Chapter 29 – — Professor Cane, Fracture and Form #3
“It’s solid. Come in before the storm hits worse.”
I duck inside, and it’s a relief to be out of the wind, but it’s still freezing in here.
It’s a very small room, short enough that we’re forced to crouch, the ceiling low and slanted toward a single rectangular window we can’t see out of because it’s buried in snow. It’s dark in here, not pitch-black but enough that I can make out the shape of Draven and not much else.
I’m missing that hearth in the chapel right about now.
Actually, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m missing Ashwell. How are all the other teams doing? How’s Jace doing? Probably bonding with Killian over how much they despise me. Jace has his reasons. Killian simply despises me for being me.
There’s a single wool blanket folded on the floor in the corner. Draven nudges it toward me with the toe of his boot.
“Romantic,” I say and wrap it around myself.
It doesn’t help. The cold has seeped past the layers and into my bones, and my teeth start chattering before I can clamp my jaw shut. My hair is a tangle of waves, and I quickly push it out of my face and braid it to the side.
“How long until the storm passes, do you think?”
“Hopefully not more than a couple hours. It looked like it was moving at a good pace.” He lowers himself to the ground against the wall and stretches his legs out, his head tilted back against the wood.
“That’s the most optimistic thing I’ve heard you say all week.”
“I am full of surprises.”
“Are you?”
“You shouldn’t look so suspicious. It is unflattering,” he says, and I grunt.
“I’m always suspicious of you, Alucard. You’ve given me nothing else to work with.”
I try to slow my body down, but now that we’re not moving, the shivering has gotten worse. I rub my hands together and blow warm air into them. The blanket might as well be a sheet of paper for all the good it’s doing.
“Your lips are turning blue.”
I look over at him. He’s watching me from the wall, his arms crossed loosely, his head still tipped back.
“It’s too dark in here for you to tell what color my lips are.”
“Vampire eyes.”
“That is going to get old very fast.”
“It’s already old. You’re still going to have to live with it.”
I drag the blanket tighter and try not to let him see my hands shaking inside it. “I’m fine.”
“Your jaw hasn’t stopped moving in five minutes.”
“That is a posture choice.”
“That is hypothermia.”
“You exaggerate.”
“You are stubborn. Why do you always try to hide how you feel?”
“I’m not stubborn. I’m a bone year student on a midterm who has been told her entire life that humans are weaker than every other bloodline, and I would prefer not to prove the point on the floor of a hunting blind in front of a vampire who would never let me live it down.”
He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes like molten honey.
“Come here.”
“I’m fine where I am.”
“Damn it, Maelis, come here.”
Moving would mean admitting I want to, and I am not ready to admit that to him or to myself.
“You are going to make me come over there, aren’t you?” Draven sighs deeply and repositions right next to me. I feel the heat of his body instantly and think maybe I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.
He lifts his arm without comment.
I duck under it and tuck myself against his side, my shoulder pressed to his ribs, and his arm comes down around my shoulders and his hand settles on the outside of my upper arm.
Noctis appears at my other side without warning.
He is so big the entire blind shifts when he settles in.
He stretches out along the floor, his massive black body pressed against my hip, and he lays his head down across my lap with the deliberate care of an animal who knows exactly how much he weighs.
Poppy chooses now to appear and drape herself over Noctis, snuggling into the fur on his back.
The shivering stops within a minute. The cold in my fingers turns from numb to aching, which I know means they are warming up, even though it feels worse for a second.
“This is terrible luck,” I say mostly because I cannot stand the silence. “It’s like everything is stacked against us. I wonder if any of the other teams have had it this hard.”
“I would not assume any of the teams have had it easy.”
“At least they don’t have a freezing snowstorm on top of whatever obstacles they’re facing. Bale said we were the only team in the Frostlands.”
I throw a hand out to exaggerate, and Draven chuckles.
“Tell me why you’re here, Freckles.”
I know exactly what he means, but I can’t resist. “Because a storm forced me into whatever this is with a broody vampire prince.”
His chest springs under my ear in something that is almost a laugh. “You’re going to have to cut the prince part out of your vocabulary when we get back.”
I tilt my head up to look at him. “Oh, so now you want me to keep your secrets?”
“Why did you come to Ashwell?” he asks, not bothering to acknowledge the question. “How did you apply?”
I consider lying but have nothing left to protect that I have not already handed him.
“I didn’t apply.”
His head turns enough that I know he heard exactly what I meant.
I tell him about the parchment that found me in my father’s office.
About the line at the bottom in handwriting I didn’t recognize.
About the silver fire that ate the page when I asked who wrote it, and the fae who threaded me out of Ironfen with one hand on my shoulder and not a single answer.
I tell him about the mirror, what it said about my blood walking these halls before me, and about every empty record I have searched in the library since.
He is so still while I talk that I almost forget he’s breathing.
“If you keep my secret about my identity,” he says, “maybe I’ll help you.”
My interest sharpens. “You’ll help me find the mirror? How?”
“I have my ways. Is it a deal, Rose?”
He must want this hidden more than I realized, though I can’t for the life of me work out why.
“It’s a deal.”
“You need to be careful with the headmaster. He wouldn’t keep the mirror in his office. It’s too well traveled. He will keep it in his private quarters, and I can tell you where they are.”
“Generous of you. The academy is large, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to find the staff housing. I would have managed.”
“You would have wasted time and likely gotten caught. I will save you the trouble and tell you which one is his. And I will distract him so you can get inside.”
I turn fully toward him.
“When? How?”
“I already know the right time. You will have to be patient.”
I cross my arms. “Enlighten me.”
“The end-of-year ball. All students. All faculty. The breath year graduates. The headmaster will be there, and I’ll keep him distracted while you get the answers you seek. Then we are even.”
I hadn’t realized we were keeping a tally.
“Alright,” I say slowly, “you help me with this, and I take your secret to the grave.”
I tilt my head up to look at him, expecting him to be staring at the wall.
But he’s looking at me. His face is so close I can see little flecks of red and amber within the gold of his irises. I should look away but I can’t.
I follow the line of his jaw, the short manicured beard he keeps trimmed close. The small scar at his temple I’ve never noticed before. My eyes trail down to his lips, and they part slightly, like he’s about to say something but hasn’t committed to it yet.
I think about my dream.
I think about crawling into his lap and making it a reality and how incredibly reckless that would be.
“Draven,” I breathe.
“Freckles.”
“You’re looking at me.”
“I am.”
“You should stop.”
“Probably.”
Outside, the wind has dropped to a steady moan against the walls of the blind. Inside, I can’t hear anything except my own pulse in my ears, and the slow steady thrum of his under my hand, where it has somehow ended up against his chest. I don’t remember moving it there.
“Rose.”
“Yes.”
“If you don’t move in the next three seconds, I’m going to do something that is going to make this entire walk back to Ashwell very awkward.”
I don’t move.
He breathes out, slow and unsteady. I have never heard him be unsteady about anything, and the sound of it goes through me like something hot.
His hand comes up between us, like he’s giving me time to stop him, and then his fingers brush along my cheek, and his thumb settles at the corner of my mouth. I swallow, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.
His face is very, very close.
If I tilt my head up the last fraction of an inch, his mouth will touch mine.
I dart my tongue out, wetting my lips, and stare into those gorgeous, mesmerizing eyes.
I tilt.
Something slams against the door.