by Watson, Rhea
What she’s really saying is that you aren’t healthy for her.
You’re a disease, Gavriel.
No one wanted you back home, and no one wants you here—
My jaw clenched as anger and hurt melded into something foul in my gut.
Fantastic.
Nothing like searching for comfort and walking away feeling worse than ever.
“Fine,” I sneered as I looked her up and down again, this time with such venom that she blanched. Preferring to keep the final word for myself, I wheeled around and marched for the hillside staircase, ego in need of coddling somewhere private. Seconds later, her boots clomped across the damp cobblestone after me, and I slowed, just a touch, at the thought of Alecto seeing the error of her ways—charging after me, grabbing my arm, kissing me as I’d kissed her.
Deeply.
Passionately.
Two warped creatures finding each other—
“Gavriel, we can be friends.” But that didn’t happen. She had already given up, her chase halfhearted, and I stopped abruptly, friends sounding like nails on a chalkboard. She huffed again like I was being ridiculous—I most certainly was, but like fuck I’d ever admit to it—and then cleared her throat. “You’re kind of a rude asshole sometimes, but that doesn’t scare me. I don’t care that you’re a dick, because then it means I can be a dick too when I spend all my time… not being one to the people who deserve it.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Stiff as a board, I pivoted around, but only halfway, like I couldn’t be bothered to give her my full attention.
Never mind that my traitorous heart was hanging on her every word, starved for friendship, acceptance, a bond that I hadn’t had since—
“We can be friends.” But I couldn’t afford that sort of attachment here, not when the only purpose this realm and its inhabitants served was to further my own desires. No. I… No. Alecto rolled her eyes and threw her hands up, lavender whooshing through her dramatics. “Gavriel, I can be your friend.”
Where was the cruel whisper now? Had that shut it up for good? Beneath the offer, beneath her simple words, lay the truth: Alecto Clarke was willing to accept me for me, for the moody bastard I had become over these many trying years, hardened by hurt and betrayal. She stood there, all cozy and cute, windswept with swollen lips, her vanilla scent fused to my suit, and offered me her hand.
I didn’t have to do this alone.
But if I kept my heart to myself, no one could stomp all over it. I had no need for friends.
Bjorn was my friend.
Barely.
But we could part ways tonight and never speak again, and while I would remember the vampire fondly, I wouldn’t grieve as I had for those who haunted my past.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” I said coldly. “I don’t need friends.”
Alecto hugged the lavender to her chest, olive branch on fire, and a sick part of me rejoiced. Hurt them before they hurt you. And I had hurt her, her golden gaze suddenly glossy, but a beat later her features hardened.
Just like me.
We were similar. Too similar, it seemed.
“Well,” she fired back with a watery laugh, “that’s really fucking sad.”
It was.
Sadder still, my heart ached at the look in her eyes.
It hurt me to hurt her.
And… that was just unacceptable.
You fucking idiot.
Ah, there he was, that cruel whisper.
You selfish bastard.
Steeling myself, I turned and flipped her off over my shoulder, then blitzed back to the castle in a burst of fae speed, spirited along by unseen wings all the way up to my flat.
My empty flat.
Where I barricaded myself in my bedroom, door locked, and drank another two bottles of wine to fall asleep. To forget.
And to punish myself, because tomorrow’s hangover was going to be an even bigger bitch than I was tonight.
12
Bjorn
As a den mother escorted the last students out of the dining hall, someone finally mercy-killed the music. Finally, the classical drivel that had been tinkling from the speakers for the last three hours vanished, and as the main doors swung shut, Yule came to a booming end, the rest of us trapped inside until the mess was tidied. No one needed to be told what to do: we had been given our orders at last Sunday’s staff meeting, led by Iris Prewett with a gaggle of smirking admin girls.
