CHAPTER 21
Someone was going to die today.
There was no mistaking the foreboding stench of death heavy in the air. The cold chills scraping up my spine and the disembodied whispers beckoning to me confirmed that death wasn’t just on its way.
It was already here.
I’d been following the pungent smell for the past several minutes, my senses growing dimmer and dimmer the closer I got to death’s target.
I was close. Very close. My intuition urged me onward, yet my survival instincts shouted at me to run the opposite direction.
Not because death was coming for me this time, but because I couldn’t save whoever was about to die.
I never could. Which was why this gift, this curse had never made sense to me. Why allow me to sense death’s approach if I couldn’t save the victim?
Despite the despair trying to suck the life out of my very marrow, I pushed myself onward, needing to know who was about to be claimed.
At least I knew it wasn’t Thorne. He’d been texting and calling me for the past several minutes, obviously wanting to know why I hadn’t shown up on time to our daily training session.
Another buzz vibrated my hip, and I distractedly pulled the phone from my skirt pocket.
Call me. NOW, the new text from him said.
I was about to shove the phone back into my pocket when another text popped up: Bambi, text us back. We’re worried.
A relieved sigh left me. Riku sounded okay, too.
The Air Elemental might be oversexed and way too handsy, but he was starting to grow under my skin like obnoxious yet endearing fungus.
After the dining hall lap-dance incident a month ago, things had cooled down between us, and I’d actually begun to enjoy our ridiculously flirtatious interactions.
Thorne didn’t seem to like them all that much, but he didn’t have a say in who I flirted with.
After our sizzling rendezvous in that dark room, I’d woken up the next morning feeling like scum.
Pleasure me once, shame on me; pleasure me twice, shame on me as well.
I wanted to blame it on momentary insanity after almost dying, but I blamed him too for what had happened that day.
Blamed him for touching me again when I’d told him we couldn’t go there.
I’d spent hours, days after that reminding myself why we couldn’t.
We were enemies. Rivals. Competition at the very least. Our mentor and student partnership needed to stay professional.
There was still so much unresolved hurt between us, so much pain and anger.
Throwing sex into the mix was a recipe for disaster.
I couldn’t allow the lines between us to blur any more than they already had—even when I lay awake at night unable to sleep, my body aching for something that only he could satiate.
He’d ruined me, all right.
My body had never pined to be touched that way before.
But ever since that one day of bad judgment, I couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop dreaming about him touching me.
It terrified me how easily I’d given in to him, how badly I didn’t want him to stop once he’d started.
It terrified me even more knowing that all it would take was one single touch for me to give in again.
So I’d kept my distance—as much as he would allow me to, anyway. I still had to train with him on a daily basis, still had to eat with him and text him, but not once in the past month had I let his body touch mine.
He hadn’t pressed me, hadn’t pushed me like that day I’d woken up in his bed, but every day since, I knew that he wanted to.
Wanted to touch me again and hated that he did.
Despised and craved that ache the same way I did.
I saw that want in the way he looked at me.
Needy looks. Haunted looks. Looks that lasted too long. Looks that cut too short.
This newfound desire was miserable, but I took comfort in knowing that he was suffering too. Petty? Probably. But he was the one who started it.
Another text came in from Thorne, even more insistent this time: I swear, Snowflake. Call me back right now, or I’m going to tear apart this entire campus in search of you.
Aaand there was the new Thorne Hudson I’d come to know this past month.
He’d swapped the icy cold stares and angry insults for constant frustration and an obsessive need to know where I was at all times.
His behavior was becoming borderline psychotic, and both Oz and Riku had expressed their growing concern.
Riku, of course, thought it was because Thorne wasn’t getting any nookie—then majorly hinted that I could help him with said frustration.
Oz thought it stemmed from the ongoing investigation into who had cursed me—which hadn’t unearthed any evidence so far.
The professors had voted against interrogating the students with Truth Potion, so whoever had almost killed me was still lurking around campus, undoubtedly waiting for another opportune moment to strike.
I, however, thought it boiled down to the stress of being partnered with me.
