45
The One Who Dwells Within
Melody
“Please, someone tell me we’re almost at the five-minute mark,” Shay wheezes beside me, sweat shimmering on her skin, teeth clenched with stubborn determination as we hold the plank.
Hells, Blair practically kicked me out of bed this morning, accusing me of having somehow arranged that she had to hold the class. My protests and whining didn’t stop her from dragging me along. I caught Shay in the corridor and begged her to join me, and here we are.
“No, we don’t even have a full minute yet,” Blair croons, holding a damn plank with infuriating ease.
“It’s the weekend!” someone cries.
Morgana, next to us, holds it with perfect posture—back straight, arms not even trembling the slightest bit. Her head is level, her face set in concentration.
I glance behind me and am relieved to see a few others struggling as well.
A few students sigh and sag to the ground. I break down at minute three, Shay giving up at four. We lie there sweating and slightly nauseous from the effort.
Blair has us do squats next, so many I feel like my ass is on fire.
“And don’t forget to engage your butt every time you take the stairs. Two at a time. The best workout!” she encourages us with a light chirp, as she chases us through another set of excruciating exercises, a mixture of Pilates moves, yoga, and gods know what else, until I’m practically dead.
“Ten more!” Blair barks at me.
“Sadist!”
She smirks at me.
I lift the damn weight and force myself to swing it five more times, going really low with my butt to avoid having Blair punish us with another set of torture all over again.
Finally, I sink down with a groan as the chatter suddenly fades. I turn just in time to see Riven enter the ring with Ronin, and my heart gives a foolish little leap.
They start to circle each other, predators in perfect balance. I sit up straighter, my stupid heart suddenly fluttering in my chest.
“Oh, it’s gonna be hot this morning,” a girl from my class drawls when Riven and Ronin start sparring—exchanging a series of blocks and punches so fast it looks as if they’re dancing.
And yeah, granted, watching them is hot as hells, but I want to hiss at the girl.
They pause, sweating now, and I swear the whole class draws in a sharp breath when both of them take off their shirts to reveal absurdly sculpted bodies.
“You look all sweaty today,” Ryder drawls, grinning as he actually shifts his weight to one hand to hold himself up while he finishes a set of push-ups. We found him running with his pack and he joined us without us asking him.
“Damn wolf muscles,” Shay mutters, but we all keep staring at Ronin and Riven fighting as if this were a damn symphony. They’re so fast that neither of them manages to land a strike.
“But they’re nice to look at,” I tease—meaning Riven in particular, and definitely not Ryder’s muscles.
Suddenly, Riven’s eyes snap to me, like he’s heard me comment on Ryder’s body—which I have zero interest in. Our gazes meet for half a heartbeat, and my stomach somersaults before he blocks a brutal, precise punch from Ronin with his elbow.
Did he hear me? While he’s fighting? Does that even matter to him?
Shay and Morgana give me strange looks, glancing between me and Riven, before Blair rakes her claws across the chalkboard on the wall—the one holding our names and marks for rounds and, well, failures.
We all whine and whip around at the awful sound.
She just laughs. “Now I’ve got your attention. So—succulent as that sight is, that’s not what I meant when I said we’d get wet today,” she teases. “Now, everybody up. We’re going for a run.”
Ryder’s pack are the only ones who get up with an actual cheer, and for a second, I envy them for being able to shed their skin, turn into beautiful wolves, and run like it’s second nature.
I very carefully avoid sneaking another look at Riven, because I swear my brain is already doing something wildly inappropriate, and I donotneed that right now.
Okay, I do sneak one more look and nearly lose my footing. Damn it. How embarrassing.
“Come on, dreamy.” Blair startles me with a wink and a hard slap on the shoulders, then chases us off toward the woods after the wolves.
Hells, running had always been my thing, but I’ve gotten so weak, I’m actually pathetic the way I stumble along, struggling for breath.
Ryder’s wolves—enormous, stunning, and beautiful, their shoulders reaching almost up to mine—jump over and around us, and we laugh when they brush against us or nudge us forward with their massive, cold snouts before diving back between the trees, howling with joy.
***
“Abyss, that woman is ruthless,” Shay mutters as we all drag our ravaged bodies away from the sparring rings and back toward the university a solid hour later. “Why did Morgana have to challenge her and make her train us?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She’s got a crush on her,” Cassius drawls from behind us. He’s stopped, rubbing at his right hamstring.
