Chapter 43 – Quinton
QUINTON
Lunch was chaos—laughter and noise ricocheting off the canteen walls, the kind of relentless energy I used to find comforting. Now it scraped raw against my nerves.
Azaria sat in the middle of it all, jaw set, eyes rolling at Kael’s taunts, a hint of a smile ghosting her mouth despite herself. She was here. She was safe. But the relief that should have settled in my bones barely made a dent in the restless magic crawling beneath my skin.
When Dain told us this morning that Azaria had finally clawed her way out of the pit she’d fallen into, I damn near collapsed.
The last few days had been agony. In the common room, her presence lingered, so my parasitic magic had some sort of anchor.
But at night, alone in my bed, away from her, away from everything, it writhed.
I couldn’t sleep. I’d never felt anything like this, and it was a fucking curse and a blessing all at once.
I needed to see her. To look at her. To touch her, if only so the magic inside me would finally stay still.
I needed to get a fucking grip.
But it was true. Seeing her wasn’t enough. I needed more. Her presence, her scent, her voice, the proof of her being real and right there. Like in Solmarin, being able to wrap my arms around her, cradle her in my magic one more time.
After lunch, the others scattered, but I lingered by the door, watching her go. My hands shook. My magic thrummed and twisted, pulling toward her like a living thing. I told myself that now I’d seen she was safe, I’d be fine.
What a fucking lie.
So here I was, a stalking bastard, watching her as she left the Academy grounds and headed home. She looked so tired. I gave her time to get ahead, to sit, to clean up, to rest and eat. Then I finally made my way to her door.
My hands were clammy. I paced outside for a full minute, trying to get my breathing under control. Ridiculous. I’d seen her hours ago, close enough at lunch to count the new freckles across her nose, but it wasn’t enough. Not for me, and not for the magic gnawing at my bones.
I knocked. Three sharp taps, my usual signal.
She opened the door quicker than I expected. Maybe she’d seen me coming. Maybe she knew. Azaria stood there in loose clothes, hair pulled back in that messy ponytail, soft wisps escaping to frame her face. I caught the scent of lavender soap and something warmer, earthier. She’d bathed recently.
“Hey,” I managed, voice rough.
“Hey.” Her brows pulled together, concerned. “Are you all right, Quin?”
Of course, she noticed. “Yeah. I needed to see you,” I said, trying to sound steady.
She didn’t look convinced. She opened the door wider, stepping aside. “Come in.”
The air inside was warm, the faint hum of the house settling around us. Her scent wrapped itself around me: soap and citrus, and earth. My hands still shook as I stepped past her.
She closed the door quietly behind me. No words, no fuss. When she turned, she studied my face, searching for whatever I was hiding. “Quin, what’s going on?” Her voice was gentle but firm.
I tried to lie. Failed. Ran a hand through my hair, jaw aching with the effort to keep it together. My magic was a live wire beneath my skin, thrumming up into my teeth.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped closer, reached out, and wrapped both hands around her arms. I meant to be gentle, but the second my skin met hers, something inside me snapped free.
My breath left in a shaky rush, my head dropping to her shoulder.
She was solid and warm, and real. The magic inside me stilled for the first time in days.
She stiffened under my touch. “Quin?—“
“You’re all right,” I rasped, head still bowed. “You’re all right.”
“Quin, you’re scaring me.” She said, quieter than I’d ever heard her. “What’s happening?”
“You’re safe now,” I said, but it sounded more like a plea than reassurance.
She waited a beat, arms still tense. “Quin, please. Talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. I was so damn worried about you.” The words tore out, raw and unfiltered. “Can I hold you for a moment?” I didn’t look up. I waited, hanging on the edge.
She didn’t answer. She just stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me, sure and strong, with no hesitation.
I let my arms slide around her waist, pulling her in. My cheek pressed against her hair, breathing in that familiar scent. My magic settled into a low hum in my bones. For the first time in weeks, everything inside me went quiet.
And then she moved, slow and steady, her hand stroking up and down my back. Grounding me, over and over. Like she knew exactly what I needed.
“I’m here, Quin,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”
I held on and let the rest of the world fade away.
We stood there for a while, tangled up in each other, letting the silence do what words couldn’t.
When I finally breathed steadily, I loosened my hold, but Azaria didn’t let go.
