Chapter 38 Devotion and Discipline
DEVOTION AND DISCIPLINE
Iquickly change into workout gear and head downstairs, my muscles loosening only slightly with each step.
Holden and Griffin are sparring in the middle of the gym, both shirtless. My gaze zeroes in on the imprint streaking across Griffin’s palm, and snaking up his arm, straight to his heart—warming a place in my chest it shouldn’t.
He twists, lowering his sword mid-stride, reminding me of the implicit trust they share as he shows Holden his back. His blue gaze dances across my face as a faint line forms between his brows. “You’re still thinking about the wraith?”
I’m grateful that was the thought he picked up on as I move closer. “Gwen mentioned that wraiths were once beings with a soul. Is it possible to find out who that wraith had been or why it was so close?”
Griffin shakes his head. “Not that we’re aware of. Usually, wraiths terrorize the Gods because the magic used to summon them comes from their realm.”
Holden replaces his weapon for a pair of throwing knives. “For now, all you have to worry about is Edmond. He has a whole day of alchemy planned for you.”
I don’t have the energy to respond to his patronizing tone, so I ignore him.
Griffin grins. “I might be able to get you out of some of it.” He nods to the red mats. “Let’s get you stretched.”
He returns his sword and follows me, going through a series of stretches alongside me before catching my wince.
“What’s sore?”
“What isn’t?” I ask.
Confusion and concern mar his brow before he moves closer, the sweet and earthy scent of him making me forget my discomfort. “May I?”
I nod.
“Lie on your back, and lift both legs, keeping your knees straight.”
I do as instructed, my heart racing as he lowers to his knees.
“Pull both legs back, like you’re trying to touch the floor above your head with your toes and your knees to your face, while your palms and upper back remain flat.”
I inch my legs back, feeling the stretch to my spine and hamstrings, before Griffin places a hand under my knees and the other on the back of my ankles. He looks at me through the gap between my calves, drawing my attention to how prone I am, my ass in the air.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind warns that I’m being brainwashed, reminding me I’m essentially being compelled to stay here.
That the contentment I feel from Griffin’s touch should be a warning sign, but it’s difficult to heed that voice as the image of him running his hands over my throbbing core, teasing me until I’m a puddle, and then shredding the skin-tight leggings and feasting on me has my heart hammering as desire washes over me.
Griffin’s gaze flashes to mine, so intense and lustful, I have no doubt I just sent him my thoughts.
Embarrassment heats my face as I race to set my shields while the stretch in my spine intensifies under his gentle pressure.
“Good,” he says, his voice a deep rasp as he gently guides my lower back to rest against the mat before removing his hands.
Every cell in my body protests the loss of him, but rather than move away, he moves closer.
“Now, we’re going to stretch your hip flexors,” he says. “Drop your legs open for me, like you’re doing the splits.”
He’s torturing me, or maybe it’s a test, because as I open my legs, Griffin’s palms go to the inside of my thighs, spreading me, and all I can think about is him naked, thrusting inside of me.
My breath catches as his blue eyes flare. I know I should be shielding, but can’t because my whole focus is being spent not acting on my body’s instincts.
The gym door opens, fracturing my heady fog of lust, and it recedes further as all three of the missing members of the Vestra step inside.
Griffin remains still, his hands pressing against my open thighs, inviting filthy thoughts to infiltrate my mind as I realize how unfazed he is by their presence, despite my growing rash of embarrassment at the compromising position.
Amusement shines in those deep blue eyes that I study entirely too often.
He leans forward, becoming all I can smell, see, and feel as he invades my space.
“Tell me when, and I will make all your thoughts a reality.” His voice is barely a whisper, sending goosebumps across my skin even before he leans back on his heels and stands, his heat washing away too quickly.
“How’d it go? Is there an official statement?” Griffin asks, acknowledging the others.
“A female Keystone and one of her bonds were taken,” Lochlan says.
Griffin curses. “Anyone we’ve been watching?”
Lochlan shakes his head.
Over the next several days, slight changes occur.
The most prominent being Daire. He is now everywhere—training with me, teasing me, watching me like I might slip away if he blinks.
At Thornhurst, Kai is my shadow, walking a few paces behind me to every class, sitting only a few seats away, bringing Veronica and Cassandra closer, much to my dismay.
