Page 74 of Unbound

Uther slips under him, cushioning his fall with his watery back.

"Not bad," Beck admits, sliding off Uther with a grateful pat on the beast's head. He shakes water from his sandy blonde hair.

I'm about to respond when I feel a familiar prickle at the back of my neck. I turn slightly, just enough to confirm my suspicion.

Raith stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Even from across the room, I can feel the heat of his attention on me as he tracks my movements. His affinity mark has grown more than anyone in the first years. Lines of red-orange trail up his thick forearms and reach the bottom of his left bicep in a way that’s admittedly… nice.

Our eyes meet briefly, and a ghost of a smile touches his lips before his expression returns to its usual stoic mask. It's been like this for weeks now—him appearing at the edges of wherever I am, watching, assessing. Keeping his promise to protect me, but maintaining a careful distance in public.

The private training sessions are different. Twice a week, we meet in an abandoned training room in the eastern wing. There, he's been teaching me how to use my size and speed to my advantage, how to fight opponents twice my strength, how to survive. His hands adjust my stance, his voice low and rough as he corrects my form, his body close enough that I can feel his unnatural heat.

But it's always professional. Always clinical. There's never idle conversation, and as far as I can tell, his one and only purpose is to make sure I can defend myself better.

I force my attention back to Beck just in time to dodge a water whip aimed at my legs. “Too busy drooling to defend, huh?”

"Shut up," I say, glaring as I pull my attention from Raith.

My momentary distraction costs me. Beck's next attack catches me in the chest, drenching me from neck to waist.

We're all able to put force behind our attacks, but being a water carries the advantage of letting us practice with relatively harmless spells when we want. In a real fight, Ryke has been teaching us how to sharpen each droplet of water, turning an otherwise harmless splash into a deadly blade that can cleave through flesh and bone.

But Beck's attack is nothing more than cold water splashing and soaking me as it connects.

I pull the water from my clothing. Droplets magically wick from the fabric, my skin, and my hair, drifting in front of my body in a wall of droplets. With a thought, I reach into each droplet and reshape them into inch-long needles.

"Hey now, that's—" Beck starts, but I gesture, and the needles fly toward him.

They form an outline, punching pinprick holes in the loose points of his clothing but not even scratching him. He looks behind and sees the needles stuck in the stone wall, then looks down at his clothes and pulls his sleeve out. Dozens of little holes let the light through.

"Gods, Nessa," Beck says, grinning. "You're scary as hell."

As I release the water needles, letting them splash to the ground, I feel another presence behind me. Not Raith this time.

"Impressive control, Thorne," Primal Ryke says, his voice cool but not unkind. "For someone who could barely form a sphere two months ago, your progress is... noteworthy."

Coming from Ryke, this is practically effusive praise. I duck my head, unused to compliments from instructors. "Thank you."

He studies me for a moment, head tilted. "Your channeling has a unique signature. Almost as if..." He trails off, then straightens. "The Rector mentioned… well, never mind. Just report to his office tomorrow at sunset. And don't be late for once."

Report to the fucking Rector’s office? Holy shit… Ryke gives the order almost casually, but there’s nothing casual about the command.

The Rector doesn’t interact with students or our daily life here. So what the hells did I just do to get put on his notice? I can already feel my palms sweating and my breath coming quick at the idea, but I try to pretend I’m calm as I nod to Ryke.

"I do not like this,"Typhon notes.

"Agreed."

I catch Beck and Ambrose exchanging a look as Primal Ryke walks away.

"Private meeting with Rector Voss," Beck whispers, wiggling his eyebrows. "Sounds... intense."

"Stop it," Mireen says, shoving him. "It's probably nothing. And Nessa is getting really good. Better than most of us. They're probably just wanting to help along a student with so much potential. Maybe he wants to talk about putting her in a more advanced class, or something."

I smile, but there's a tight ball of worry in my chest.

Attention. This is exactly what I've been trying to avoid for so long. A one on one with the Rector himself is… concerning to say the least. I think about slipping out of class to tell Raith and ask his opinion, but when I look toward the doorway where he stood, I see he's gone.

All that's left is the lingering heat of where I felt his gaze on my skin and the tendrils of fear spreading through my insides.

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