by LJ Swallow
I slap Mattias's hand off my ass and stalk past Alaric. One more night. Then I'm out.
8
My dress lies scrunched on the floor, shoes kicked to one side. I stare down at them as I towel dry my hair. My half-packed bag I've kept under my bed rests open on the floor. I gaze at the bag, as if it could make the decision for me.
My evening ended quietly once I managed to keep away from the brothers, but on the way home, the thoughts shouted in opposition: Go, it's your last chance. Stay, you were warned he'd watch you. My dreams filled with Mattias's face as he touched my skin and whispered threats. His features mingled with those of his brother as they batted me between them, laughing. The night ended with a nightmare of blood and fear, chased by unknown creatures, lost in the Wastelands.
I zip up my bag. Is that what's stopping me? The fear I'll be thrown into the Wastelands, hunted by ravagers? Or the fear that Mattias's words are true? That people I love will die.
I need to plan, and those plans grew harder the minute I heard Sam's words. Enclave kids often run away and disappear into the sector, and this is largely ignored.
My problem sharpens: nobody would ignore a Scion.
I've worked for the Senate a few months now, and my boss, Brandon, treats me as if I'm stupid. I swear I was only offered the PA role so my father could keep a close eye on me when he's around.
I'm unsure what happened to Brandon's last assistant, presumably she married. Senate is the place Scions are sent to work if they don't marry straight away. We become part of daily life amongst those who could choose us, our chance to simper our way into marriage.
Brandon isn't married. This witch Senate member has his eye on a girl who's currently sixteen. Brandon told me he's waiting. This sickens me as he's in his mid-thirties, and should not be lusting after sixteen-year-olds.
At least this puts me out of the picture—though not always away from roaming hands.
Brandon holds a position midway up the Senate chain of command and spends the time he isn't in meetings indulging in long lunches. My work pile grows faster than I can deal, even though I'm a quick worker. The poor girl before me must've been swamped.
As nobody but the Senate members are allowed in meetings, no secretaries are in attendance, and I have to decipher his scrawled notes. This gives me insight into the number of laws Alaric's quashing. Before his ascension, the meetings concerned stupid little things such as expenditure on furniture and Senate redecorating plans. The world is moving far beyond frivolity.
Brandon checks my transcripts before they become public property. Then edits them. Any human non-Senate members who want to catch up will read a watered down version with no understanding of the real politics behind.
Humans know they're not told the truth. The mistrust grows like a cankerous sore and spreads through the Senate amongst both humans and witches. The precarious balance between the two races spreads internally and eats away at alliances. I watch from a distance and attempt to piece together who supports Alaric and who strives for the rumoured change to Mattias. Looking past the game faces is impossible.
My fun-filled days, therefore, are filled with drafting and filing documents. Some days I spend in Brandon's office, but if he's around too, I retreat to the large Senate library. Now he's spotted my love of the place, I received a new role: organise the books.
Brandon slams into the room, startling me. I drop the pile of papers I'm about to take to the library, and his dark look grows as he spots me. “Out!”
“I'm going....” Rude, much?
“Now. I have important business. You can't stay.”
I chew my lip rather than ask why, what, or if I can help. “Okay....”
He strides to the window and looks out as I gather the spilt paper from the floor.
“Nice ass,” a voice behind me comments. “A bit of eye candy for your office, Brandon?”
Refusing but failing to allow my cheeks to heat, I straighten and turn around. I'm squeezed into a business suit I hate wearing, the expectation is girls who work here dress nicely. Tight skirt suits and blouses. Short, and because I'm tall, my skirts ride shorter than most.
Alaric.
The men working here always dress impeccably in dark suits, no expense spared, to maintain the human-like professional aura. Alaric could walk in wearing jeans and a T-shirt and nobody would look twice. His attire isn't what stands out about him. The white rims on his pale blue irises point to the Othala heritage, and his knowledge of the power he holds joins him in his attitude. He's attractive, sharing his brother's strong features, and already girls are confident he'll choose them for a wife. There are only two family lines whose Scion have produced an heir, they are likely to be the fortunate unfortunates. Marriage to an attractive, powerful man overrides the fear they'll not live to see their child grow up.
Brandon laughs. “Yeah. Not my taste though. Blondes are more my thing.”
Alaric's eyes burn into my skin. “Not me. I'm not fussy as long as they do what they're told.”
Ugh.
I keep my eyes on his in challenge and, as with last time, I fail, causing him amusement.
“Get out,” Alaric says.
“I'm leaving now,” I retort.
“So...?” Alaric gestures at the door.
On the walk to the library, I consider whether my father placed me in this role to temper my tongue because I wanted to give Alaric a mouthful right then. Disgusting, rude man.
I slam the library door shut and throw the papers on the desk, pulling in the anger, and swallowing it down. Fine, I expected the Hylands to be rude once they began visiting the Senate, but now I'm on his radar, Alaric's making a special effort. I hate to imagine what will happen when I cross Mattias too, or both together again.
The whole library was a mess when I first took over, and as the girl who spent most of her childhood amongst books and who has a mastery of the old languages, I'm the perfect candidate to fix this. My language skills assist in knowing which books should be stacked together, and in which order.
