Chapter 17
MONROE
Briar’s trimmed facial hair trails the stiff line of his jaw, his mouth drawn tight.
Everything about him is severe, not the carefree instructor who carelessly strips in front of the class, demonstrating how seamlessly he’s adapted to harbinger life.
He doesn’t glance up at me, instead keeping his focus on the notes scribbled on his desk.
“Too sick to teach but well enough to be here working?” I clack toward the chairs in front of his desk and take the right, crossing my leg over my knee.
“Meeting was too important to reschedule,” Briar says with a frown. His voice is strained, lacking its usual authoritative finesse.
He glances at my heels, then his attention is back on the notes he’s reading over. The corner where his jaw meets his neck tenses, moving the final sweep of ink that snakes along his throat. He taps the papers together a few times and sets them to the side of his desk, bringing his face up.
Dark crescents curve beneath his lavender eyes. He looks like shit. Still handsome, but shit, nonetheless.
I should have known he’d be the one Dani would send me to. Next time I’ll keep my annoyance with them to myself.
The nausea from earlier intensifies, anxiety bubbling in my gut.
I could leave. Try to find someone else, anyone else, to help me with my issue. Logically, Briar didn’t purposefully put me in harm’s way or want me dead. But it’s really hard to listen to logic when my emotions are vivid splatters of paint tossed onto my already frazzled composure.
“Is there something you wished to discuss with me, Dr. Tanner?”
His use of my last name and former title make my chest pinch.
No one here calls me anything other than Monroe.
Like I never existed before this—my past clipped away.
But he saw me. Glimpsed my life in a way no other harbinger, no other person has.
I can’t tell if he’s being kind or taunting me with the honorific.
Blinking back the heat building behind my eyes, I focus on the task at hand. “Yes. I’ve run into a bit of a problem and Dan— Radix Daneel said you would be the best person to talk to.”
Briar’s face hardens. “What’s the issue?”
It isn’t lost on me that the last time I saw him I was yelling at him and making him agree to stay out of my way. He’d kept his word—didn’t even show up to teach. Regardless, I need his help, temporarily.
Be direct. Professional. Don’t think about this large, tatted, bristly man as Sir Thumps-A-Lot who you used to pet while watching Smash or Pass.
“I need to talk to Fate, but I know I can’t do that directly without a Radix.
” I clear my throat, readjust my glasses, and lift my chin.
Briar being the one to handle this for me is frustrating, but it also presents a unique opportunity, and I’m not above playing the guilt card.
“Can you speak with her on my behalf? I think that’s fair, given the circumstances. ”
“What circumstances?” The veins beneath his viny throat jump.
Heat flares between my ribs. I almost lift my hand, rub away what feels like extreme heartburn, but I ball them at my sides, not wanting to draw more attention to my mark.
“Well, as I see it, I’m in this predicament—you know, being dead and all—because I was chasing after what I thought was a sweet, innocent bunny that needed my help and not a”—I bite back on the snark, not wanting to overplay my hand—“very capable immortal who didn’t need me at all.”
My chest heaves in the silence and the lack of a heartbeat, of that anxious pulsing I’ve grown so accustomed to, stings more than admitting I’m dead. Than admitting this isn’t a nightmare dressed up in pretty florals, lace, and tatted harbingers.
“You made that very clear last night.” Briar’s words are clipped, and he doesn’t miss my grip on the wood of the chair, nails digging into the grain. He blinks a few times and then adjusts his dove-gray button-up. “What do you want me to talk to her about?”
Be direct. “I have a mate mark, and I need to speak with Fate about how to remove it.”
Briar’s jaw goes slack. He looks like he’s about to say something, but I stick up a hand.
“Before you try to make it sound wonderful, don’t.
Maybe they are. Maybe this person is the best Bloom to ever blossom.
Someone who actually has magic. Regardless, I don’t want to be tethered to someone.
I just got here. I’m still dealing with the whole being dead thing and focusing on getting through my training.
” I hold his stare. “Having to be tethered to some perky little Bloom who’s going to be so excited to have a mate seems rather unfair—to them, that is. Don’t you agree?”
Silence unfurls in the space between us. There’s only the tapping of my heel on the wood, the tick of the clock on the flower-clad wall, and the distant echo of harbingers walking down the hallway outside.
“Dr. Tanner,” Briar says, eyes pitying and dull. At least I’ve hit the emotional appeal of making him feel guilty enough not to reject my request outright. “What do you know about mate marks?”
I sigh. “They are created by Fate. Supposed to be a blessing.”
I drip a heavy dose of sarcasm over the last part.
“Mates are meant to fortify you.” His instructor-smooth voice returns, but it’s low, gentle. Getting up from behind his desk, he comes and leans against it in front of me. “Not be some sort of anchor you’re dragging around. Someone you can count on.”
“I’ve never needed to count on anyone but myself. Why start now?”
“There’s more to it than that.” His voice is still soft, but there’s a distinct edge to it that wasn’t there before. Like I’ve somehow offended him.
“I’m sure there’s some weird sex thing too.”
He lets out a strangled sound. It’s all the confirmation I need.
