Chapter 23 Nyx #3
“Oh sweetheart,” a familiar voice says from behind me, chuckling.
When I turn, Killian’s leaning against the stone wall, swirling a glass of amber liquid that I can smell from here.
He downs it in one gulp and licks his lips obscenely when it’s empty.
“That’s not why he’s about to bring the building down around us. ”
“Don’t,” Ramsey’s dragon commands, but Killian ignores him and saunters toward us, setting his glass down on the balustrade.
“You’re not looking so hot, Ram-bam. What’s the matter?”
“What do you want, Killian?” I glare up at him, but his smirk is unrepentant as he inches closer until I’m forced to tilt my head back, refusing to wither under his stare. Ramsey’s growl deepens from behind me, and I see a flash of the monster hiding under Killian’s skin in response.
He slips his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “I figured the princess might need a knight in shining armor to rescue her from the wicked dragon before he gobbled her up.”
The low rumbling coming from Ramsey deepens at my back. “Enough.”
“Someone’s all riled up, wonder how that happened. You got any ideas, Nyx?”
“Can you stop already?”
“Seems like since you’re the one who started it, you should be the one to finish it.
How’s that sound, Drogon—you want Nyx to finish what she started?
” A keening warble reverberates from Ramsey’s throat as the muscles in his neck flex and tense.
“This might be your only chance, you know. Once she learns why your father gave you those scars—oops. Cat’s out of the bag now, I guess. ” He shrugs.
I turn to Ramsey in shock. “Your father did that to you?”
“It is the Shifter King’s responsibility to mark exiles, after all.
Though even I think he might have been a little harsh,” he tsks, shaking his head.
But I can’t look away from Ramsey, who’s changing right before my eyes.
Black scales crawl up the bulging muscles in his arms, and when he crashes onto his hands and knees, his wings snap open as black veins snake through the thin membrane.
“Might want to back up, darlin’.”
“Ramsey?” But he doesn’t hear me over the sound of his bones breaking.
His transformation is gruesome, and watching him fight against his own body makes my stomach churn.
Suddenly, I feel Killian’s warmth at my back, wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me farther away.
At the sound of our shuffling footsteps, Ramsey’s head snaps up and our eyes lock.
Only, it’s not the Ramsey I know anymore.
The weight of a moratus dragon’s gaze is a heavy thing to bear, but I don’t look away.
I want him to know that I see him, what he is.
And just maybe, when he comes back, he’ll remember I didn’t blink.
It takes herculean effort, but he stands tall once more, and with one powerful downstroke of those glittering obsidian wings, he takes flight, disappearing into the black night.
“So dramatic.” Killian sighs from behind me, and I twist in his arms to smack his chest, pushing him away to put space between us.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I seethe.
“Well, I had to get you alone somehow.” He crosses his arms. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for saving you from the PMS-ing dragon back there.”
“You want a ‘thank you’? Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss, jabbing my finger into his chest. “Who’s the hypocrite now, huh? I don’t recall any of you fuckers thanking me for keeping quiet about last weekend.”
“Why do you think I wanted to get you alone?”
“You have my phone number. You know where my room is. So why’d you have to ruin the first time I wasn’t fighting for my fucking life in here.
” I gesture back to the Great Hall. My limbs tremble and my eyes burn with more tears of impotent rage, but I refuse to shed a single drop in front of Killian-motherfucking-Hastings.
The expression on my face stops whatever sarcastic response he was no doubt going to be very proud of, and his lips settle into a grim line.
“Thank you,” he says quietly as my breath saws in and out of my lungs, the frigid silence around us growing heavy with things unsaid.
“Nyx?” Tori’s cautious voice calls out from around the corner.
“Yeah,” I respond, not taking my eyes off Killian.
“We’re about to head over to the bonfire, do you still want to come with?”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath, and without a second glance, leave Killian standing alone on the patio.
Tori’s kind enough to not ask me about what happened with Ramsey. Or Killian. She keeps Vanna and Nikki occupied while Evie and Brynne sandwich me between them, letting me disassociate as we walk to the Foundation Stone. But the whispers still follow me.
Apparently, as the firstborn daughter to the head of the Witch’s Council, not to mention the Witch representative of the High Council, Vanna has a small part to play in tonight’s festivities.
Once a sufficient crowd has gathered, Esmé—who’s standing on the elevated base of the looming obelisk, wearing a plain white dress and robe with a gleaming diadem nestled in her hair—unveils a weathered iron brazier with an orange flame in the center.
“We are gathered here tonight to celebrate and honor Samhain, a transformative time of particular import to witches and wielders alike—” a cheer from the well-liquored students interrupts her speech. When she continues, her solemn tone feels like an invocation, putting us all under a spell.
“Scorpio reigns under the red light of Mars, leading us through the depths of Winter’s darkness, and our own.
It is a time of deep reflection as we shed that which has burdened our hearts and minds and enter this season of reclamation and healing.
The bonfire of Samhain is thus a benediction passed down from generation to generation, and its echoes reach beyond the Veil, calling forth those dark, unseen truths of our universe.