Frowning, I undid the top button of my dress shirt, then loosened my snowflake tie as I scanned the hall I’d been booted out of hours ago. My task for the evening had been to skulk in the shadows, on the lookout for students making good use of the darker underground corners. I’d found no one, security tighter than it had been on Samhain, not even a whiff of liquor in the air tonight.
Courtesy of me, apparently. Iris had implied as much when she first announced her role in organizing and executing this year’s Yule gala. No one had said it in so many words, but all this—tonight’s failure—linked back to me.
My kidnapping.
My crucifixion in the moors.
The subsequent firing of almost all our security boys, replaced by warlocks who were only half as good and nowhere near as friendly—but it was the best Jack could do on short notice, so of course no one blamed him.
Me.
I was at fault here, and I felt the accusatory stares even now as I meandered across the dining hall, lights up, party over, fun nowhere to be found.
The Yule sabbat took place on the twenty-first night of December every year, the darkest of the season. Even back in my day we did something to celebrate light in the darkness, us humans gathered around fires, exchanging tokens, decorating the odd tree to appease the forest spirits. In this century, witches and warlocks were the ones to make a big deal of it, but I could get behind the message. Even in our darkest hour, there was light worth celebrating. Goodness. Hope. Family and friends, humor and song.
It was supposed to be cheery.
The admin clique had decorated the dining hall in blue, silver, white, and black. Lots of ice motifs everywhere, all hard angles and jagged edges. Judging from the earlier spread, our pre-gala feast had been sumptuous as always—but subdued. There wasn’t the excitement of Samhain. No music for the kids. No opening waltz or buffet tables of sweets.
Sugar cookies as far as the eye could see, mind you, which were rumored to be Iris’s favorite.
But otherwise, it had been a bland, boring affair, and every time I poked my head in throughout the night, there were more students seated at tables than jumping around the dance floor. Lots of chins propped on fists, frowns, yawns, and tired eyes, just waiting for it to be over so they could go back to their dorms.
Hands in my pockets, I sauntered farther into the hall, zeroing in on my flatmate as she dusted snowflake confetti off the drinks table and into a garbage bin. Worst of all, every staff member had been given a job. We weren’t allowed to enjoy the night but had to work it instead.
Kept us all accounted for, Iris had insisted, once again side-eyeing me like this was a favor.
So, even though I hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours, the general mood of the castle tonight suggested Yule had not been a hit this year.
We could have planned something spectacular, Alecto and me. Samhain, despite its obvious hiccup, had been the talk of the student body for weeks after. I slowed near one of the swan ice sculptures, loitering behind it but tall enough to see over it—to admire the witch who had stolen bits and pieces of my heart for months now.
Despite this disaster of an evening, there was one shining light.
Her.
Alecto was… exquisite. Having taken a detour from her Samhain gown, my flatmate swapped gold for silver, perfectly on theme for the evening’s event. Where the last dress had sat like armor, metallic and structured, the brocade cape heavy and the shoulders pointed, tonight’s was all softness. Feminine. Luscious. A-line with a tulle skirt billowing to t
he ground like a waterfall made of clouds, even the fitted bodice seemed graceful. She had gone back to feathers, much to my original dismay, but these sat better than the black raven plumes on the dress I had once rejected. They curled over her breasts in a sweetheart neckline, then fit to the swell of her generous hips like a glove, reminiscent of the midnight sky on Yule, taking the dress’s silver and turning it to a rich Aegean blue. Like her skirt, her sleeves moved freely, loosely, generous bells that tightened around her wrists, just sheer enough to add some interest.
Yikes.
I knew way too much about gowns for my own good.
My flatmate had spent the better part of an hour taming her curls with a hot styling glamor, and although they had some of their spring back now, they still rolled elegantly down her back, loose and soft. A glittery snowflake headband kept them off her face, cheekbones dotted with tiny faux diamonds.
She had been the goddess Freyja for Samhain, the sun in all its glory.
Tonight, she was Máni, supreme goddess of the moon, outshining all around her without even trying.
