Page 45 of Tempest

Ardyn

The shriek diesinto faded laughter, joined by multiple others. It takes a few seconds, but my heart crawls out of my throat and returns to its natural place.

“You mind?”

I tear my attention from the clearing where students’ silhouettes intermingle within the ring of flame-lit torches, tilting my head up to Tempest. His preternatural gaze cuts through the darkness better than fire.

I don’t know what to say when I’m caught under his gaze, like a butterfly whose wings flap helplessly under a magnifying glass.

His stare turns into slits. “Mind letting go of me, oh fearless one?”

I jolt, then stare at my hand. It’s curled around his bicep like a lifeline with my chest pressed against the back of his arm. “Oh. I didn’t realize. Sorry.”

Tempest takes his time returning his stare to the clearing. I’m desperate to know what he thinks when he studies me like this, so quiet and slow, but I don’t dare voice it. Mostly out of fear that I won’t like his answer. You’re pathetic, princess. Go home and be afraid of the dark under the safety of your bedcovers.

He jerks his chin toward the crowd. “They’re starting the cutting ceremony. Freshman girls inevitably freak out, and the immaturity level of the boys in getting the girls to scream is truly astounding. Come on.” Tempest strides ahead. He doesn’t bother to see if I’ve caught up. “I want to find my sister, then get the fuck out of this mess.”

Tempest stalks into the open space, the closest bodies scattering at his sudden invasion. A few girls trip over their own feet, then summarily pause once they see who it is, their eyelids turning heavy, their lashes fluttering as they bite their lips.

Possessiveness or fights over property have never crossed my mind until I find myself lifting my skirts and racing to Tempest’s side, proving to these girls that he’s—

What? Taken? By me?

Hilarious.

Yet I move to him. With him. And glare at anyone who decides to appreciate him while I’m by his side.

This is idiocy. Tempest has no interest in me, but I don’t want anyone else to have him, either. Here, in this fiery clearing with drunks and partiers and strange, witchy rituals, I especially want him near.

Tempest halts. I’m so focused on other people that I ram into his back.

He gives me his profile, lips quirking in amusement, but otherwise remains stormy and pissed off as he scans the area for Clover.

“The fuck is she?” he mutters.

Clover’s dressed in mostly black, which doesn’t help us at all, but I gamely look through the undulating bodies, flames dancing on their exposed skin.

I’m distracted in my search by a huge tree stump in the middle of the crowd. A shining golden cup is placed in the middle, the ring of jewels sparking against the firelight.

Clover wasn’t kidding. They’re really using a chalice.

A cloaked figure hovers closest to the stump, his pale hand peaking out when he reaches up to beckon someone close. People shift into a line of sorts, waiting their turn.

I watch as a girl with auburn hair and heavy eyeliner approaches the cloak, stopping at the opposite side of the tree stump. His other hand lifts, brandishing a polished silver blade. It looks old. An ancestral part of me recognizes it as a hunting device—deadly and devastating.

The cloak straightens his arm, laying his other palm flat for the girl to clasp. She reaches forward, taking his hand. He rotates her wrist until her palm faces up, too.

I’m huddled close to Tempest, but step away from him, drawn closer to the ritual, curious.

A jaw cuts through the cloak’s raised hood. Full, pink lips move in a foreign undulation. Latin, maybe.

The girl nods, smiling back at her friends, but there’s a nervous twitch to her mouth. She keeps her hand in his.

“A true spell has two facets.” Tempest’s voice comes from behind me. “The first half focuses on collecting the power. Centering it and filling the object, or the person, to be at their strongest. And the second half…”

The blade comes down, cutting through the center of her palm. Her blood pools around the cut. I watch, rapt.

“The second half,” he repeats softly, “focuses on releasing that power.”

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