Page 164 of The Black Witch

“Why are you following me, Elloren?” Yvan’s tone is exasperated, but not angry. He doesn’t bother to turn around.

My face grows hot at being discovered, and from the ridiculous thrill of hearing his deep voice say my name. “I’m curious about you,” I reply, my tone self-conscious and stilted.

“About what, exactly?” he asks, not slowing, not looking back.

About so many things. “About why you’re always going off into the woods. I’m wondering if you’re secretly Lupine.”

He stops abruptly, and I stop, too, a nervous rush of energy coupled with my efforts to keep up making my heart race in my chest.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks down as if collecting himself, and then turns to me, his emerald gaze disconcerting.

My thoughts scatter like marbles, overcome by his severe beauty.

Our eyes lock tight, the woods quieting around us, save for the dry rustling of the remaining autumn leaves and intermittent birdsong. The silence between us grows charged, vibrating with suppressed emotion, an unsettling heat taking hold deep inside me. I search his eyes and wonder if he feels it, too.

“All right, then,” he finally says, his voice low, his eyes darkening, as if with challenge. “Try to keep up.”

* * *

“Where’s the University’s border?” I ask after what seems like an eternity of hiking.

He pauses and turns to me, brow furrowed in question.

My breath hitches in my throat. It would be easier to talk to his back. I stare at him for a split second like a complete idiot, distracted by the way a shaft of sunlight illuminates his handsome face.

He cocks one perfectly arched brow, his expression hardening with what seems like discomfited annoyance. Like he can read my thoughts.

“It’s dangerous for me...to cross the University border,” I testily clarify.

The furrow of his brow deepens. “Why?”

“There’s an Icaral trying to kill me.”

His eyes light with surprise.

“It thinks I’m the next Black Witch,” I try to explain. “Of course, I’mnot. I’ve no magic at all, but it doesn’t know that.”

Yvan’s face darkens. “You look exactly like Her, Elloren.”

I bristle, stung by the accusation in his tone. Hurt by it. “Really, Yvan?” I snap, my traitorous voice breaking. “I had absolutely no idea.”

His eyes widen a fraction, then he gives me a close look as if taking my measure.

I inwardly slump, the impenetrable wall between us laid bare. I suddenly and fiercely wish I could be on the other side of it. Somewhere I could truly belong.

If only I looked like Iris.

I immediately regret the thought. I harshly remind myself that I’m not a Kelt. And I can’t be having these thoughts about a Kelt. He shouldn’t be so focused on me, either. It’s a stretch for Yvan and me to even be friends, and it would be impossible for us to be anything more. But I suddenly wish with surprising force that we could at least be friends.

There’s frustration and hurt in my eyes, and I’m too exhausted to hide it.

Yvan swallows and blinks at me, his expression losing its edge.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says with firm certainty, like it’s an unassailable fact.

Warmth spreads through me, some of the anxiety melting from my shoulders. I take a deep breath and nod, believing him and bolstered by his steadiness. Somehow, I know I’ll be safe with him.

Yvan stands there for a moment longer, considering. “Did the Vu Trin magic the border? To keep the Icaral out?”

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