break in. “I don’t know enough yet for anyone to help. I don’t want my dad to overreact. Maybe I’m overreacting, and it’s a stupid prank from someone at school.”
Byron’s gaze slides back to me. “I don’t think anyone would dare pull a prank like that on you, Elodie.”
Right. Messing with one of the top-ranked students with plenty of supposed magical skill—and a host of prestigious relatives to back her up—would seem like an exceptionally stupid idea.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. A sudden rawness colors his voice. “You weren’t thinking that I had anything to do with—”
He sounds so taken aback that guilt knots my stomach. “No, of course not. What I told you last time is true—I wasn’t trying to talk to you at all. It just… happened.”
“All right. All right.”
Doubt still etches his face, but his thumb glides across my wrist, a caress I’m not sure he even knows he’s offered.
My heart flutters at the contact. A pang forms deep within it.
Byron has always given every situation his all, taken on more responsibilities than anyone should have to carry. What’s he going to think when I vanish in what I hope will be just a few more days, when Aunt Daphne finally announces my double’s murder?
Will he wonder if he should have done more, if he could have saved a girl he won’t realize was already dead? Will he blame himself for not doing enough?
This isn’t my Byron, but he no longer has his Elodie. I’m going to abandon him, all of them, to a life without a match, without a glim sparked alongside it.
They have no way of knowing that’s for the best. That it could be so much worse.
The words wrench out of me. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch to you before. At school and everything. You deserve the top spot. You shouldn’t have to work harder than the rest of us just to keep it.”
Byron blinks. “I’ve never complained—”
“I know. Because you just do what you have to do. And you do it well. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. Everyone can see it, even if they don’t want to admit it like they should. You’re one of the most skilled lucents I know, and definitely the most determined, and… and you should be proud of that.”
My voice falters in the last sentence with Byron’s startled stare. I realize abruptly that I reached for him without meaning to, my gloved hand resting against his arm with a delicate stroke of my fingers over his sleeve.
Heat flares to life in his eyes, and my pulse hitches with a mix of answering desire and panic. My thoughts scatter like they did the moment I laid myself across Cole’s lap.
Byron dips his head toward mine, and one clear, panicked impulse breaks through the clang of longing. My hand whips off his arm to clamp across my mouth, warding off any chance of a kiss.
At least, that’s the idea. Byron looks down at me as if through a haze, and then the softest of smiles lifts the corners of his lips.
He tips the rest of the way forward and kisses the back of my hand.
The hot but gentle contact floods through the silk of my glove and tingles all the way across flesh and bone to my own mouth. A stutter of a sigh escapes me, echoed by a rough noise low in Byron’s chest.
He presses another kiss to my hand while his fingers sketch down my side to my waist. I can’t stop my hips from swaying toward him, can’t swallow the needy sound that works from my throat.
My pulse thrums on, beating out a rhythm that says he belongs to me and I to him.
My other hand flits up to tangle in the dense curls of his hair. Byron lets out a muffled groan and grasps my thigh.
In one swift movement, he hefts me up the wall so we’re almost face to face, guiding my legs to splay around his hips. My thighs brace around him for balance, and the bulge behind the fly of his slacks presses against my core.
The unexpected friction shocks a whimper out of me. Byron groans again and ducks his head to brush his next kiss to my raised arm through the sleeve of my shirt.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. What the hell are you doing to me?”
My head tilts back against the wall as I pant in an effort to recover my breath. I can barely get out a mumble. “Nothing you aren’t doing to me too.”
The next sound he makes is more like a growl. “Fucking terror.” But the remark no longer feels like a reproach.
With me pinned against the wall by his hips, he’s free to tease his hand up to my chest. The gauze flattening my breasts dulls his tentative exploration.
He frowns and tugs my shirt loose from my pants. As his hand delves under the fabric, the tips of his gloves skim across my bare skin.
A note of protest forms in my shaky gasp. Then his lips sear through my sleeve again, and my mind whirls.
“What have you done to yourself, Elodie?” he mutters, tracing the line of the bandage. “That’s just not right.”
With a few deft tugs, the gauze loosens and droops. He nudges it down and cups one breast through my bra.
My grip on his hair tightens. As he swivels his thumb over my nipple, my hips jerk forward, desperate for deeper contact.
Byron squeezes my ass with his other hand, a breath hissing through his teeth. He rocks against me slowly, the hard ridge of his erection unmistakable even through the layers of clothing.
Pleasure pulses through my sex. I shiver with need against him.
I loop one arm around his neck and drop my other hand from my mouth to clutch at the front of his shirt. Byron bows his head, keeping a careful few inches between our faces.
He kisses the peak of my shoulder, slides his gloved fingers right beneath my bra to fondle my breast more directly, and pushes between my thighs again. I can’t completely stifle the mewling sound that leaves my lungs.
Every inch of my skin is aflame. Desire radiates from my core all through the rest of my body. I need, need, need so much I can’t put into words.
We’re meant to be this close. Always, always, always.
I sway to meet Byron’s intensifying thrusts, chasing the deeper pleasure I’m dying for. The roar of longing drowns out everything but the throbbing of my pussy, the slide of his erection against my clit, and the giddy blaze burning between us.
The friction turns electrifying. My nerves crackle with the swell of sensation.
I clamp my lips tight shut just as the dam breaks.
My head smacks back against the wall with the dizzying impact of my orgasm. My legs clench tighter around Byron. He ducks his head lower with a rough noise and a few more jerky pumps of his hips.
“Fuck,” he murmurs raggedly several seconds later. He eases his hand out from under my shirt and guides my feet to the floor, gazing down between us.
The splotch of his own release stands out against the dark gray of his pants. A chuckle tumbles out of him. “Thank the radiants for magic.”
My answering giggle startles me. Byron lifts his head to meet my eyes, and in that moment his expression is so tender my whole chest aches.
All I’d have to do is touch his cheek and guide his mouth down to mine, and this demanding call between us could be properly—
“Fucking terror,” he says again, tracing his thumb along my cheek. “And fucking precious too.”
“You know how much we love you, Precious.”
The remembered voice wipes the lingering pleasure from my body.
I recoil, my shoulders hitting the wall again. Bile sears up my throat.
How could I have been thinking—how could I even consider—
My Byron is waiting for me, searching for me… while I practically hooked up with someone who’s not really him.
Tears spring to my eyes so swiftly they’re already spilling out before I can blink them away.
Byron pulls back. “Elodie?”
The flash of horror that crosses his face is too much, too awful. Why can’t I just stay away from them?
I hurl myself toward the door and stumble down the hall, as if I can escape myself and what I’ve done. What I imagined doing.
The way to the exit is open now. I rush blindly down the hall.
The bright early afternoon sunlight outside stings my eyes. Every step sets my nerves wobbling.
Byron doesn’t have to worry about one thing—I’m never coming back here again.