Chapter 11 #2
Commander Everson’s feelings toward me, however, didn’t improve.
At times, he watched me like a criminal, his cold expression intense.
I shuddered. Thankfully, I didn’t see him often and despite being convinced there was something in there that would explain what the hell was going on here, I knew it was best to wait.
There was no doubt he’d have it patrolled after the awkward interaction we’d had—how was I supposed to know it was off-limits to all students?
For now, I’d have to wait.
Caelan and I continued our sparring matches during my daily Raicanya lessons. My strength grew every day, and after hours spent studying in the evening to keep up with my Valyrian and Forgotten Lore coursework, I slept hard every night.
Learning another language required me to be able to focus, so I usually started with my Valyrian coursework before moving on to Forgotten Lore.
While time-consuming, Forgotten Lore was my favorite class.
Professor Elara was an eclectic and whimsical woman in her mid-forties, spending most of our course lecturing on the assigned readings.
Most recently, we’d read an old play translated from Valyrian about a man gone mad with passion who killed his lover so she couldn't be with anyone else.
While haunting, Professor Elara spoke of themes such as passion that invoked such a powerful resonance that it corroded morality in the mind.
The discussion stayed with me long after the class ended. To love someone so much that the suffering of not having them could distort your own belief system—reading the play and witnessing what happened to this man was like watching a train wreck.
By Friday, my brain felt thoroughly used, and I was ready for the weekend. I was so exhausted that I nearly forgot about my private Aurkai training session. It was at the top of one of the towers: the Raven Room.
When I reached the top of the spiral stone staircase, I came upon a heavy oak door.
It creaked open under my hand, revealing a space unlike any I’d ever seen.
My breath caught in my throat as the air shifted around me, thick with warmth.
The faint scent of smoke and wax lingered beneath the flicker of candlelight.
The room was circular, vast, and impossibly grand.
The smooth stone walls gleamed, their surfaces adorned with dark, evocative paintings.
Fierce ravens soared across stretched canvases, their wings spread wide as though they might leap from the frames.
One particularly striking piece depicted a gushing waterfall against a starry night sky.
Arranged around the room’s ornately carved fireplace were rich black leather sofas, each softened by blood-red pillows.
My boots echoed softly against the polished wood floor until I stepped onto the rug in the room's heart. A beautiful circular table sat before the fireplace; the seating curved around it. Ornate carvings twisted along the table’s edge, spirals and feathers etched with impossible precision.
Shifting shadows crawled along the floor and walls like living things.
Tall windows, framed by thick, dark curtains, revealed the breathtaking landscape of snow-capped mountains.
A shiver traced down my spine. Something about this place set me on edge. It was beautiful, but dark.
I forced myself to steady my breath, drawing my shoulders back as I waited. I wondered who was coming. I’d met four of the seven Aurkai—Roslyn, Caelan, Melanie, and her boyfriend, Blake.
Each of them was so different in personality that it made me nervous about who I’d meet today.
If their choice of meeting location said anything about them, today was going to be interesting.
Footsteps echoed softly from the far end of the room, drawing my gaze toward a shadowed archway. My heart quickened, nerves tightening in my chest.
A man emerged from the shadows.
He was tall and striking, his dark brown hair tousled with a slight wave, causing it to fall in a flattering manner over his forehead.
He had thick dark brows, and his eyes were the lightest shade of green I’d ever seen.
His skin was smooth, nearly perfect, and his lips soft and inviting.
He held a glass of a dark liquid, which I assumed was wine, in his left hand.
A black jacket with beads that shimmered in the candlelight fit his lean figure.
It must have been an heirloom, something from a century long passed.
A cream-colored tunic hung loosely beneath his coat. I didn’t know what to think.
Was this him? The Aurkai who’d be training me today? He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but then again, none of them had been.
“Sotarenya.”
My hands trembled at the sound of his voice. It was smooth and rich, like a delectable chocolate I wanted to taste.
What was going on? And what did he say?
He was watching me intensely, his gaze gentle, yet focused.
My palms grew slick with sweat as he approached.
“It means beautiful,” he said, his voice merely above a whisper.
My heart pounded against my chest, anxiety stripping me of any social skills I thought I possessed.
I’d heard his thick accent before, but I couldn’t recall where. But I did recognize the word—it was Valyrian.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the leather couch. “Have a seat.”
I did as he said, sitting down and placing my hands on my lap. I focused on the fire, trying to control myself.
“My name is Malakai,” he said.
I smiled and nearly choked trying to speak because my throat was dry.
“I’m Anna,” I finally managed.
Damn. He was hot. I admitted it. But what the hell? There were a lot of hot guys here; Katie would be jealous. That shouldn’t equate to forgetting how to speak. Did he call me beautiful?
He sat down beside me, casually resting his foot over one knee. He propped one elbow against the top of the couch and turned toward me, still holding his glass of wine in his other hand.