“We should go to lunch today,” Veronica says, leaning closer to Kai.
I hate that I’m paying attention. Hate that their nearness makes it impossible not to. Scarlet would normally be my distraction, but she’s doing a special medical training until Sunday—right before her tidescast game—leaving me flying solo.
“Or you could come back to my place…?” I hear the doubt in Veronica’s voice and am shocked to feel a hint of sympathy replacing my annoyance.
I don’t know what Kai feels for her or what their relationship was like before I arrived. I haven’t asked, and no one has volunteered the information, but I know the heartache that comes with unrequited feelings.
“I can’t. I have to help Griff with something.” I can’t tell if he’s lying. Ever. Which makes our ongoing game of unveiling truths sometimes less appealing.
When class is dismissed, I’m slow to move, taking my time to close the book on my tablet or scoot my chair back.
“At least walk me to lunch.” Veronica’s words are quiet and border on pleading.
Out of the corner of my eye, I note Kai standing, but can’t see his reaction. I don’t want to.
“What did you think, Miss Breslin?” Professor McGuiness asks as I follow the others to the exit.
I blow out a shallow breath as I take a few steps in his direction. “About what?”
He glances at my crystal link. “About whatever book held your attention today.”
I flash an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ve just learned about prophecies. Every mention of them during my life on Earth was fictional.” It’s a partial lie. The book is on prophecies, and I am still shocked to know they exist, but I’ve been reading about them for weeks.
Professor McGuiness’s eyes spark with intrigue. His love for learning is evident every day in class. He remains my favorite professor. “Ah, the Prophetic Threads. They are rather fascinating.”
“Is it true that they’re always right?”
“Prophecies don’t express opinions. They reveal outcomes. Therefore, they aren’t right or wrong.”
“But could the interpretation be wrong? Seers scribe them, right? Couldn’t another seer interpret it differently?”
“Interpretation can be skewed by those who read them, but a true prophecy—one made by a registered Seer—doesn’t lie. If the words predict something to happen—it will.”
“But things are constantly changing. Individuals, the weather, circumstances, data, opinions….”
Professor McGuiness shakes his head gently. “A prophecy isn’t a map. It’s a destination. Those who it’s written about may choose their own route, but the destination doesn’t change.”
I swallow thickly, hiding my rush of unbidden emotions with a smile. “That’s kind of beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Does that mean we don’t have choice?”
“Choice exists, but so does design. The question isn’t if you have choice—but if you’re willing to claim it regardless of an inevitable path.”
“But what about bonds? No one gets a choice in who they love? Who they want to spend eternity with?”
He leans back in his chair, his gaze falling to the mark on his right finger that represents his Cosmic Bond.
“That’s not a choice. It’s merely recognition.
” His eyes hold mine for a beat. “True bonds aren’t perfect because they’re easy.
They still come with challenges, but they’re your other wing, your other hand, your conscience, hope, and reason.
” His gaze drops to his bond ring again.
“The mistake isn’t a bond. It’s allowing fear of choice to convince one that something meant—destined—for oneself is a mistake. ”
Inwardly, I sigh. “That’s deeper than I was expecting.” I don’t know if I believe him. Not sure I want to.
He grins. “Well, now I have a question for you.” He sits forward. “How do power and strength here compare to Earth and humans?”
I blink several times. “I don’t think I understand life or politics here well enough to speak on it, but on Earth… I always thought of power and strength as being one and the same.”
His sandy eyebrows rise fractionally. “And now?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “I’ve started to realize strength collapses when power’s taken.
On Earth, both can be stripped away so easily.
A single setback—illness, accusation, accident, or job loss—and your whole life unravels.
Meanwhile, those with real power remain untouchable, protected by wealth and connections, building systems that punish anyone who threatens their control or comfort. ”
“But strength can exist without power,” he counters.
“Maybe,” I admit. “But power often sustains strength. Those who hold it rarely face the exhaustion of surviving without it, while others fight just to remain standing.”
“So you’re saying power is more valuable?”
I grip my crystal link a bit tighter. “Not exactly. I think true strength is forged, rather than gifted, making it more valuable. But it’s na?ve to pretend they don’t overlap. Power doesn’t always destroy strength, but it decides who has the luxury to keep theirs.”
He nods. “But power doesn’t take away one’s will to keep going, wouldn’t you agree?”