We all stare at him. It gives me more than a little satisfaction to see that he’s obviously sore too. And that fae healing probably only works for real injuries—not for training.
“What?” Ryder asks.
“Come on, she basically eye-fucks Blair every time she sees her.” Cassius shrugs. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. And apart from that, that woman is obsessed with witches.”
“How do you know that?” Shay asks, eyeing him suspiciously. And with more than a little jealousy, judging by her aura.
“Easy, darling, she’s not into dicks.” Cassius holds up his hands. “I swear, I didn’t butter that cake.”
She smacks him on the shoulder and he laughs.
“Alright, I was once assigned to detention with Professor Saphoria, who is still quite angry about you not showing up to her warding classes, Melody,” he says to me with a side glance.
“She made us clean and rearrange bookshelves in the archives, and I swear, I did all the work, because all Morgana did was read books on witches and their wyverns.”
When he mentions the archives, my thoughts drift back to Faye.
It’s a beautiful day—warm sun on our skin, a soft breeze carrying the scent of wisteria and herbs. I had thought about her. I’d wanted to see her. But after yesterday—with Caryan—I somehow let the hours slip by, and the realization lands with a quiet thud of guilt.
“Can you save me something from lunch?” I ask Shay before forcing my aching muscles into a jog.
Before entering the university, I pause to pluck a gaudy lilac flower from the vine curling around the arched entrance, careful not to crush it as I carry it with me. I make a quick stop at my room, then head for the archives.
“I’m down in the archives,” I tell Aris. This morning, he’d still been sleeping when I left, and, judging by the quiet of the bond, he still is.
“You’re ruining my beauty sleep,” he growls, mentally cracking one eye open.
“You slept for more than twelve hours,” I shoot back.
“I’m old,” he grunts . “I’m entitled to it. Need me to come down?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine,” I say, but mentally hug him for offering.
“Hmmm,” he rumbles. “Just be sure you don’t trail off again too deep, Melody. I have a strange feeling about those archives and the books you keep finding.”
“So have I,” I say back. Because I do. Something is down there. Something that wants me to find those books. But why?
I find Faye on the second floor, hunched over scroll after scroll of what I guess are spells. She lets out a dramatic sigh, running her fingers through her long hair. Her hood is off and she yanks it back on when she hears me clearing my throat and notices me standing there.
“What happened to your legs? Are you drunk?” she asks when I drag myself unceremoniously closer.
“Nah, just leg day. Blair decided to train our thighs,” I say, sighing and grabbing my aching hip like a granny as I step closer to the desk she’s sitting at. I gently put down the flower.
Faye’s gaze lingers on it—then lifts to me—before drifting back to the book in my hand.
“Okay. So. In the human world, there’s this thing called friendship books—usually when you’re kids. You answer questions about your favorite stuff, glue in a picture, that kind of thing.”
I pause, then immediately add, “I never actually had one. Because, you know. No friends. Very tragic. Ten out of ten emotional neglect.”
I wince and huff out a laugh. Gods, I did not prepare for this. It feels awkward as hell, but fuck it—whatever. I just keep going.
“So I figured we could just…make our own rules.” I take a breath. “This isn’t a friendship book—obviously those are hard to come by in the fae world, and also we’re not kids anymore—but it is my favorite book,” I say, holding out the battered copy like it might bite me.
“It’s kind of flimsy,” I admit. “But I thought you might like it anyway. Books were basically my only window to the outside world growing up, and they helped me survive it. So I figured you might want to read it. Which—no offense—is probably doing more for you than those super depressing scrolls and translations.”
I hesitate, then rush on. “Also, full disclosure, I’m the kind of reader who dog-ears pages and drags books everywhere. So feel free to do the same. You can underline stuff. Or draw little symbols.”
I grimace. “There’s no glitter yet because I couldn’t find any, which is honestly a crime because I love glitter. So you’re absolutely allowed to add some. Or not. Zero pressure. Truly.”
I clear my throat. Hells, this is awkward. “The book will not be offended. Probably.”
I glance up at her and immediately regret everything. Gods, I’m rambling. She definitely thinks I’m insane. But I could run away and never return after this, right?
“And to cover the whole friendship part quickly—food is probably the chocolate cake the campus keeps making for me. And color…” Now comes the hardest part. “Amethyst. Like this flower.”
I wince. “Because that’s the color of Riven’s eyes. And I have a really bad, very unfortunate crush on him.”