Page 43 of Tempest

Tempest folds his arms over his chest. The siblings don’t realize how much their obstinate postures and pissed-off facial tics mirror one another’s.

Me, I try to melt into the shadows so Tempest doesn’t aim his bad mood between my eyes.

“Get back to your dorm, girls.”

Clover rolls her eyes. I’m tempted to cross my arms in defiance, too, if my body weren’t so confused about what to do. My core undulates with his presence, flittering and throbbing at the remembrance of his fingers. My stomach is taut with nerves, bolstering itself in case he pounces. Fear slithers down my spine at the encroaching forest and lack of witnesses.

But I’m with Clover. I shouldn’t feel so afraid and desirous with her by my side.

“We’re not children,” she says to him. “Why don’t you scuttle off to the crypt you crawled out of so we can get on with our night?”

Her words highlight his appearance, an aspect I hadn’t studied when I was so focused on his face. Tempest wears all black, his silhouette so comfortable in the darkness that it’s hard to tell the forest from him. His face is pale, yet his angular cheeks are flushed, and the hollows of his eyes caved in with spent exertion.

When he shifts, the black fabric shines.

My eyes narrow.

Tempest catches my study. “Do you speak, or have you lost your voice along with the rest of your senses?”

No part of me moves except for my eyes. They flare at the sight—looking back, seeing ski masks, blood spray, my screams ringing in my ears as scissors are flashed in front of my face. Snip Snip. They want proof of life, sweetie. Which part of you should we send to your Daddy?

Then Mila as she drags herself out of the destroyed vehicle. No. No, please! as the silver gleam of a—watch?—comes down before hands wrap around her throat.

“Hey. Princess.” Tempest snaps his fingers in front of my face.

I recoil. Gasping. Blinking.

Tempest watches my recovery with an arched brow. “It’s time for your puppy to go back into her pen, Clo.”

“She’s not a pet.” Clover comes up beside me, shouldering forward enough to defend me from her brother. “If you weren’t so narcissistic, you’d realize Ardyn is working through a lot.”

“You’d think they’d teach ‘don’t wander into a dark forest after experiencing a mental breakdown,’ but what the fuck do I know, right?”

And there it is.

I step out from under Clover’s shadow. “What is it you truly want to say to me, Tempest?”

He points in the direction where everyone else has disappeared. “There’s no gingerbread cottage waiting for you back there, princess, but there is a fucking witch.”

I let my head fall back. “Not you, too.”

“Please. I don’t believe in that shit, but what they do in there, how TFU kids decide to start their year, is nothing you want to be involved in. You can’t handle it.”

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?” I ask at the same time Clover interjects, “Oh, so now you’re all protective now? What do you care what Ardyn does?”

Tempest finally tears his low, shining gaze away from mine. “I care about what you do, Clo. She can have a meltdown right at my feet if she wants, but I’m taking you back to your dorm. It’s not safe.”

Clover laughs. “It’s a bunch of kids nicking their thumbs and dropping their blood into a chalice they light on fire on top of a tree stump. It’s not unsafe. It’s banal.”

I stare at Clover. “That’s what you’re trying to get me to witness?”

“Clo’s right to think so. With your history, you’d faint at the sight of a paper cut,” Tempest drawls.

That does it. “You’re one to talk! You’re lecturing us covered in—in—“ I storm up to him, digging my pointer finger into his chest. “—that’s blood, isn’t it?”

He offers a crooked grin. “Taste it and find out.”

I drop my hand from his chest, disgusted.

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