Chapter 23 #2
Words faintly appear, curling across the page like a wisp of fog, before becoming darker the longer the blood soaks.
Hello, Liminal.
My mouth falls slightly open, lips parted in shock.
I don’t even breathe afraid the words will disappear.
The candle on my dresser sputters faintly.
The writing vanishes. The silence feels deliberate.
I debate squeezing more blood into the book, but quickly think better of it.
Instead, I reach out and run my fingers along the edge of the page.
Words start flowing across the page again.
You’re thoughts are loud.
I internally roll my eyes. So I’ve been told.
“Sorry, I haven’t exactly conversed with a book before,” I reply carefully. “I’m not sure of the proper protocol.”
The words disappear again. Another pause.
Knowledge is patient. It does not rush. It waits. Assesses.
I lean forward. “What are you?” I whisper.
The cover vibrates faintly beneath my fingertips.
I am infinite. An abyss. What are you?
“Lost,” I answer honestly.
You seek answers as armor. That is not learning. That is fear masked as interest.
I pull back. The words hit like an arrow. Precise and painful. “What am I supposed to do? I’ve been here for weeks and haven’t manifested. In fact, I’m not even doing great at my academics, either.”
Unlearn what you have been taught. Knowledge is not given freely.
Riddles.
That’s what this book speaks in. Just like everything else. “Where did you come from? How’d you even end up in my bag?”
The spine bends in my palm. The pages delicately turn on their own.
I am where I should be. I am a reflection. A collection of information too dangerous to be written into common texts.
The words shimmer and disappear. I stare at the blank page. It hums with weighted expectancy. My pulse quickens. “Are you familiar with Liminals?” I ask.
Letters dance across the page.
Vastly.
“Tell me.” As soon as they’re spoken, I want to take the words back. What if I don’t like what it has to say?
Sentences swirl across the page regardless of my feelings.
Those that are neither here nor there. A key that fits into only one lock. A heartbeat that is out of rhythm. Light and dark cannot touch what is ambiguous.
I narrow my eyes. “That’s about as clear as mud.”
The air pulses around me, candles flicker, and the curtains billow in angry waves. The page snaps out of my hand, turning to the next.
If I must spell it out for you to make you understand, then you are not ready. Turning pages is not character development. You act like a mere student.
“I am a student!”
You are so much more.
I try a different approach. “Do you know anything about the disappearances?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in a silent challenge.
It hums almost as if it’s preening.
You look for answers embedded within my pages. I cannot answer what you’re not yet willing to acknowledge.
I frown at the now blank page. “That’s not an answer.”
Precisely.
I give a slow, deliberate blink.
“Do you know where they are? Are they alive?”
The question isn’t where they are but who took them to where they are.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not typically known for an abundance of patience, and the little I do have is running thin. I’m also conversing with a book, so my sanity is clearly in question here. “Fine. Who took them?” I put extra emphasis on the word who.
Finally, a question worth acknowledging.
Blank page again.
“Are you going to tell me?”
No.
I clench my jaw and resist the urge to throw the book against the wall. “Why not?”
The ink fades and comes back bolder. Swifter. As if written in anger.
You demand yet you do not give.
“What am I supposed to give?” I ask, completely bewildered. I already gave this thing my freakin blood.
You seek validation. Return when you are willing to listen. Or simply do not return.
The writing disappears, and the book slams closed on its own accord. Full of contempt. I scrunch my nose and toss it away from me.
Cryptic bitch.
The candle flickers bright again, and the air is once again still. A harsh pounding on my door shakes me from my annoyance. I quickly shove all the books, including the little asshole one, under my bed and rise to my feet. I stretch out my legs as I walk, knees stiff and sore from sitting so long.
The incessant pounding gets louder.
“I’m coming. Hold your horses,” I yell and yank the door open. Ambrose stands there, fist midair to knock again. His thick eyebrows are drawn slightly inward, and he’s holding my gaze as if he didn’t think I’d actually answer. I cross my arms. “Is there a reason you’re beating down my door?”
“Where were you?” he demands.
“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”
He pushes past me into the room.
“Sure, come on in,” I drawl, spreading my arms wide.
“You missed astrology. I thought something happened to you,” he says in a clipped tone, turning toward me, his shoulders squared, and eyes narrowed.
“I was reading,” I reply, as I walk over to my dresser and shut a few drawers I forgot to close earlier.
“Reading?” he repeats, looking around my room in a suspicious manner. His brown hair falls over his shoulder, disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it.
“Yes. Reading. Did you need something?” I ask.
He scoffs and removes his longbow, throwing it on my bed. “Ugh, yeah, I do, Nori. I need for you to not miss class.”
I snort, picking up his bow and setting it on the floor. “Ambrose, you’re not responsible for me, nor do I owe you an explanation on where I am.”
He walks toward me with measured, deliberate steps.
I choose the wrong moment and let out a little laugh at his audacity.
