60
Runes and Rebellions
Melody
I must have fallen asleep—I’m that exhausted from repairing the wards and, well, the very enjoyable rest of it—because I wake up in my bed. A single candle glitters on my nightstand. Caryan knows I hate the dark.
I stare at the flame for a long moment, something tight and unfamiliar stirring in my chest. I know it was him. The campus has only ever left the bathroom light on for me—never this. Never so deliberately.
I reach out and touch Aris, snoring loudly beside me, then find Blair on the other side of the bed, sprawled on her stomach, naked as always. She sleeps like a wild thing—unafraid, unashamed, utterly at ease with herself. I envy her for that.
I watch them both for a while before slipping out of bed.
Blair sleeps like Aris—you couldn’t wake either of them if you tried—so I let a thin wash of silvery light glow over my skin, just enough to illuminate the ceiling and the wall paintings I’ve been working on.
I’m almost done.
Almost finished.
As if the campus senses my wakefulness—or the restless churn of magic still clinging to me—it conjures a palette and presses my brush into my hand.
The floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I crouch down, finishing the last stretch of the painting where it spills down the wall and disappears into the floor.
Working calms me. Grounds me. Gives my thoughts somewhere to go other than spiraling inward. I know I should sleep, but I can’t. Not after what Caryan and I did today. Not while I can still feel him inside me, lingering like an echo, as if some part of him refused to let go.
And the thought comes unbidden—sharp and dangerous.
Did some part of me stay with him too?
No.
Absolutely not.
I press the brush harder into the paint, as if I can work the thought out of myself. The campus’s magic hums softly around me, warm and approving, as though it knows I’m trying—and isn’t convinced.
I paint until the first glow of sun warms my skin, falling in through the slit in the wide, lofty curtains to where I’m crouching and finishing the last painting. I’m so caught up in my art that I don’t really realize what I painted.
When the bell chimes to wake everyone up, I get up, too, walking into the bathroom and sipping on my second cappuccino, which the campus lovingly prepared for me.
Today are the final exams, and I find my nerves jittery.
I drink my coffee regardless, because it’s so worth the five minutes it makes the world appear better and brighter and safer.
I ask the campus for a third. Fuck my nerves. Coffee makes life worth living. Yeah, so totally worth the shakes I get.
“Did you sleep at all, little one?” Aris’s voice slips into my mind while I’m brushing my teeth.
“A little,” I say. “And good morning.”
“You don’t have to be nervous. You will pass every exam.”
“Yeah. My Wolf’s Howling is going to be bad,” I mutter. When I leave the bathroom, my gaze flicks to the blue flacon on my desk. I cross the room to Aris and press a kiss to his gold-specked forehead.
He grunts and rolls onto his back, demanding a belly scratch. I laugh and oblige.
“Want to tell me what happened last night?” he asks carefully, probably guessing the reason I put the shields up between us, so he wouldn’t know that I’d had sex with damn fucking Caryan. Again.
I know he knows, because, before I did, I shot him a message so he wouldn’t be too worried.
“I did it. Again,” I say, biting down hard on my bottom lip.
“Did what?”
“I had sex with Caryan. Very good sex, Aris,” I mutter quietly.
“Forbidden, devilishly good sex. I mean, if finger sex counts as sex,” I amend with a touch of bitterness.
Why? Because I want to really have Caryan fuck me?
No. Hells no! But the thought that I made him hard like that still makes my pulse stutter.
Stop it.
I cross to my wardrobe and let the campus dress me, buttoning a blouse I immediately hate. If only it were black. Damn it.
“And? Why is that a problem?” Aris asks gently.
I blow out a breath, ruffling my hair into some kind of shape before turning to him. “Because Caryan is not who I want. And clearly, I’m not really who he wants. And why the hells did I even let him do that? This is all just so messed up, but I can’t get it out of my head.”
No, I can’t. The way his eyes shone gold and silver. The way he kissed me. The way he moaned when I ground against him. The way he sounded when he came when he fucked me with his magic the other night. That dark, low, raspy sound….
Just thinking about it sends goosebumps racing over my skin.
“Well,” Aris offers carefully, “as an immortal, Caryan does have considerable experience.”
I grimace. “Not really helpful.”
“More helpful than that, he has been with a lot of women, and all of them said he was good in—”
“Aris!” I shout, cutting him off while absurd jealousy rises up like bile.
He chuckles. Mean little lizard.
“I just wanted to distract you from the exams,” he says mildly, his tail swishing. “And for what it’s worth, you look good.”