I'm happiest tucked away in the library, even if Brandon thinks he's making me suffer. Okay, so pulling out and rearranging books by date and volume is heavy, mind-numbing work, and the content I peek at boring as hell, but at least I'm on my own.
The shelves crammed into the large room shrink the space leaving little room between shelves. Many are newer books, but I prefer that the further into the library I go, the older the books smell. The mustiness surrounds, blocking the saccharin smell from the warding spells against the humans—the wards that people are unaware dampen their curiosity. Sure, the humans think they have equal say in everything, but the witches' influence is everywhere. I'm learning to recognise the different scents and prepare myself mentally for the effect they'll have, but I can't stop all spells clouding my judgement.
The more I visit here, the more the forbidden books call to me with their magic secrets. They're contained in the far end of the library and locked behind a metal gate. I know because I've rattled the gate in the past and gazed through at the numerous shelves. Who has the keys? I searched Brandon's drawer once. Nothing. The books inside are much older, bound in torn leather, some adorned with family crests. Imagine what secrets they hold.
I check the gate every day, hope rising somebody could forget to lock them. Senate members often pass by and walk out with the secret books for meetings, then return them. Each time I huff and walk back to my desk. One day somebody will be careless.
I perform my daily ritual: lock the door and weave around the shelves to the back of the library. I try the gate, prepared to turn away disappointed.
Unlocked.
My stunned heart jumps into my mouth as I hesitate, hand on the cool metal. If I'm caught... Maybe just a glance at the nearest books? If I'm close to the gate, and somebody unlocks the library door, I can get out before they approach here.
I'm great at talking myself into stupid actions.
The metal squeaks as I op
en the gate. I grit my teeth and pause, listening. Only my panicked breathing. The gate clicks behind me, and I immediately duck behind a shelf out of sight.
I pull out the first book. Am I stupid? Letting my obsession takeover? If Brandon or anybody comes looking for me in the library, where do I say I was? They're unlikely to search here, but if they do...
The books' lure push away my concern, and I tip my head, running a finger along the spines. Some are numbered, others marked with the individual witch House crests. Is Declan's family's here? That would be funny if I went back with notes about some of his magic.
I locate the book I wanted: history. I was taught in school the events surrounding the sector creation, but these books are embellished with the Othala heroics when they rescued the defenceless humans against the big, bad ravagers.
Ravagers. These are my latest obsession. Huge creatures, twice as tall as human men but that’s where the similarity ends. Their hands end in claws able to rip through somebody in seconds, with teeth to match. The photographs I’ve seen are understandably from a distance, but don’t fail to catch their yellow eyes and dog-like faces. The macabre part of me once wondered if the photographer survived.
Why aren't they spoken about anymore? What did the ravagers do once the human population died out? What do they feed on, if we're not out there? I asked these questions in school as a child, and the teachers gave vague and confused answers. Did they not know either? I once asked the question that shocked my class: why can't we leave and reclaim the world? Can't the witches kill the ravagers?
The school reported my inappropriate questions, and my furious parents grounded me after that. Ten-year-old me failed to see the fuss; twenty-one-year-old me obsesses there's a reason for the reaction.
What surprises me is photographs of the old world are missing. The technology back then surpassed what magic creates these days, the lack of resources preventing the human magic of their own. Blurred images show a shattered world, bodies lying in the streets and dark figures in the distance. I peer at them. The buildings in the sector today are those built hundreds of years ago, but with little upkeep.
Somebody clears their throat behind me, and I freeze, fingers on the books, as if I won't be seen if I don't look around.
“Haven't you taught yourself a cloaking spell yet?” asks a male voice.
I keep my eyes to the floor as I turn. “No.”
“Why don't you look at me? I can see you even if you can't see me.”
I lift my eyes. My worst fear confirmed when I heard the voice. Mattias Hyland. Dressed in a dark suit, his powerful edge magnified, he stares at me with soul-crushing eyes. His messy brown hair softens his features, and if I weren’t terrified, I'd fall prey to the sexy smirk on his face. The man's face is perfection, strong features and a jawline with a smattering of stubble. One I'd expect to be set hard, but instead the curiosity from last night flickers again.
“Why are you in here?” he demands.
“I um...” He cocks a brow. “Got lost?” I offer.
“Lost?”
“Kind of.”
“I guess there are a lot of shelves in the library. Maze like? Very disorientating.”
How can words with no hint of innuendo recharge the atmosphere between us? Mattias is closer than the last time we met, the air stifling in the hidden corner. Mattias moistens his lips as he waits for my response.
He can forget teasing me again. “I'm organising the library, but I know I'm not supposed to be in here. I just thought one of the books I was shelving belonged in here and—”
“Cora, really, how stupid do you think I am?” He places the book he holds onto the table behind, and pushes it out of sight.
“Okay, I know humans aren't allowed to touch the books in here, and I just couldn't resist....” I falter. Last night he gave me a second chance. This time? “Shit. How much trouble am I in?”