Actually. No. The whole look had taken a lot of effort. I had to credit her for that—for her patience, for her kindness of shyly asking me to zip her into that gown.
And it was a fucking shame she had been stuck behind a table all night. While I stalked the empty corridors for hours, Alecto had been relegated to the drinks table, and under her watch, nothing had been spiked this time. Still, she deserved to shine. In that dress, she ought to be the center of attention, whirling about on the dance floor with a crowd of adoring onlookers.
Although… Preferably not a crowd of teenage boys—
Never mind.
She looked beautiful, and this was what I had wanted for her on Samhain—for us. A dance floor. A special night. A waltz and a kiss in the moonlight.
Back then, I had a Plan B. If her body language pushed back against the idea, I would have respected that.
Tonight, there was only Plan A, sprouting out of nowhere the longer I watched her from behind the ice sculpture. Since my attack, we had grown closer. Spent more time together. Laughed more.
Allowed for lingering glances across a room.
Touched frequently, sometimes playful, sometimes not.
As smitten as I was with her, the first woman in centuries to snare my wandering heart, I had suspected the feeling was mutual ever since…
Well, ever since I came to and found her glossy-eyed with relief, stakes scattered around us and her fingers slick with my blood.
Forgetting the why-nots, the cons of changing the dynamic between us and sullying the sacred flatmate bond, I moved. Strolled toward her. Seized what had to be our second chance.
Partially bent over the table, Alecto had her back to me as I approached, reaching for empty cups and tossing them in the bin at her side. Weeks ago, I might have hesitated, but a flicker of my old self scorched through my veins tonight—a reminder that I was a warrior who took.
She jerked upright when I tapped between her shoulder blades, whirling around with wide eyes, heartbeat skyrocketing before settling into its beautiful, familiar rhythm. With a grin, I dropped into a dramatic bow, one arm outstretched toward the dance floor, and when my gaze flicked up to hers, I found her biting back a smile.
“I believe I owe you a waltz, Professor Clarke,” I drawled, stuck in the bow, waiting, still as stone while she considered me. Nibbling at her lower lip, Alecto peered around the hall briefly before dropping her golden gaze back to me. Her heart pitter-pattered—for me. An expert in reading that precious organ, I could decipher the nuances between panic and interest.
Usually, she pitter-pattered for Jack.
Sometimes Gavriel, though more often than not that dance came with a scowl.
And I understand that: both men were handsome in their own right, with qualities that made many hearts pitter-patter around the castle.
But tonight, hers did so for me.
Alecto’s lips spread into a lovely smile, and she nodded, finally putting me out of my misery. “I believe you do, Professor Asulf.”
All around us, colleagues cleansed the dining hall of a failed Yule. With or without magic, they swept the floors, took down decorations, stacked empty plates and rearranged empty tables. Music off, lights on, the gala had lost its sparkle, and a dull roar carried through the space, weary conversations slowly replacing the classical piano that no teenager wanted to dance to—ever. A few looked our way, the rumor mill on fire. I’d heard whispers that Alecto and I fucked regularly, that we had pulled strings to share a flat together, that we were lovers, always said with a sneer.
Fuck them.
I didn’t care about rumors.
I cared about her—and this was for her. Standing tall and proud in my black suit, my ridiculous skinny tie stamped with snowflakes similar to those on her headband, I offered Alecto my hand without a care who saw.
And she took it. This witch who had coaxed me out of the darkness, who helped me find my feet after drowning in doubt and self-loathing for weeks, accepted my hand. Touched me in front of the others, her fingers gliding over my palm, more graceful and delicate than they had ever been during our practice waltzes.
I owed her so much.
When I had doubted myself, my character, my strength, she had been there. That was all I needed—maybe all I had ever needed: someone who stood by my side, whether I thought myself worthy or not. Alecto didn’t care that I had been kidnapped by a bunch of children. She cared that I had nearly died. She was happy to have me back.
