Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  My heart disintegrates at the sound of his concerned voice, and I move a hand over my mouth to muffle another cry and turn away from him.

  “Serena—”

  I try to control my emotions and shaking.

  “Look at me,” he demands.

  I don’t. I can’t. I don’t want him to see my reaction.

  Two warm hands grip my shoulders, forcing me to turn.

  Tristan grips my chin between his fingers, lifting my face so he can look into my eyes. The intensity in his stare is unnerving. He’s reading me, trying to gauge my response.

  The way he’s watching me forces me to attempt to control every breath and facial expression. I close my eyes and lean my head back, trying to get control.

  It does no good.

  He leans closer to my ear, his warm breath caressing the outside. “I like you,” he whispers.

  “What?” I hiccup.

  “I like you, Serena,” he repeats.

  He moves back and our gazes collide.

  “I like you too, Tristan,” I whimper.

  He swallows and cups my cheeks. “I want to keep you.”

  Another tear rolls down my cheek.

  “I want to be kept by you.”

  “The bond will wear off soon,” he assures me. “Then you’ll stop looking at me like I’m one of your dad’s cookies.”

  “I know,” I sniffle, and hide a smile.

  He steps back, runs his hands down my arms, and takes my hands into his. In silence we both stare at our hands.

  The connection we have pulses through our palms.

  “You need to stop looking at me with sexy in your eyes.”

  “What?” I rear back.

  “You have sexy in your eyes, raindrop. We’re not doing sexy anymore. You said it yourself, it was a one-time lapse in judgment,” his tone has turned teasing.

  I exhale, grateful he’s trying to lighten the mood.

  “As I recall, it was a multiple lapse.”

  “Yeah?” He smiles with pride.

  I smirk. “Congratulations. You can give me multiple orgasms. You aren’t the first, nor will you be the last.”

  My words were meant to be funny, but his face darkens.

  “Know this. If I could, I would risk it all to be your last.”

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  He releases my hands and takes a step back.

  “We’re expected at the Chancellor’s office in an hour.”

  I nod. “I’ll get ready, then.”

  He doesn’t look at me again. In one swift movement, he heads straight for the door, leaving me.

  I’ve never in my life known this kind of sadness existed.

  Tristan

  I wait for Serena on my bike. We could walk, but just once I want to feel her body pressed against mine as we ride. It’s selfish, I know.

  I wish things were different. That I could drive off campus with her and run away.

  Seeing her upset like that knocked the breath out of me. It sucked all the strength from my limbs and stripped me of almost all of my resolve to walk away from her.

  Serena St. Michael is it for me. Everything I’ve ever needed or wanted in another being. I never realized I was missing her in my life, until she stormed in.

  Literally. In a rainstorm.

  Saying goodbye to her—it’s going to take me down.

  The door to her dorm opens, and she steps out and smiles at me. Her mask is firmly in place. I roll my shoulders and do the same. This is how our world works. We’re royalty. We don’t have the luxury of feelings. We’re here to serve, to protect, to safeguard.

  I dip my chin as she approaches my bike.

  “You want to take this?” she asks. “It’s only a mile.”

  I shrug. “Safety reasons.”

  She smiles and straddles my bike like a pro. “Okay.”

  “Rulf is going to meet us there,” I let her know.

  “He mentioned.” She wraps her arms around me and I close my eyes, basking in the feel of her. Damn, I’ll miss this.

  Too quickly, we arrive at the castle.

  I turn off the engine and we both sit, unmoving.

  A second later, she slides off my bike, takes off her helmet, and hands it to me without a glance. I’d give anything to be able to read her mind right now.

  Hoping to appear calm, I try to think of something professional and protector-like to say. All I come up with is, “They’re waiting.”

  In silence we make our way around the winding stone hallways, up the grand staircase, and into Chancellor Davidson’s office.

  Annabelle looks up from her computer and presents us with a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Gallagher and Miss St. Michael.” She motions to the double doors. “You can go right in. They’re all awaiting your arrival.”

