Chapter 24
Thou Shalt Not Touch What Isn’t Yours
Arwen
Faction history is boring enough to put anyone to sleep, but right now, the words on the board are just shapes. My mind keeps drifting, sneaking back over the last few weeks.
Regular tutoring sessions with Maddox, which are supposed to be pure torture. What started as his testing my patience has somehow… not softened, but shifted. Almost friendly, in a way that makes me suspicious.
He still has that smug edge that makes me want to smack him—and a terrifying presence—but now and then, there’s a flicker. A moment where he’s not sharp, not calculated, not untouchable. And, damn it, I catch myself noticing it. Not that I’d ever admit it.
He hasn’t brought up the potion again. Just that it’ll take time, like even talking about it out loud is too heavy to carry. I try not to let it eat at me, but waiting has a way of getting under my skin.
And then there’s Ryker. No more “official” dates—not after the last one—but somehow we’ve carved out these tiny in-between moments.
Coffee before a study session, a quick chat in the hallway when we collide by accident.
Little things, casual and unremarkable, and yet they stick.
Like he’s folding me into his world without even noticing, and I’m left wondering if I should care, or if I even get a say in it.
The strangest thing that’s happened, though, is the tights.
Yes, tights.
They showed up on my bed one evening, wrapped like a gift. No note. No hint of who they’re from. Just… there.
I should have been worried about a stranger entering my dorm and leaving me a gift, but I wore them right away. The nights have been cooler even with the academy’s temperature control, and without it my legs were turning to ice in this dumb skirt. It’s exactly what I needed.
Still, every time I put them on, I wonder—who gave them to me? Why? It unsettles me, having this little mystery I can’t solve, tucked against my skin.
I sigh and try to refocus on the lesson, though my pen has been hovering and useless over the page for minutes.
Professor Gabriel paces at the front of the classroom, his voice steady as he traces the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that shaped Wrath Territory two centuries ago. His words are sharp, precise, yet I barely hear them.
My gaze catches on the way the light falls across his dark suit, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the way he doesn’t once glance in my direction.
A pang twists in my chest. He still doesn’t acknowledge the pull between us. Not the faint hum of the bond, not the fact that every time I step into this classroom, it feels like the air itself sharpens. If he feels it, he buries it so deep I might as well be invisible.
Except I’m not. Not entirely. There are the books. At least I have that.
The bell chimes, and the shuffle of chairs and bags fills the room. Students chatter as they file out, laughing, gossiping. I stay put, sliding my notebook into my satchel and waiting until the last stragglers leave. It’s always the same routine.
My heart pounds, but I force myself forward, past the rows of desks until I’m standing at his table.
“Professor Gabriel.” My voice comes out more even than I feel.
He looks up, eyes flicking to me. “Yes, Miss Davies?” His tone is polite, detached.
I swear I can see a flicker of something when he looks at me at first, but it’s gone so quick that I wonder if I’m seeing things.
“Finished the latest one.” I hold out the book from last week… I didn’t even read a single word.
“Do you have another?”
His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “You do go through them rather quickly, don’t you?”
I shrug, trying for casual, though inside my chest is a storm. “I like knowing where we come from. How we got here.”
There’s a flicker in his gaze—something softer, almost knowing—before it’s gone. He reaches under his desk and pulls out another volume, older than the last, its spine cracked but carefully preserved.
“This one covers the founding of the early Councils. Dense, but I suspect you’ll manage.”
I take it from him, brushing his hand for only a second too long. Electricity snaps through me, but he withdraws before I can register if he felt it too.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Knowledge is its own reward,” he replies in a strained tone. There’s a weight to the words, as though he’s reminding himself more than me.
I nod, clutching the book to my chest, and turn to leave before my expression betrays too much. If he truly doesn’t feel it, then I must look like the universe’s biggest history nerd. But I can’t shake the suspicion that he knows. He knows exactly what I’m doing—and he’s choosing to look away.
I step out of the classroom, and immediately something drags at me, tugging at my chest with a slick, gross weight.
At first, I think it’s just the bond reaching for me again—but this isn’t like before.
It twists, oily and invasive, crawling under my skin and coiling in my stomach.
My heart pounds like a drum I can’t quiet. Against every instinct, I follow it.
The hallway stretches before me, long and empty, except for the faint echoes of other students. The tug pulls me toward an unfamiliar part of campus. The classrooms seem old and empty.