“Anyway, there’s nothing a mate can do for me that I can’t for myself. Everyone keeps talking about The Nestling Fields and some claiming ceremony,” I continue. “While I’m sure Fate designating us a steady sexual partner to work the edge off with wouldn’t be so bad—”
“Wouldn’t be so bad…” he mutters, exhaling and gripping the ledge of the desk behind him, tracing the woodgrain.
I swear his nostrils flare and the lavender in his stare becomes more vibrant.
He shifts his weight on the desk, thumbing the second button of his shirt.
The top one is undone, an inky curve coming across his chest and disappearing beneath the fabric.
“Are they baking something here?” I ask, sniffing the air. He scrunches his nose. I glance around. “It reminds me of powdered sugar or something.”
Briar’s brows knit together above his glasses and he releases a long exhale.
“Monroe, a mate mark cannot be undone. Once it’s inked onto your skin, it’s permanent.
Like the flourish marks.” He lifts his arm up so I can see the lines and shading up close.
The rose budding across the back of his hand moves with each flex of his wrist. Inky flowers and thorny stems crawl up beneath where his sleeve is rolled up. “There is no erasing or removing.”
I could stare at the artistry of those marks for so much longer.
It’s hard to imagine I’ll have them too one day.
It’s even harder to imagine I already have one hidden beneath my shirt, but the itching hasn’t let up enough for me to forget why I came here.
“So I’m stuck with whoever this mate is for eternity? ”
“You’d still have to accept the bond and claim your mate.”
My ears perk up. “So there’s a way to deny it?”
“There is.” He swallows and purses his lips a moment. “You can let it wither, but it’s not a fun process for either of you—”
“Wither how?”
“Just like any relationship, it takes tending. If you don’t nurture the bond, it can’t grow. Becomes brittle, painful, hollow… At least that’s how it’s been described to me.”
I hate his obscure answers. They aren’t doing him any favors in changing my mind about disliking him.
Frowning, he draws his hand away from where I’ve been absentmindedly tracing the lines with the tip of my nail.
What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe this mark has truly made me defective.
“If you reject the bond, you’ll still feel it and be drawn to it.
” The gentleness has fled his voice and the words become clinical, like he’s reading from a script he’s repeated many times.
Perhaps he has. It’s not like he’s mated, so any information he gives me is regurgitated from what he’s been taught to say or told by others.
“The more time that passes, the more you ignore it, the more discomfort it’ll cause. ”
“Does that discomfort eventually go away?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. It’s rare for someone to reject the bond, and it’s not something those harbingers like to discuss.”
“Great.” I sigh and stand up, lifting my chin to leave with some semblance of dignity. “When I came in here and saw you were the Radix I’d have to talk to, I almost turned around, but I thought after everything… If you were as sorry as you claim to be, you’d at least try to talk to her.”
I pivot toward the door, and strong fingers wrap around my forearm. It’s not a firm enough grip to stop me, but it’s enough to make me twist my attention over my shoulder. The hard lines of Briar’s face have smoothed. He looks more resigned than anything.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try, I said I don’t think it can be undone.
” Our gazes are both locked on the inky curve of his hand enveloping my pale-quartz skin.
An unblemished reminder of how little I know.
Warmth flutters along my flesh, fizzing where we touch.
It goes cold as soon as he releases me, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark-blue jeans.
“I will take your issue to Fate and see if there’s another way. ”
“Thank you.” I drag my gaze up his arm, following the tattoos winding up his throat, until I pass over his stubbled lavender beard and land on his piercing stare. “And in the meantime?”
“Focus on your studies. Try to relax a little. Nurture yourself. I know it’s a lot right now, but give it a chance. Who knows, you may come to love something about being a Bloom.”
I scoff. “If that’s your way of trying to convince me that I may come around on the mate mark, it won’t work.”
“I’m not here to convince you of anything.” That authoritative tone returns, but there’s no pompous lift to his chest, no facade. Somehow that makes the space between my ribs pinch even more. “Only hoping you find some happiness here.”
“I think I’ll be happier without this mate business weighing on me.” At least until I can get back to the mortal world. “So thanks for agreeing to speak with Fate.”
As soon as I say the words, a strange sadness slips between my ribs like a dull shiv, and part of me wants to take them back.
“Of course.” He nods and gets up from the desk, crossing the room to open the door for me. “I’ll let you know once I’ve talked to her.”
I pause before I reach the hall. “Briar— I mean, Radix Briar. One more favor.”
He huffs out half a laugh, low and velvety. “Only one?”
“Keep this conversation between us? I would hate for whoever’s been stuck with me to somehow find out. It’s not their fault I don’t want this.”
I’m not trying to be unkind. I get that a mate is a blessing to most Blooms—just not me.
The ball of his throat works, but he nods in agreement. “And if I learn who it is, would you want to know?”
“No. I’d rather not know.” I shift on my heels. “Ideally, Fate will find them someone new and they’ll be none the wiser.”
Pursing his lips, the Radix hesitates a moment, but then he finally meets my gaze and nods. “As you wish.”
Without another word, I clack my way down the hall, hoping whatever sway Briar has is enough for Fate to listen.