  “Thank you,” Serena replies.

  I push open the doors and the room falls silent, as several protectors turn their attention to us, looking stoic.

  “Serena.” A warm, gentle voice greets.

  “Mom!” Serena rushes into the waiting arms of Abby.

  Abigail St. Michael can only be described as ethereal.

  Her long, red hair falls over her shoulders as her tall form pulls Serena into a tight embrace. Abby squeezes Serena so hard, I can actually feel it through the bond.

  Her sapphire eyes seek me out over her daughter’s head. “Tristan,” her mom acknowledges me with a kind smile.

  “Hello, Abby,” I reply. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Abby frowns. “You look tired.” There is worry behind her eyes.

  “I’m okay,” I assure Serena’s mom.

  She nods and leans back, cupping her daughter’s face. All of a sudden her expression falls. “Have you been crying?”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine,” Serena shifts.

  “CALLAN!” Abby shouts, and in an instant he’s there.

  “What’s wrong?” Callan’s voice is lined with concern.

  Abby grips Serena’s face harder and shoves it at Callan.

  “You see it?”

  Callan’s brows droop over his eyes. He’s squinting while studying his daughter’s face. “What am I looking at?”

  Abby sighs. “Her face, babe.”

  They both stare at her as if she’s a newborn and they’re awaiting her first word. It’s awkward, and a bit adorable.

  “It’s beautiful,” Callan plants a kiss on Serena’s cheek. “Just like her mom,” his grin widens.

  “Not only did she just lie to me, but she’s been crying,” Abby points out, and murderous rage crosses Callan’s features as he slides his eyes my way.

  Yeah. I’m the cause.

  Serena pulls her hand out of her mother’s hands.

  “Stop it. Both of you,” she sighs. “I. Am. Fine.”

  Abby straightens. “You look blotchy.”

  Callan nods his head. “She’s right. You do look blotchy.”

  “Blotchy means you’ve been crying,” Abby continues.

  “Remember those big red marks she would get on her cheeks when she wailed as a baby?” Callan looks at Abby.

  “I do. It was so gross. And her snot would like drain out of her nose for hours without stopping,” Abby shivers.

  Callan shoots a look to Serena.

  “You were literally a snotty, gross baby, pumpkin.”

  Serena exhales. “Thank you for that, dad.”

  “I second that,” Rulf interjects, and my fists tighten at my sides so I don’t kill him for insulting her in front of everyone. It’s one thing when her parents joke, but not him.

  “Miss St. Michael. It’s lovely to see you,” Chancellor Davidson greets Serena, and she gratefully steps away from her parents and offers him a quick hug.

  “You too, Henry,” she replies.

  She turns to the rest of the clan, offering pleasantries to both her uncles. Suddenly the door behind the bookshelf opens up, revealing Serena’s aunts Mc
Kenna and Eve.

  “Stop it,” Eve whines, batting McKenna’s hands away.

  “It’s stuck and you’re acting like an idiot,” McKenna snips. “By the grace, don’t struggle and I will fix it.”

  I’m man enough to admit that Keegan’s mate, McKenna, scares me. Serena’s aunt Eve—she’s a different story.

  “It wouldn’t be stuck if you didn’t push in into my hair in the first place,” Eve counters, presenting a dagger.

  “What are you doing, siren?” Asher asks.

  With a quick flick of her wrist, the knife swooshes, the sound cutting through the air. Eve turns and faces Asher holding up a few strands of hair stuck together with gum.

  “Kenna!” Abby scowls. “Did you put gum in her hair?”

  Kenna shrugs. “I was planning to throw it out, but the blood of Eden bumped into me. It’s her own fucking fault.”

  “Love you too, cupcake,” Eve retorts, and throws the hair and chewed gum into the basket. Very queen-like.

  “Is it always like this?” I ask Serena, stepping to her side.

  Her shoulders sag.

  “You have yet to experience a family dinner.”

  “Hi,” Eve gives her niece a quick hug. “You okay?”