His words cut cleanly through my spiraling thoughts as I fuss with my hair for the hundredth time.
“I feel like a clown,” I mutter, eyeing the blouse and blue trousers the campus conjured for me. They absolutely don’t look good with my hair. And the schoolgirl look?
Absolutely not.
Hells no.
I straighten, resolve snapping into place.
Fuck the rules.
Time to go rebel.
The thought has barely settled when the wardrobe doors fly open all at once, hinges swinging wide with a flourish so sudden it makes me jump. Light spills out—warm, golden, deliberate—and for a heartbeat I just stare.
Oh.
Well.
Inside, the wardrobe has… expanded . Deepened. Racks slide into view one after another, fabric rustling softly as if stirred by an unseen hand. Leather and silk. Dark linen. Soft knits in rich, moody colors.
Flowing skirts that actually turn out to be trousers, slit just enough to move freely. Fitted trousers that could pass as flying leathers. Jackets with sharp shoulders and subtle embroidery. And ankle boots—proper ones, practical and unapologetically dangerous.
Black. Charcoal. Wine-red. Midnight blue.
My colors.
No stiff collars. No pastel nonsense. No schoolgirl bullshit at all.
I can practically feel the campus watching me, brimming with quiet satisfaction, like it’s saying, There you are. I wondered when you’d notice.
A black shirt floats forward on its own, soft and perfectly cut, followed by a pair of dark trousers tailored so precisely they might as well have been measured off my body.
A leather belt drifts after them, then a long coat—light and slim enough not to restrict movement, heavy enough to feel like armor and keep the wind off me in the air.
I huff a laugh despite myself.
“Yeah,” I murmur, reaching out to take the shirt. “That’s more like it.” I shrug it on quickly, pairing it with skin-tight leather pants and boots.
The campus hums, pleased when I grin at my reflection. Then comb one last time through my shoulder-length, lilac hair, smiling at how it glitters in the light when I turn my head.
“Don’t you think you overdid it with the glitter?” I tease, tipping my head back to grin at the ceiling. The curtains billow in the wind and smack me right in the face, and I burst out laughing.
Before I can leave, something else floats forward.
A thin silver chain settles into my palm, warm with magic. Hanging from it is a small charm: a crescent-moon shard etched with delicate, warded runes, faintly glowing with the same silvery light that lives under my skin.
I stare at it for a moment, then snort to hide how touched I am. “Subtle.”
The campus hums again—louder this time. Offended. Unrepentant.
When I fasten the chain around my neck, the glow fades to nearly nothing, as if satisfied simply to be there .
“Thank you,” I mumble, then, with one last, lingering look at Aris, I walk out the door—
—and straight into Shay, Cassius, and Ryder.
“Ready to kick ass, babe?” Ryder asks, nuzzling into my hair and groaning.
“Gods, what did you put on? It makes me want to rub myself all over you until I smell like you.”
“Like when you roll in fox shit?” Cassius offers with a smirk.
“Yeah,” Ryder agrees, and I resist the sudden urge to sniff my hair.
“No worries—you don’t smell like fox shit,” Shay says kindly, stepping closer and curling a strand of my hair around her finger. “But delicious. What is that scent? It reminds me of a perfect fall day. Windfall apples, chestnuts, autumn flowers.”
“I guess the campus gave it to me,” I say, sniffing my hair myself. Gods. It really does smell heavenly.
At that, the air around us warms just a touch, and somewhere above, a window creaks open as if in smug acknowledgment.
“I could eat her,” Ryder declares—and actually licks my chin.
“Enough, wolf,” I laugh, shoving him away.
“Gods, I’m going to run around with werewolf hair all day.
” My smile fades when I notice the flacon still clutched in my hand.
Abyss. This is going to be so embarrassing.
Turning into a hairy monster in front of Evanalora and Riven, with all the professors present… .
Yeah. No.
Cassius elbows me in the side. “Hey, at least Potions is the last exam. You can run straight to a healer afterward.”
“Gorgeous,” I grind out.
“Hey, we all ran around with tentacles, beautiful. Nothing tops long, slimy arms.”
“But I liked the suckers,” Ryder says earnestly.
“That’s because you are one,” Cassius shoots back, earning himself a sharp bicep slap.
“He has a point,” Shay adds lightly, and after a long pause adds, glancing at me with a grin. “Nothing tops tentacles.”
I know they’re all just trying to cheer me up. I’m the newbie. I’ll probably be the only one turning into a damn, hairy monster by the end of the day.
“I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful werewolf monster,” Ryder offers. He can’t lie.
Well, that helps. A little.