He perches on the table. “You like books?”
“Do you?”
“I prefer books to power struggles.” He glances to the door. “If people read what happened in the past, they'd calm down.”
“You've read the Othala history? The real history?”
“Oh yes, and I bet you'd love to.”
Yes, but I want to read spells. To learn, to have magic I can use to protect myself. “I know some.”
“And human history?”
“Only through old-world books, and they're fictional.”
“Art doesn't exist in a vacuum. I'm sure some of what you read is accurate history.”
I brush my perspiring palms against my short skirt. Is Mattias trying to trick me into a confession?
“What do you like to read?” I bat back and nod at his book.
My words kill the growing ease between us, and the silence stifles as much as the scent of the books in the airless room. Mattias taps his fingers, and the brief appraisal from yesterday switches to a leisurely exploration from my ankles, along my legs, to my short hem where he stops.
Normal guys, I'd snap at and remind them where my eyes are, but drooling over girls is a Hyland's prerogative I guess.
“I can read what I want,” he says in a low tone.
“That's not an answer.”
He jerks his gaze to my face. “History, grimoires, that shit. Or as I like to call it, lessons from the past and the magic I need.”
“Hyland grimoires?”
“Cora Karran, you're a curious girl, in both senses of the word and that's a worry. Why do you ask me questions like that?”
“A worry? I'm no threat to anybody.”
He lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears, fingers lingering a second too long. “You have a perfect front for the world around; intelligence hidden behind her clueless façade, secretly teaching herself magic.”
“I told you, I won't try any more magic.”
“Yet here you are breaking into the one part of the library holding books only few are allowed access to.”
“Even if I had the chance, I'd learn nothing helpful. I can't use magic. I'm human.”
“Your transgression could lead to a lot of trouble, Cora. Have you ignored every word I said to you last night?”
“I didn't think....”
“You don't touch these books. Ever. It's forbidden.”
“I know, I—”
“But you still did?”
“Can I again claim the young and clueless excuse?” I recoil as he steps forward. The familiar ache for his touch starts again, my heating face the reaction he's looking for, judging by the look on his face.
“You shouldn't be in here, Cora, and you’re perfectly aware of that.”
“And you shouldn't have been in the sector that evening,” I blurt.
Mattias drops his hand. “You seem very obsessed with that night.”
“I want you to talk to me about what happened.”
He moves closer. “Which part?”
“You know what I'm talking about,” I hiss.
“I was—” He wrinkles his nose. “—caught in the moment.”
“And are you often caught in the moment with girls?”
Mattias places fingertips on his lips. “And why do you ask?”
I take a deep breath, ready to say the words I'm obsessed by. “Why did you stop? Do you usually?”
His faint scent in the room intoxicates me as he leans in, breath brushing my cheek. “No.”
“Other Enclave girls?”
Our faces, millimetres apart, could be touching, the small room gone. “You don't ask me these questions, Cora.”
“I'm not asking Mattias, I'm asking Ty.”
Mattias steps back and indicates himself. “Do I look like Ty to you?”
“Not dressed like that.” I bite the corner of my lip. “Maybe if you took your shirt off, I could tell you.”
The momentary shock on Mattias's face passes and he steps forward. I back up, books digging into my back. “You want me to finish what we started? Here
? Would that make you happy?”
Hell, yes. “No.”
Mattias trails fingers along my cheek, to my collarbone, pushing them into my shirt's open neck. All the while he watches for my reaction, and there's no way I could hide the flushing colour in my cheeks. His pupils dilate as he looks down to where his hand rests on my skin. “I do.”
I swear my swallow is audible. “Do you?”
His hands go to my shirt buttons and I freeze, unable to believe he would. Here.
He doesn't.
Instead, he moves to tip my chin. “You. There's something about you that I don't want to extinguish. Don't give yourself to someone who's no good for you, choose somebody who’ll treat you the way you deserve.”
If I told Mattias all I wanted from him was sex, the way I did the first night, I'd lie to him and myself. I'm intrigued and attracted to his secret side, to Ty, to the way he treats me as Cora and not a Scion.
“Who are you Mattias Hyland? Why aren't you Regent?” I whisper.
“You ask too many questions.”
“I always have.”
“And I imagine your curiosity has always caused trouble?”
I don't respond, just smile, and he laughs at me. “Ah, curious Cora. The more I see you, the more I want to dig beneath that surface.”
“I guess that's one thing we have in common, then, because I want to see beneath yours too.”
Mattias blinks. “I have more important things to do than play games with girls.” He straightens his jacket sleeves. “And you have work to do. I'm going to shelve this book, and when I come back, I want you out of this room. Then I will not have seen you here, and I won't again, will I?”
A threat sits below his tone, and banter is over. I nod and scurry back through the gate the moment his back is turned. The gate clunks a few minutes later and Mattias appears, straightening his sleeves.
“Magic in books isn't going to help whatever happens in the next few months. Something more is needed. The world's about to flip sideways, and we're all going to fall. Well, all but the ones sitting on top.” He crosses his arms. “The only thing that counts in our world is who has the power, and who will die for it.”