  “I am,” Serena uses her fake happy tone.

  McKenna snorts. “Hey, it’s the asshole.”

  “Excuse me?” I reply.

  McKenna holds her phone up, showing me her screen saver. It’s a photo of me, passed out, with the word asshole written across my forehead in permanent marker. No doubt Magali sent it the night they were drunk. Fantastic.

  “Shall we get started?” Henry asks.

  “We’re waiting for one more,” Asher says.

  “Who?” Serena asks.

  The double doors open, and in walks Gage.

  Tristan

  I LOOK AWAY AS GAGE SWAGGERS into the room, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He nods his chin at me in acknowledgment before looking around at the rest of the gargoyles in the room.

  “I guess the gang’s all here. Like a bad episode of Scooby Doo,” he inhales, and steps toward Eve, embracing her. “Hey, love. Good to see you again.”

  “You too, Gage,” she smiles at him.

  McKenna’s eyes narrow at Gage. “What are you doing here, traitor?” she snarls.

  Bored, he exhales. “I have a right to be here while you witch-trial Tristan for doing a job you asked him to do.”

  Chancellor Davidson steps in and starts the conversation, or argument, where these protectors are concerned. Almost immediately I find myself spacing out, as my eyes shift to the windows, my gaze focused outside. Every so often I catch the usual key words—responsibility, protection, reckless behavior.

  “Tristan didn’t kidnap me,” I hear Serena scoff, and I quickly focus back in on the discussion.

  What the hell?

  “He did. From under my protection,” Rulf barks.

  “As I understand it, the Diablo Fairies were approaching. He teleported her to safety,” Chancellor Davidson comes to my defense.

  “He could have been the one who orchestrated the entire thing, for all I know,” Rulf continues. “Regardless, he failed to keep her safe when he took her out of my safekeeping.”

  “I protected her,” I shout, lunging for him.

  Serena steps in front of me and places her hands on my chest, which is rising and falling heavily. “Tristan—”

  “I keep her safe. ME!” I pause and correct myself. “I kept her safe. I took her away in that moment to protect her. I did what I had to do to secure her safety.” I shove my hand in Rulf’s direction. “You certainly weren’t going to do it.”

  “I fail to see the logic of how taking her out of a heavily guarded protector environment, without permission, is protecting her,” Rulf continues. “Unless there is something you two aren’t telling us,” he taunts.

  My nostrils flare as I look at the blank faces in the room.

  “Christ,” Gage bites out. “You always were an ass, Rulf.”

  “Tristan,” Abby says slowly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I grit, out of clenched teeth.

  Asher and Eve watch us with understanding in their expressions. An understanding that I don’t like. At all.

  “The protector bond might be getting to you,” Asher’s tone is low. “It wouldn’t be the first time this happened. Sometimes a blood bond clouds judgment, and—feelings.”

  “No, that’s not—” I start.

  “I think it’s best that Serena continue here at the Academy for her own safety,” Henry states. “Queen Ophelia has informed us of your obligations to your realm, Tristan, and we’ve agreed to release you of your sentence early.”

  My fight slips away. “Thank you.”

  Asher dips his head. “Gage explained the extenuating circumstances surrounding the royal guard’s death.”

  I slide my gaze to Gage, who grants me a flat expression.

  “We pardon you of all responsibility,” the king decrees.

  “Again, thank you,” I reply.

  Serena turns, standing in front of me. “I want him.”

  Callan’s face turns baffled. “Excuse me?”

  “Tristan is a protector, my protector, and I want to keep him on in that role,” she explains.

  “Serena,” her aunt Eve approaches her as if she were a wounded animal. “Tristan isn’t a full-on protector. He’s also a prince with betrothal obligations,” her voice is gentle. “Even if you, or we, wanted you to remain under his guardianship, it’s simply not possible. He’s obligated.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” Rulf steps in. “I will continue to watch over you as decreed by your aunt and uncle at birth.”

  “Tristan will be returning to his realm the day after tomorrow,” Henry says. “With our respect and gratitude.”

