CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
Ember leaned in slowly, her face ghost-pale, whispering with reverence, "I no longer fear the Veyari. I fear him."
And I? A goddess's words whispered through my skull like a prophecy. “The one who makes you burn is the one who will unmake you.”
Gods help me. I was already ash.
···
The canteen was packed, a roar of post-trials chaos pulsing through the air like leftover lightning. First-years were crammed around tables, recounting near-deaths and bragging through their rehydration potions.
We claimed a long table near the back wall—me, Ember, Maddy, Sera, Darcy, Zaria, Ezra, Rhea, and Mavrik. Ryven's spot sat empty, a hollow ache none of us mentioned but everyone felt. Trays clattered, and Ember was still flushed from the adrenaline of the arena.
"I'm still not over the 'next time I won't stop' comment," Darcy added, sipping her drink with a raised brow.
"Iconic," Zaria murmured.
“Disgusting,” Mavrik said with fond judgment. “Ten out of ten.”
I dropped my fork, my face heating. They all knew something was happening between us. The whole Academy probably knew after that fight, after the way we moved like two halves of a breaking storm.
Before I could get a word in, the temperature around the table plummeted.
He arrived. Tray in one hand, shadows flickering at his heels. With effortless audacity, he slid onto the bench right next to me. The entire table went silent.
Aether lifted his head from under the bench, his golden eyes flashing with a look that clearly said, You've got to be kidding me, while Zya settled beside him with a self-satisfied huff.
"You did not just sit there," Ember breathed, pointing a fry at him. "Asher. You want to be burned alive?"
He didn't even blink, leaning back with a predatory grace. "It's a free seat, isn't it?"
"There are twenty-seven other seats," Maddy muttered, her eyes darting between us.
Asher didn't look at them.
He turned to me, his silver eyes cold and mocking, the warmth from the arena completely extinguished.
"You look a little flushed, princess," he drawled, his voice carrying just enough to ensure the table heard his taunt. "Still vibrating from the platform? Or was it the walk back to the dorms with your betrothed that settled your nerves?"
The table went deathly quiet.
I felt the sting of it, the public reminder of Jeremy and the cold slap of Asher’s rejection after I’d felt him inside my head, beneath my skin, tangled in every second of last night.
"Don't," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He leaned in closer, his scent of dark spice and rain mocking me. "Don't what? Remind you that you're a mess? You're falling apart, Ava. You can't handle the bond, and you clearly can't handle the heat I give you if you have to run to him for a distraction."
His mouth twisted into something that almost passed for a smile. "Last night was a nice show, though. Thanks for the invitation."
The bond howled, a jagged, agonizing spike of humiliation and hurt that ripped through my chest.
He was using our most intimate, shattered moment to mock me in front of my friends. And gods, it worked.
I looked at him, and for the first time, the fire didn't rise to protect me. Instead, my vision blurred with hot, stinging tears.
I saw his smirk flicker for a split second, his walls slamming up so hard the bond went dead-cold, leaving me shivering in the vacuum.
I couldn't take it. Not the eyes of my friends, not the weight of the crown, and especially not the cruelty of the male whose soul was stitched to mine.
A sob caught in my throat, sharp as glass.
I stood so fast my tray clattered against the stone, the sound cracking through the silence.
“Ava?” Ember called, sudden alarm sharpening her voice.
But I was already moving. I didn't say a word as I spun on my heel and bolted for the exit.
I didn't care who saw. I didn't care that the tears were already streaming down my face, hot and humiliating.
I pushed through the heavy oak doors, the laughter of the canteen fading into a dull roar behind me, leaving me alone in the corridor with nothing but the taste of salt and the wreckage of my heart.
···
By the time I reached the end of the corridor, my breath was ragged and my hands were trembling with leftover fire. My vision swam, the salt of my tears stinging my cheeks. I needed to hide. I needed the world to stop looking at me.
I ducked into the first unlocked door I could find. A supply closet.
It was dark, smelling of lemon wax and dusty mops. Cramped. Perfect.
I pressed my palms against the cold metal shelving and dragged in a broken breath, trying not to scream.
Trying to force the fire back down into my marrow where it couldn't hurt anyone else.
The bond still buzzed, faint and buried. But there. Always there.
Then the door opened.
I didn't even have to turn around.
The air in the tiny room didn't just cool; it charged.
