Page 122 of Tempest

Ardyn

I toldmyself I’d never return to Anderton Cottage.

As I stroll through the woods outside of campus, I assure myself that it’s daytime, too cold for any predators to be out, and I’ll only stay the five minutes necessary to inform Tempest of the danger to his sister, then run in the other direction.

I’d text him if I could, but I don’t have his number, and after this one errand, I don’t intend on keeping him as a contact.

A snap echoes off in the distance. I press myself against a tree, the rough bark scraping against my cheek while panicked, white tufts of air escape my mouth.

I can do this. This is the bravest I’ve ever been, willingly returning to the scene of a crime. If I had a minute, I’d ponder the advances I’ve made since the first time I endured the most terrible. At no point did I believe in the fortitude to retrace my traumatic steps.

Blood sprays across my vision until I blink the memory away. It’s coming more often, a violent splatter against gray concrete, then black paint. Shelving with strange items being showcased, like a piece of pottery splashed with blood, swirls into the scene, then disappears. A man on his knees, then another man tied to a chair. A woman beside him, then a sole victim facing the end of a gun, begging for his life.

That couple was killed in front of a bare wall, trapped by Rio and Tempest. There were no art pieces in the room or a single gunman coldly lowering his weapon to a cowering form. Mila doesn’t scream for them to stop.

I can’t trust my visions any more than I can trust Clover’s damn tarot cards. I just wish they’d stop using my head as a garbage disposal.

Pushing off the tree, I resume my walk, using my phone as a compass. I left Clover in our room, excusing myself after classes were finished to go to the library. We’ve entered into a truce of sorts, meaning we’re not saying much to each other, so she let me go without a problem.

If she knew where I was really going … if she knew who her brother really was … if she knew she crushed on a dangerous killer…

Okay. That last one is a little hypocritical of me. I file those arguments away and hum an off-key tune until I reach the familiar, winding dirt path up to a wooden front porch and farmhouse door.

I stand in front of the closed door, counting the peeling strips of red paint, waiting to drum up the nerve to knock.

It never comes, so I force myself to do it anyway.

Less than two seconds pass before it swings open, and those inhuman, brilliant green eyes stare down at me.

“Ardyn?”

The surprise on his face is palpable, rippling through the air between us and numbing my lips.

“I’m not staying long,” I manage to say.

Tempest steps aside. “Come in.”

“I’d rather not.”

“If you come to my house, I’m treating you like a proper guest. Get the fuck in, Ardyn. It’s cold out there.”

“There’s no need. It’s about your sister. She—”

“If Clover’s involved you’re absolutely telling me over a shot of whiskey.”

When I don’t move, he sighs, then twists on his heel and disappears into the shadows of the house.

“Tempest!” I curse his retreating form.

He’s left the door wide open, so I move over the threshold and shut it behind me. Refusing to take off my jacket, I follow his footsteps into the main area. He’s lit a fire, the crackling, flickering flames bouncing across bookcases, heavy wooden furniture, and two wingback chairs that are unfortunately occupied.

I grind to a halt at the sight of Professor Morgan and Rio.

“Ardyn, what a lovely surprise.” Morgan removes his glasses and lowers the pen he was using to mark his papers. Piles of them are strewn across the coffee table.

“I’m not staying,” I say, wringing my hands together. Where the hell did Tempest go?

“Good.”

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