  “So once again, I don’t have a say?” Serena snips.

  “It’s not about say, honey. It’s about royal duties,” Abby interjects. “Ophelia was resolute about Tristan’s.”

  The conversation eventually morphs into a strategy session with regard to Asmodeus and protection for the upcoming Summer Solstice Gala, as well as end-of-year preparations for Serena’s protection when she returns home to London.

  She and I watch the exchange like a tennis match.

  “I have one more item of business before we disband,” Henry says. “What about the protector bond?”

  Neither Serena nor I respond. Nervously she twists her hair around her hand before placing in into a bun.

  It’s Gage who answers. “As long Serena and Tristan’s bond hasn’t been completed, it should fade within a few months.” He would know. His faded when he lost Camilla.

  My eyes roam over her neck.

  That’s when I see it, hidden behind Serena’s right ear.

  The Sun of Vergina.

  My satyr insignia.

  She’s been marked as mine.

  Serena

  I watch the clan talk and discuss my fate as if I’m not even in the room. As usual, no one wants my input or opinion. They talk around me. Over me. Treating me like a child.

  Warm fingertips brush lightly over the skin on the back of my neck and I shiver, ignoring the ugly feeling that keeps making itself known, because Tristan’s leaving.

  Forever.

  “Serena?” My mom’s voice breaks through my thoughts.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Dress shopping for the Summer Solstice Gala and ice cream. I was asking if you wanted both. Dad’s buying,” she wiggles her eyebrows.

  “Sounds great.”

  “Just don’t order watermelon.” My dad jumps in.

  I’m tired and emotionally drained, and I just don’t have the energy to argue that fruit-flavored ice cream is a dessert.

  I turn and look at Tristan.

  His expression is equally sad and remorseful. His gaze roams my face and there is a deep pain behind his eyes. One glance at t
he torn look on his face makes everything—everyone—else just fade into the background.

  “I’m sorry for all of it, raindrop.”

  I close my eyes and let myself believe that it was months ago, and we were just two friends giving each other a brief moment of reprieve and comfort from all the dark in world.

  Warm lips kiss the top of my head, and I open my eyes just in time to see Tristan turn and leave, taking my heart with him.

  Tristan

  MY HEART JUST ABOUT BURST OUT of my chest at the sight of my mark on Serena. It can only mean one thing: the prophecy is true. The cessation is real. There is hope after all.

  I make it halfway down the hallway when a tingling sensation crawls up the back of my neck, causing me to still and listen. All my supernatural senses kick into overdrive.

  The Diablo Fairies.

  I can hear them on the lower level of Domus Gurgulio, searching. Doors are being thrown open and then slammed shut. Voices are rising with each empty room discovered.

  Warrior chants bounce off the stone walls and float down the empty halls. They’re violent and resolute.

  A raw ache twists in my gut with the knowledge that Serena is in danger. Within seconds, I dart back down the hall and storm back into Chancellor Davidson’s office.

  Everyone’s gaze shifts to me, and I prowl toward Serena.

  “They’re here,” is all I say.

  Every gargoyle jumps into action, snapping their gargoyle wings out and taking on warrior expressions.

  While the London clan dons raven wings, Gage’s and mine are a dark gray, and Henry’s are a chocolate brown.

  Asher and Keegan begin barking orders.

  Chancellor Davidson walks over to a bookshelf. He tilts a leather-bound book and the wall slides open, revealing an impressive collection of cold weaponry.

  He motions to the wall. “Take your pick, protectors.”

  We rush the wall and start arming ourselves.

  Somewhere in the lower portion of the building, the floorboards groan with the weight of the warriors’ steps, alerting me that there must be a large number of them.

  “Henry, we will need reinforcements,” I bark.

  He nods and quickly sends out a campus-wide text that all protectors are to report to the castle, armed and ready. This is not an exercise. It’s war.

  I turn to Serena, who is strapping knives to the side of her thigh with steady hands and a calm demeanor.