His head tilts. “Is this funny to you, Norissa?” he asks, continuing to stalk toward me. He called me by my full first name.
Yep, he’s pissed.
“I’m just saying it’s not that big of a deal. I’m fine.” I gesture to myself, indicating I’m whole and hearty.
He clicks his tongue, stopping directly in front of me.
His glacial eyes hold me prisoner. “You see, that’s the problem, Norissa.
It is a big deal. Plenty of people at Kintoira would like to see you fall.
In fact, they wouldn’t mind being the reason you do,” he says, looking down at me.
“So when you suddenly stop showing up to classes, it’s a problem for me. ”
I toss my hair over my shoulder in irritation as I look up at him. “Okay. Fine. Noted. Inform Ambrose when I’m playing hooky,” I say, waving my hand dismissively.
He bends down, his face now so close that I can feel his breath. “Glad we understand each other.”
“Same,” I mock.
His eyes move to my mouth. I go utterly still. He brings them back to my eyes. “If anything happened to you…” He trails off, his voice suddenly rough.
Okay, now I kind of feel bad. “I’m fine, Ambrose. I didn’t mean to worry you or disappoint you.”
His jaw flexes once before speaking. “You could never disappoint me, Nori. You’re my constant. The adamantine thread that holds everything good in my world together.”
I stare at him for a heartbeat before throwing myself forward and wrapping my arms around his back. He gives the best bear hugs, and I desperately need one. I never really knew what a home felt like, but I imagine it would feel exactly like this.
“I promise, I’ll do my best not to worry you anymore. I should have said something before bailing on you,” I say into his chest.
A long history stretches between us. Bruised knees, hushed dares under the Brylan sky, stolen moments of mischief. He looked at me differently then. Now he’s looking at me with something a lot like reverence. Something he cherishes.
He reaches up and tucks a loose strand of fiery hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing against the side of my face. The same thing he did as a child when I would be upset or hurt. His hands were clumsy back then. They aren’t anymore.
I lift my face, questions lingering in my eyes.
Candlelight flickers between us, casting the sharp angles of his face in burnished warmth.
His gaze drops to my lips, then rises back to my eyes.
His jaw clenches, like he’s fighting the desires racing through his head.
The breath hitches in my lungs as one of his hands presses gently to my waist, pulling me closer.
A flicker of something passes over his eyes, but he doesn’t retreat.
“You’ll hate me for this,” he whispers.
I keep my mouth firmly shut.
Fear presses into my bones that I’ll ruin the moment.
I tilt my chin up in pure defiance. Daring and begging him all at the same time.
I’ve waited years for this. He looks like the boy I ran through fields with, but different.
Bigger. Harder. Ruthless. My past and future all combined in one man.
My chest tightens as I think of how much he means to me.
He breaks first as his lips crash over mine.
It’s not gentle and soft. It’s years in the making.
His hand slides to the back of my head, cradling it and pulling me in, kissing me hard.
I grip onto his forearms, praying my knees won’t give out.
He kisses like someone who’s starving. Like he’s afraid he’s never going to get another chance.
I’ve stubbornly waited for this man. Years of stolen glances and buried feelings.
A half-moan, half-plea slips out as he grips my hair in his fist. He swallows the sound and growls low in his throat, deepening the kiss.
This is a pure claiming.
I sink my fingers into his shirt, trying to get closer.
He pushes me backward causing my back to slam into the nearest wall.
His mouth moves across my jaw and then lower, continuing down my neck.
His tongue licks over the pulse beating there before he gently bites down.
I inhale sharply at the sudden intrusion.
My core throbs with need. My skin is burning hot, and I feel like I’m going to burst into flames all at the same time.
His mouth moves back to mine with raw hunger.
I slip my hands beneath his shirt, needing more contact.
I just need to touch him. I’m desperate and brazen in my touch.
Every nerve ending feels like it’s about to combust. Calloused fingertips work their way up, pulling my shirt from my shoulder.
Cold air touches my bare skin, causing the exposed area to erupt in goose bumps.
He pulls the fabric farther down, and I arch into him, begging for something I don’t understand.
But he does.
His eyes meet mine. “Nori,” he rasps, saying my name like a prayer.
Like he’s full of devotion, and I’m the only one he wants to give it to.
He bends his head, lips running over the curve of my shoulder before moving to my collarbone, and then lower.
My head falls back against the wall, breath coming out in rapid bursts.
His mouth moves over my breast, worshipping it as if he’s waited years to give in to the temptation.
His teeth gently bite down on my nipple before he pulls it back into his mouth.
When I feel like I’m going to collapse, he moves his mouth back to mine. It’s rougher, more desperate.
A clearing of a throat douses me like ice water.
Ambrose pulls back, breaking the kiss, his breath broken and ragged. He moves to stand in front of me, blocking me from view.
I pull my shirt back in place just as the intruder speaks.
“As an officer, I would assume the rules were clear to you. No fornication with first-years,” a deep, all-too-familiar voice states.