I enjoin you all to take heed of the transformative power of Scorpio: the power of surrendering all that you are, to become all that you were meant to be.
” Our eyes connect as her final words wash over me like a prayer.
Vanna moves to the brazier and the shadows cast by the flames sway in the night.
She gestures with her fingers and a spinning ball of air forms, drawing the flames into her palm.
With flick of her wrist, the fiery sphere collides with the heel of the bonfire.
I flinch at the sudden brightness, shielding my eyes as the flames engulf the wooden structure. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brynne trying to inconspicuously light a joint while Evie covers for her by distracting her sisters. A pang of envy cuts through my dissociated state.
What must that be like, to not be alone?
I wonder if I’ll ever know.
I don’t know how much time passes while I stand before the fire, willing its warmth to drive away the chill beneath my skin.
Light wavers and shimmers from the heat, and I find myself holding my palm out for the sparks that explode outward with each log that crumbles.
They dance around my fingertips, twining and leaping just out of reach.
More seem to swarm around me like fireflies as I become entranced.
And then the screaming starts.
I look around, trying to figure out what everyone’s running from and where they’re running to, when I finally notice that my dress is on fire.
My cape.
I—
I’m too numb at seeing the only beautiful thing I’ve ever owned disintegrate before my eyes.
I didn’t even get to know this version of Nyx, who wears pretty things and goes to parties and flirts with scary dragon shifters.
I didn’t—
“Nyx!” Tori shouts, breaking my focus on the flames that are crawling toward my bared skin. And then a torrent of ice-cold water brings me to my knees before I can hold my breath.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” She rushes to my side. “I’m so sorry, I just wanted to put the fire out, I didn’t mean to—”
“A real witch would have been able to put it out themselves,” a snide voice drawls above me, followed by jeering laughter.
“Shut up, Cynthia.” Tori snaps. She tries to help me up but I pull away.
That’s the thing about living in Lynden for twenty years: if you didn’t get back up whenever you got knocked down, you learn real quick that no one is coming to save you.
My numb fingers somehow unclasp the cape from around my neck, and I manage to get my phone before letting the ruined fabric fall to the ground in a sopping heap.
The train of my dress is gone, and I realize how perilously close I came to being seriously injured.
For the second time tonight, all eyes are on me.
But this time I’m all alone.
When I finally stand, Tori looks as distressed as I should probably be feeling right now, but fortunately for me, I can compartmentalize like a motherfucker.
“Here, let me—”
“Goodnight, Tori,” I say woodenly, and turn my back on the crowd of onlookers as I walk away.
Away.
Away.
Away.
A memory flashes through my mind as I slowly walk towards the dorms. Of Thane saying over and over again, “I want to go home.”
I’m cold.
I think I’m in shock.
It could just be the soaking wet dress.
I’m probably in shock.
I can’t feel my fingers and toes.
That’s bad, I think.
The weight of the dress feels lighter with every step.
I think I’m hallucinating.
That’s really bad.
“Nyx,” a rasping voice calls out from behind me, “here.” Warmth descends over my shoulders as I keep walking.
Oh. I know him.
Heavy palms land on my shoulders as his tall body blocks mine, forcing me to stop. He brushes my chin, tilting my head back to meet his gaze.
Such pretty eyes.
“I dried out your dress.”
Oh.
“Can—do you want me to walk you to your room?”
The glint of moonlight in his eyes thaws some of the numbness from my mind.
“Why?” I frown.
“You helped me.”
“Okay.”
“I want to help you.”
“Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
“I’m tired, Thane.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I realize my fingers are playing with a stray thread of his suit jacket that he slipped over my shoulders and slough it off, handing it back to him. He slowly takes it from me, but doesn’t move. “Goodnight, Thane.”
I walk around him, wanting nothing more than to get back to my room.
He doesn’t follow. With every step that puts distance between me and the carnage of tonight, my awareness grows, and for a moment I let myself believe in what I cannot see.
I search the night sky for that red-tinged light shining down at me from among its brothers and sisters in the stars.
The longer I stare, the easier it is to imagine that light sinking into my skin and slipping beneath the crumbling walls that keep my emotions contained.
It seeps into my veins, melting the cold fury I’ve wrapped around my spine.
It whispers sweet nothings of action, purpose.
Of reckonings.
It leads me down the path, lighting my way with a red hue that promises violence.
And that’s where I find his limp body. He’s not much taller than me, probably the same age. And someone’s just beat the shit out of him.
I bend down, rolling him over to his back and check his eyes.
I offer my hand to him. “Hey man, you good?”
He takes it, groaning as he sits up and holds his head in his hands.
“I will be.”
I snort. “Sure you will.”
He spits blood out of his mouth. “I’m used to it. No one likes necromancers.” He looks up at me with eyes full of the same furor that’s coursing through my veins.
“No one likes me either.”
He stands slowly until we’re face to face, and offers his hand. “I’m Milo.”
“Nyx. I think we’re going to be friends, Milo.”