“Do you find The Raven Room to your liking?” he asked, his accent something like Eastern European, but also smoother, like French, but still subtle enough that his English was perfect.
I nodded. “It’s cozy.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his wine.
“Are you taking Valyrian?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Can you say something?” he asked, his lips curved in a mischievous smirk.
I scoffed nervously, but he waited, watching me with amusement.
“Um, let’s see,” I muttered. “Nis ra drogoth eu aki.”
An impressed look flickered across his face.
“My apologies,” he said, setting his wine on the table.
He leaned toward me and released the button on my vest, which I wore over my shirt as part of my uniform.
I stopped breathing. His hands casually shifted the vest over one shoulder, and then down my arm, his hand sliding against me the entire way. He slipped it off my other arm too and tossed it over the couch.
He watched me with hooded eyes.
“There, are you still too warm?” he asked politely.
I took a shaky breath and quickly shook my head. I had never been casually touched by a man before. I was shaking. More from shock than anything else, but it wasn’t that.
He gave me a curious look. “You are shaking. Surely you are not cold now?”
I gave him a curious look, unsure of how to respond.
“Ah,” he said, his expression softening. “You are nervous. That is understandable. You should know—not all Initiates receive special training from the Aurkai. You are special.”
I looked at him, my heart still racing and my face hot.
“I have heard about your skill,” he said. “It is impressive that you can spar with an Aurkai, even if it is Caelan.”
He sneered as if having to say Caelan’s name was unfortunate.
“What kind of training will we be doing?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
Malakai smirked. “We are doing it, darling.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Your training,” he mouthed.
A rush of heat overcame me, and I dragged in deep breaths of air, trying to calm down.
I thought of his lips, the curve of his cheek, and the way he was looking at me. It was like an endless pool that I wanted to drown in. I leaned toward him, unable to resist being near him.
“You are still young,” he murmured. “Tell me, has a man ever touched you before?”
My eyelids lowered, and a haze descended over my mind. I shook my head.
He looked pleased and touched my cheek.
“Has a man ever kissed you?” he whispered. “Really kissed you?”
I stared at him. There’d been moments, but never anything that felt like this.
“I can tell by your look that you have not been,” he murmured. “Such a shame that such a beautiful woman has not tasted pleasure.”
His hand grazed my cheek and slipped into my hair. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t want to.
“May I,” he whispered against my lips, “taste you?”
My entire body was trembling. He was near me now, his warmth so close. His hand slipped down my neck, tracing the buttons of my shirt and tugging at one of them until it loosened. His eyes trailed down my neck and to my chest. I took shallow breaths, but they didn’t help.
His thumb touched my bottom lip, and he returned his gaze to my mouth. There was something powerful brewing within me, and I was terrified to move for fear of unleashing it.
He leaned in closer. “If I cannot taste you, may I have you?”
Desire ripped through me, shredding my fear into pieces that fueled my need. I’d never felt like this before. There were times, flashes of want, but nothing like this. This was primal.
I leaned into him, tired of being caged by my demons. I wanted to feel things other than pain and anger.
And this felt good.
He lifted me into his lap and surveyed me. His question lingered as his lips grazed mine.
“Yes.”
His kiss pulled me into him. His hands were everywhere.
Was this what every first kiss felt like?
Was this a dream? There was no way this was real.
His mouth moved slowly against mine, like a necessary ritual before one could indulge.
His hands were on me, pulling my hips down against his lap, my breathing becoming more labored with every second that passed.
Kissing him, I was fascinated by this feeling I’d never known before.
I could taste him, grasp him, feel his desire reverberating against my mouth as my neck angled, his lips on my throat.
He was all around me—his warmth, his desire, his body.
It was as if he was breaching a boundary I didn’t know existed, one I wanted him to take down, to reach past and show me what this was.
I pressed my hips down instinctively and my eyes flew open.
What was I doing? Everything about him was intoxicating, forcing my heart into a pounding fury—it was as if I were drowning in him and desperately needed to come up for air.
Resisting, I pulled away, triggering something tight and binding that seared in my chest.
Gasping, I caught his gaze, seeing a flicker of surprise before it vanished.
Getting off his lap, I touched my chest where the pain flashed, but the ache still rushed through my body.
I didn’t want to move away. I badly wanted to crawl back into his lap and forget about everything else, but that was all instinct talking.
No rational thought had crossed my mind until I felt what I was about to do.
But his touch, the feeling of him, lingered, somewhere deep within.
Sobering quickly, I backed away from him.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice strained. “Is this part of my training? To be seduced?”
He watched me curiously, straightening his collar.
“I know you want it,” he said. “I can feel your desire.”
I looked away from him. I didn’t know what he was doing, but this wasn’t like me at all.
I moved toward the door.
“Anna.”
His voice stopped me, but I didn’t turn back. “You have already committed.”
I recalled his words from earlier: “If I cannot taste you, can I have you?”
I stiffened.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for the door and left.