At the end of the day, that was what mattered.
When my hand curled around hers, there was that sweet pitter-patter again.
That mattered, too.
Her smile subtle, her glances shy, her body gravitated toward mine, cleanup duty abandoned.
Smitten.
I felt it in my bones, and I saw it in her eyes.
“Uhm…” Alecto cleared her throat, suddenly searching for the corner speakers with a frown. “Actually, there’s no music, so—”
“It’s fine,” I rumbled back, guiding her toward the dance floor. “I can still hear it.”
“That’s called insanity, mate.” Gavriel breezed by out of nowhere, arms full of stacked, used plastic cups, carrying with him the scent of sticky eggnog and that strange virgin spiced rum everyone had avoided like the plague. Alecto glowered briefly at the fae’s back, then refocused on me, cheeks rosy and her hand clutching at mine like she was afraid I’d slip away.
I gripped back in kind, assuring her I wouldn’t—that I was here to stay.
As I steered her onto the dance floor, I imagined the music. Pretended it wasn’t just the shallow piano that had accompanied tonight’s failings, but a full orchestra to serenade us in the waltz we should have had on Samhain. Alecto followed my lead, falling into the familiar footwork that we had once practiced around the flat, her hand in mine, the other resting delicately on my shoulder.
My lips twitched, about to blossom into a massive teasing grin that would make her self-conscious, so I held back.
Because she was rusty.
Clumsy.
Head down, she stared at our feet for the first few gentle rounds, until my hand smoothed across her lower back and guided her closer. Her eyes snapped up, lips slightly parted, but then she inched closer and burrowed into my chest. The stance would have sent shock waves through the Victorian community that so loved their waltzes, our bodies too near, our gazes too soft and intimate. Not friends. Decidedly not just friends anymore—this proclaimed it to the world.
Something more.
She…
It wasn’t just my imagination. It wasn’t just a read on her heartbeat, a guessing game I had been playing with myself since the day I first laid eyes on her. Alecto couldn’t fake this, the fluidity of our movements, the ease of each round, her fingers suddenly toying with my shirt collar.
She…
She couldn’t.
Right?
<
br /> Music whispered out of the speakers. No longer just in my head, something classical and layered started up out of nowhere, and on my next turn, I spied Jack seated at one of the few remaining round tables, fussing with the tablet that was both DJ and orchestra. Although the beats should have provided a better road map for us to follow, Alecto and I slowed together, the breezy waltz devolving into rather intimate rocking.
Our eyes locked.
Her heart beat slow and steady, colored by the odd pitter-patter that set my body on fire.
“I think we’ve paid our Yule dues,” I murmured when the song finally trailed off—then abruptly died. Over my shoulder, we found Iris stabbing at the tablet with a scowl, Jack nowhere to be found. Alecto ducked back around me, hiding behind my much broader frame with a giggle.
“Agreed,” she whispered conspiratorially, cheeks a delectable pink, her hand still in mine as the other slid down my chest and settled over my dead heart. To keep something from the Root Rot grapevine, I didn’t slide my fingers along her bodice as I wished, didn’t follow the luscious curve of her hips, the slope in her waist, didn’t walk them up to the dip of her throat.
I placed my hand over hers instead, fingers curling ever so slightly around it. “Do you want to get out of here?”
This was it.
That moment, the one to change everything.
Alecto’s mischievous smirk disappeared, lower lip snagged between her teeth, and she glanced between our clasped hands, my lips, and my eyes before shooting a longing look to the main doors. Try as I might, I couldn’t concentrate on her heartbeat—couldn’t separate myself from the anxiety of waiting for a response.
Her bashful little nod set my frosty heart ablaze.
“Yeah,” she whispered, fingers coiling around my tie, “let’s get out of here…”
I didn’t wait for her to second-guess herself. Sweeping her under my arm, I marched us both for the main doors, hand eventually settling on her back.
Head held high.
Heart happy.
More than smitten…