Power prickled across my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms.
I felt the heavy, magnetic pull of him before the door even clicked shut.
His scent hit me instantly, rain and dark spice filling the cramped space until there was nowhere left to breathe that wasn't him.
It flooded my senses, making my head spin and my heart thud against my ribs.
Asher stepped inside, and the latch snapping into place sounded like a death knell in the silence.
“Don’t,” I warned, my voice sharp despite the crack in it.
I kept my eyes fixed on a shelf of cleaning fluid. "Don't you dare come near me."
"You ran," he said simply. His voice was devoid of the taunting lilt from the canteen, but it carried the low rumble of distant thunder.
"You humiliated me!" I snapped, whirling around.
Fire licked at my fingertips, casting dancing orange shadows against the cramped walls.
"You do this every time, Asher. You say things—vile, wicked, intimate things—and then you throw up your gods-damned walls and mock me in front of everyone like none of it meant anything. Like I don't mean anything."
He just stood there, his large frame taking up nearly all the space in the closet, watching me like I was the storm and he was waiting for the lightning to strike.
"I'm tired of feeling you and then wondering if I've imagined it all," I said, a stray tear escaping and tracking through the soot on my face. "I'm tired of being the punchline to whatever twisted game you're playing."
The shadows around his boots shifted—low, quiet, and restless. He took a step forward. Then another, until the heat of his body was warring with the electric chill of his magic.
"Do I look like I'm playing, princess?"
"You always do!" I shoved his chest, my palms sparking against the dark leather of his vest.
"That's the problem! You make me feel wanted—gods, you make me feel seen—and then you lock me out. You pull the rug out from under me and laugh while I hit the stone."
His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
"I'm protecting you."
"No," I choked out, poking a finger into his hard chest. "You're hurting me. You're feeding the darkness and pushing everything else away because you're too much of a coward to admit that this bond isn't just a tactical disadvantage."
The shadows in the room twisted violently. The air became suffocating, charged with enough magic to make my skin prickle.
The bond buzzed with a tension so sharp it tasted like copper on my tongue.
"I hate this," I breathed, leaning my head against the shelves, exhausted. "I hate this pull. I hate that I can't breathe when you're near and I can't think when you're gone. I hate that I'm standing here bleeding out emotionally and you feel absolutely nothing."
“You think I feel nothing?” His voice cracked, rough as gravel.
I let out a bitter, wet laugh. "You don't let me feel a damn thing from you, Asher. You're like a black hole."
"Because if I let you in," he growled, stepping into my personal space until I was pinned against the shelving, "you'd burn. I've spent my whole life feeding the shadows so I wouldn't have to feel the weight of everything I have to do."
"Maybe I want to burn!" I screamed at him, my fire surging until the closet was glowing brilliant red. "Maybe I'm already on fire and I just want someone to hold me while I turn to ash!"
"MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU!"
The words exploded from him like a physical blow. Raw. Unfiltered. A confession ripped from somewhere he'd kept buried for far too long.
Tears filled his eyes, shimmering like fractured glass in the red light of my fire.
He looked wrecked, his silver gaze wide and terrified.
I froze, my breath hitching in my chest. He stared at me, his chest heaving, those rare, crystalline tears finally spilling over. And then—the bond shattered.
Not the connection itself, but the ice he'd frozen over it. A soundless, violent crack echoed through my entire core, and suddenly, the vacuum was gone. I was hit by the tidal wave.
His soul-deep want. His jagged need. His bone-chilling fear—and beneath it all, a devotion so fierce and ancient it made my knees weak. He wasn't just protecting me from the world; he was trying to protect me from himself.
His walls were completely gone. I could feel his silent apology for the canteen, the agony every time he saw me with Jeremy, and the crushing weight of a male who wanted me so badly it fucking terrified him.
Tears burned fresh behind my eyes. "Asher…"
But before I could say another word, he moved.
His hands tangled in my hair, his fingers gripping my braids as he tilted my head back. His mouth crashed against mine with a desperation that bordered on feral, like I was the only thing anchoring him to the living world. And gods help me—I didn't just kiss him back. I devoured him.
I met his tongue with mine, my hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left for the shadows to hide.
I had been starving, and he was the storm I had been waiting for. I dragged him closer, and he groaned, a low, brutal sound that shattered what little control I had left.