Page 6 of Angel Lost

“You were practically at one with the wall, girl.”

I shrug, a smugness settling in my gut. I might have been practicing channeling my inner vamp over the holidays.

Zephyr glances between me and the firmly shut door before pulling a face. “It’s not that he doesn’t care, Lori.”

“Sure seems like that.”

“Don’t take it personally, I’m being removed as Hand, and even I’m not in there.”

He tosses his hair over a shoulder and jerks his head for me to follow him. Reluctantly, I move away from the room where futures are being decided.

“Have you guys even talked?” he asks.

“Not beyond him checking I wasn’t bleeding to death, no. He hasn’t told me much about the patrols.”

Zephyr snorts. “Not about that, stupid. About you, Chano, and Farrell?”

My breathing stalls, and my lower belly clenches. “Hetoldyou about that?”

Zephyr huffs. “He tells me everything. Have you? Talked?”

Suddenly, the uncarpeted floor we’re trailing along is the most fascinating thing ever. “No,” I mutter, and my blush rises.

“Do you think you could love more than one person? More than Chano?”

I shrug, chewing a strand of hair. I’m going to kill Farrell. This is private.

Zephyr ignores my discomfort and presses on. “I mean, if you have them both, would you…expand your harem further?”

I jerk my gaze up to meet his. He’s not teasing.

“I don’t have a harem,” I protest. “I don’t know where my head is with Chano and Farrell! They hate each other. I’ve complicated things, so much.”

“So, no openings then?”

I frown. “I don’t have a harem, and I don’t want a harem. I don’t even know if there’s room for Farrell.”

Zephyr purses his lips. “I see.”

I sigh and rub my temples with my fingers. “Anyway, romance isn’t Farrell’s issue, is it? I don’t think he wants me, beyond lust. He definitely doesn’t want me here. Hell, he deliberately didn’t tell me what was going on with the king’s scouts. To him I’m still competition, aren’t I? The lost aether who could rip the rebellion’s loyalty away from him.”

There, I’ve said it. Out loud. But the look on Zephyr’s face gives me no more to go on. He keeps his features utterly impassive. Does he think I’m the competition too? I’m not. Although, something about all thosetents, those people…For the first time, I want to get involved. I can help. I could be more than just a figurehead princess, pretending to be Farrell’s girlfriend.

So, what does that mean? Stay here…accept I’ll only be allowed to train with the kids. Accept I won’t be allowed to take any real risk? Real responsibility?

Hell no. Both Chano and Farrell can go fuck themselves. I’ll train myself.

I’ve got this.

Chapter Three: Lorelei

I stride through the academy grounds, over the stupid cobbles and away from the damn portal. Away from Farrell. From Chano.

The ancient stone turrets of the academy building swing into view, silhouetted by a bright blue sky. Sweat trickles slowly down my back. Up ahead, students run laps of the track. It’s sticky, grumpy, sweaty hot. Not weather for training. Their slight figures and pointed ears give them away. Fae. Of course. I don’t care how light footed they are, that must be miserable. They’re nuts. The fae are officially nuts.

A slim figure raises an arm and waves enthusiastically. Uh-uh. No way. Not in the mood for fae. And definitely not that fae. Not Jessica. I swerve, changing direction, and head away from the cafeteria, straight to the dorms. Sorry, Mrs. Cocci, but I’d rather face my room and Naeve’s empty bed than deal with that ridiculous enthusiasm.

Stowing my kit away, checking I’ve got a uniform for the new academic year, and making my bed takes barely any time. Naeve’s half of the room is bare. Accusing. Stripped of all her stuff. A stark reminder of how badly last year went. How I failed her. I sit at my desk, facing away from the reality, and fiddle with the edge of my uniform. The tartan skirt and white blouse combo is dumb for university students. For adults. I brush the blazer free from lint, halting when I spot it. Seriously? Now we’ve got badges with our year and species on? I pick at the stitching around it. Crossbreed—charming. At least it affords some sort of anonymity. No one expects much of a crossbreed. No one expects the power I have.

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