Thorne couldn’t properly focus on his own studies and upcoming trials when he was constantly checking if I was still alive.
That, and my own trial was coming up in just a few weeks, marking the end of my first semester.
I’d come in last place for my Initiation Trial, and we were both painfully aware that I’d almost failed to complete it at all.
The need to win, to protect his pristine reputation, was everything to Thorne, and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to help me with my trial once it started was taxing that ironclad control of his.
Whatever the reasons for his emotional shift, he’d become quite the cranky bossy pants lately.
Which was why I had no intention of answering him right away.
The dude needed to take a chill pill before he had an aneurysm.
Maybe turning my phone off for a while would help.
Blaze had kept his distance from me all month, the Arcane Three’s threats proving to be an effective deterrent.
He’d also stopped verbally attacking me, and the rumors about my sexual exploits had all but died.
I’d overheard some gossip that he was putting his mentor Sydney through the wringer, though.
His relationship with Alma even seemed a bit strained, making me wonder if their alliance would hold up much longer.
The Fire Elemental was far from popular these days, and I mostly had Thorne, Riku, and Oz to thank for that.
Because of their protection, I didn’t really need the phone anymore. I was holding my own, even in my classes. Besides, Thorne had rigged the phone so I could only dial his, Riku’s, and Oz’s numbers, the sadist.
Winter, please let us know you’re okay.
The new text immediately allowed me to release another ball of anxiety, this one Oz-sized.
Death was still leading me toward its victim, but at least it wasn’t after one of the three guys who’d been there for me this past month.
After all was said and done, I might just be a means to an end for them, but I knew without a doubt that I wouldn’t have survived this long without their help.
Suddenly feeling guilty for ignoring them after everything they’d done for me, I was about to send a reassuring text to the group chat when my surroundings abruptly dimmed. The hallway plunged into shadow, as if the lights had just flickered out.
In here, both my intuition and death breathed in my ear, letting me know that I’d arrived.
I slowed and peered through the darkness, a shiver working its way through me when I saw a closed bathroom door to my left.
So distracted with following death, I wasn’t sure which bathroom it was or even what building I was in.
All I knew was that the hallway was devoid of life—which meant that whoever was on death’s door had to be in that bathroom.
A cold sweat pricked my flesh, the heavy despair in the air nearly suffocating me.
The last thing I wanted to do was see a dead body, but I couldn’t help thinking, couldn’t help hoping that I wasn’t too late.
They could still be clinging to life, still be breathing.
I couldn’t run away now, couldn’t abandon them.
They were alone, all alone, and no matter who was on the other side of that door, I empathized with how they must be feeling.
Hopeless. Forsaken. Scared.
I could help them. I could save them.
Shoving aside my fear, I rushed to the bathroom and pushed open the door. The second I was inside, I saw the body splayed on the floor. Saw and recognized the cute blonde pixie-cut hairdo.
It was Sydney Wright, Blaze’s second year mentor.
“Sydney!” I hurried forward and dropped down beside her, immediately placing my fingers beneath her chin to search for a pulse. Nothing. “No. No.”
I rolled her onto her back and pressed my ear to her sternum. Still nothing.
Death’s presence started to fade, the despair and foreboding chill creeping away.
“No, don’t take her!” I cried, my voice extra loud as my senses fully returned. “Please!”
Death ignored me, whisking Sydney’s spirit away to a place I couldn’t reach, fulfilling its mission without remorse.
Her body lay perfectly still beneath my hands, no longer breathing, no longer anything. It was empty. Devoid of life. Devoid of a soul.
Images of another time, of another body, flashed in my mind. Images of her, my best friend. My soul sister. Her body had looked and felt just like this. So very still. Too still. Lifeless. Soulless. All because of me.
Because of me.
A sound escaped me. Pitiful. Hopeless. Despairing. The sound of brokenness. The sound my shattered heart made the day I’d taken my best friend’s life.
Suddenly, Sydney became her. Blonde pixie-cut hair lengthened to rich wavy brown tresses, her pale skin tanning.