I walk down the silent halls, dust collecting in the corners of the hallways. Cracks in the stones of the wall. The ominous feeling of walking through the silence, paired with the oily sick feeling inside of me, causes a chill down my spine.
I come across a room where the tug feels the strongest. The door ajar just enough to let me peek inside, and the world tilts on its axis.
Atticus is pressed against the wall, head back, eyes closed in bliss.
A brunette is on her knees in front of him.
Although she blocks my view, I can tell his pants are down, and the sound he is making makes it easy enough to guess what is going on.
My stomach twists violently, bile rising.
The bond burns like acid through my chest, its raw heat cutting through every rational thought.
I stumble backward, my vision swimming, and for a second I can’t breathe.
Our eyes meet, and his grow to panicked saucers as he scrambles for his pants, knocking the girl over.
I flee to the casting grounds, my boots crunching on the dirt.
My body is trembling—not just from rage, but from the bond’s insistent scream.
I make it to the sparring grounds and throw myself at the practice dummies, fists slamming.
Each strike is fueled by everything I’ve felt in the past few weeks—the longing, the jealousy, the helpless fury.
Nothing I do is enough to calm the fire inside.
“Arwen!”
The shout snaps me from the chaos, and I spin to see Brix standing there, arms crossed, jaw set. His eyes are sharp and concerned, but leak warmth that I feel wrapping around me.
“What’s going on?” he asks, concern cutting through the tension in his voice. His gaze flicks past me to the dummies and crunched in skull. “Talk to me.”
I can’t stop the words from spilling out. “I saw him.” My voice is ragged, my thoughts uncontrolled. “Atticus. With -her.”
“Her?” Brix questions. “Her, who? Daphne?”
“No.” My hands come up to my face and grab fists of my hair. “I can’t even think. It hurts…. It hurts so bad, Brix. There was a classroom.”
Doubling over and sitting with my head between my knees, I take deep long breaths.
“The bond… it’s tearing me apart, Brix. He doesn’t even look at me.
Doesn’t even see me. I feel like I’m already dead, just waiting for my body to catch up.
Something is breaking inside of me. I know it sounds insane… ”
Brix’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t step back. He kneels down to my level, his presence a solid weight against the chaos in my chest. “You don’t sound insane, Arwen. I don’t have a bond, but we all grow up hearing about what they feel like. And you have four.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I can’t imagine what you are going through. But maybe I can help.”
I look up into his gentle chocolate brown eyes. “How?”
“Look at how this is affecting you. You know it has to affect him on this same magnitude. He just hasn’t seen what you have.” He says.
I look at him confused.
“We don’t play fair,” he says, quiet but sharp. “He thinks he’s got control, that he can toy with you. We flip the board. We make him feel it instead. Send some of this bond torture his way. You shouldn’t be the only one carrying this pain, Arwen.”
I stare at him, my hands still trembling, my body buzzing with the residue of the bond. “You mean… what? With who?” My voice is incredulous.
“Me,” He says.
“You?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, eyes steady on mine. “I flirt with you. Make sure he sees it. Let him taste a little of the chaos he’s been stirring inside you. If the bond is tearing you apart every time he touches someone else, we turn it right back on him. Give him a taste of the fire he started.”
My chest tightens, my pulse hammering. The idea is reckless. Dangerous. Dirty. Insane.
And yet, a small part of me feels it—that release, that tiny easing of the inferno. The thought of Atticus’s jaw tightening, the way his hands might clench if he sees me smiling at Brix… it makes my chest ache in a new way.
“I…” I falter, words catching in my throat. “That’s… insane. And risky. What if it backfires?”
Brix leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, unflinching. “Nothing worth doing is safe, Arwen. He’s been playing his game for weeks, seeing what he can make you feel. Now it’s our turn. You’re not the one getting burned here anymore. Not if I can help it.”
My throat goes dry. His hand hovers near mine, and just the awareness of him here grounds me in a strange, furious calm.
“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do it,” I admit, voice small but defiant.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” he says, unwavering. “I’ve got you. And trust me… he’s going to notice. That bond of yours isn’t subtle—it’s screaming. And it’s time someone else felt it for once.”
The wind catches my hair, the late afternoon sun slanting across the casting grounds. My heart is still hammering, my chest still heaving, but for the first time in weeks, I feel a bit of confidence. I have a plan to get back at Atticus for all the horrible things he has put me through.