She slid her hands down, palms resting lightly on my forearms, her thumb tracing a slow arc over my wrist. I kept my hands on her waist, needing an anchor.
Neither of us spoke. The quiet wasn’t awkward, and it wasn’t empty.
It was full, like we were relearning how to stand next to each other.
She was the first to break it. “You scared me, Quin. You looked like you were about to come apart.”
I swallowed, still holding on. “I nearly did. I kept thinking, what if you didn’t come back?” I tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. “Didn’t realize how much of my life was waiting for you to walk into a room.” I paused, swallowed again. “I’m sorry. I really needed to see you, Az.”
She shook her head, thumb still circling my arm. “I should be the one apologizing,” she said, voice quieter. “I made you all worry. I made it worse.”
“Azaria—“
“No, Quin. I made some choices that made the last couple of weeks upsetting for everyone. That’s on me.”
I wanted to argue, but let it go.
“What happened?” I asked instead, searching her face. “I mean, really. You don’t have to tell me, but—“ I hesitated, but the words came anyway. “If you want to.”
She looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t want to know, Quin. If you did, you’d look at me differently.”
That hit somewhere deep. I squeezed her arms, grounding her and myself at the same time. “Never,” I said. “But I won’t push. I don’t care what you’ve done. You’re here now. That’s enough for me.”
For a long second, she looked at me, searching for any trace of doubt. I didn’t have any to give.
“What if I said I killed innocent people?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
I looked at her for a long moment, then snorted. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible liar, Az?”
She blinked, surprised, and some of the tension eased out of her shoulders.
I squeezed her arms again, holding her gaze. “You can try to scare me off all you want, but I know who you are. And I’m not going anywhere.”
She tried again, stubborn as ever. “You don’t know what I’ve done, Quin. You say that now, but?—“
I shook my head and cut her off before she could spiral any further. “You won’t scare me away. I know you. I told you I’d stay by your side, and I meant it.”
She opened her mouth, but I tightened my grip, thumbs brushing slow circles over the bare skin of her forearms. Her breath hitched, brief and barely there. “Or did you forget that?” I asked, voice softer now. “Because I didn’t.”
She looked away, and I saw it then. The guilt. The regret. Years of building her own walls. I knew she’d pushed me out, locked all of us out, thinking it would hurt less that way.
Not this time.
She was quiet for a long beat. I waited. I could feel the struggle in her, the way she wanted to push me off and hold on at the same time.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “In my anger, my grief, I forgot. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
I squeezed her hand, gentle but sure. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still here. I’m not leaving.”
She reached up then, one hand curling around the back of my neck, pulling me down until my forehead pressed to hers. Her breath was shaky but steadying. “You should be mad at me, you know,” she whispered.
“Already forgiven,” I said, smiling against her skin. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
We stood like that, wrapped in the easy quiet, the kind you only get when the storm has finally passed. Her hand slid from my neck to rest over mine, thumb brushing slow, rhythmic circles. It was nothing and everything.
I reluctantly let go, hands dropping to my sides, needing to see her face properly. Her eyes were still uncertain, still searching for something I didn’t know how to name. So I said the only thing I knew for certain.
“Azaria, I?—“
Her mouth was on mine before I could finish.
The world stopped.
Every thought scattered. Every word died. Her lips were soft and trembling and real, and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stand there while she kissed me. Gentle. Terrified. Like she thought I might pull away.
She’s kissing me. Azaria is kissing me.
My hands stayed frozen at my sides, fists clenched so tight they ached, because if I touched her now I wouldn’t be able to stop.
She pulled back a breath, eyes wide and searching, like she was waiting for me to reject her. Like she thought she’d made a mistake. I lifted one shaking hand to cup her cheek, my other coming up to mirror it, cradling her face in both palms. My thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
“Again,” I whispered.
Her eyes softened. She kissed me again. And this time, I kissed her back.
Her mouth parted beneath mine, and I took the invitation, slow and deep, tasting her. She met me with the same heat, her tongue brushing mine in long, languid sweeps. A low sound slipped out of her throat, and I felt it everywhere.
I dropped my hands from her face and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her to me. She came easily, her body flush against mine, and I buried myself in her kiss like it was the first air I’d breathed in years.