Page 127 of Blood & Betrayals

“Good morning, babe,” Connor says as we approach the coffee cart. He’s holding two large coffees in his hands.

I smile up at him, some of my tension fading away. “Good morning, big guy.”

Alice snatches the coffee from him. “Thank you, bird brain,” she grumbles into her cup as she takes a long sip.

I laugh softly and brush my lips over Connor’s. He smiles and wraps his arm around my waist, and another fleck of tension breaks off.

“How was your night with your brothers?” I ask, pulling back.

Connor smiles down at me. “It would have been better if you’d have been there.” He squeezes me to him. “I missed you.”

Alice slurps her coffee loudly and impatiently, obviously done with watching our mushiness.

“You’re going to be late,” Connor groans as I kiss his jaw, both of us ignoring Alice.

I lift my face for him, waiting for a kiss. “Don’t care.”

Connor brushes his lips over mine. “Okay, well, I’m going to be late.”

I ignore him, deepening the kiss, my tongue dancing with his. Connor moans but pulls back. “Okay, now I really have to go.”

“Fine,” I pout.

Connor nuzzles his nose against mine. “I’ll see you later,” he says before turning and setting off at an easy jog.

Alice and I are some of the last to enter the classroom, and when we sit down, my mind immediately begins to wander. Though I’m sitting in a class about runes, and normally I would be completely captivated, I find myself doodling in my notebook. They are not the usual doodles of boredom. Instead, I’m recreating the message from earlier, down to the way the blood trickled down the stone. As I draw the finalNin the message, the page glows faintly. I sit up and stare down at it, watching in horrified amazement as a message appears. It looks like someone else is writing on the paper. The script is elegant, precise, and neat, the words curving along the lined page.

It is a warning.

I frown down at my notebook and then flip my gaze up, looking around. Alice is busy with something on her phone, andno one else seems to be paying me any attention. I look back at the page in front of me and grip my pen harder, pressing it to the paper before writing out a reply.

From you?

No.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Who are you?

I write back while trying to sort through my feelings about this situation. I try to lean into my instincts, but they are eerily silent. It’s like I have gone numb, just one thing too many, and I can’t process all the potential dangers lurking around every corner.

A stranger.

They write back, the words sending a shiver down my spine. It’s such an obvious answer, but it’s truth, and the ambiguity behind it is chilling. This feels strangely familiar to me, but I’m not sure why. It’s nothing like my situation from before.

Do you want to hurt me?

I ask. The question hangs in the air like an oppressive cloud.

There is a beat this time, almost a hesitation before the reply comes.

An odd question. Why would you ask that, little fae?

I shiver at the term and how it makes me feel like prey. Like I am being stalked by the most fearsome of predators. So then, why does it make my stomach flutter?

Leave me alone.

I’m not sure why I didn’t say it sooner, why I’m replying to a haunted-ass notebook.

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