Page 35 of Unbound

Part of me wants to laugh the idea away, but I can't ignore the amount of fear in their voices as they spoke. I can't ignore the way my own mark seems to burn beneath my skin, as if responding to the words. Siphons are supposed to be monsters from children’s tales. Pure fantasy.

Raith’s expression hardens. In an instant, the vulnerability and openness brought on by his nightmares is gone. He's all hard lines and intensity again. Unreachable and unreadable. "You should go back to your room. It's not safe to wander at night."

"And yet you told me you've been wandering the castle at night since day one." I raise my eyebrows, surprised by my own boldness.

His full lips come the closest to a smile I've ever seen on him, and the sight is breathtaking—transforming his face into something almost unbearably beautiful. I forget to breathe for a moment, but the near-smile is gone as quickly as it came. "Nobody else here has the balls to tease me, let alone provoke me," he says.

"If you think you’d find balls between my legs, you’d be sorely disappointed.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Smooth, Nessa.

His eyes flick to mine, something dangerous flaring in them as he steps closer. "Trust me," he says, his voice dropping to a tone that slides over my skin like velvet, "disappointment is the last thing I'd feel."

The air between us charges with electricity, and I'm suddenly aware of how close we're standing, how the moonlight cuts across the sharp angles of his face. His gaze drops briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, the intensity in them making my heart stutter.

Holy. Shit.

Fire explodes in my lower belly, unwelcome but not quite unpleasant. It spreads through my veins like wildfire, leaving me dizzy with a hunger I've never felt before. I'm hyperaware of him—his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his fingers curl around the stone railing. When did breathing become so difficult?

My brain scrambles, all thoughts of mysterious deaths and fairytale beasts forgotten. My mouth opens, and I can't seem to form a coherent thought in response. And the way my name sounded in his rough, deep voice? Gods. I could get used to that, even if I know Raith and everything he represents is not a good idea for me.

It's worse than "not a good idea." It's suicidal.

He's a fire. He's probably somebody Serena either wants, or, for all I know, already has. If he showed the slightest interest in me where she could see, I'd probably be dead before dawn.

Getting involved with Raith could literally get me killed in more ways than one, which is a fact I very much need my body to understand. Why, then, does every nerve ending in my body feel like it's been set alight at the mere suggestion of his touch?

"Go back to your room, Nessa," Raith says suddenly, his voice deeper than before, rough like he's fighting for control. "Try to sleep."

"Will you?" I ask, reluctant to leave despite every rational thought screaming at me to run, my traitorous feet refusing to move.

He turns back to the view. "Eventually."

I know a dismissal when I hear one, but I linger a moment longer. It is taking time and effort for the arousal he sparked with those few words to fade—for common sense to wrestle control of my thoughts and body again. "If I have the dream again tomorrow night... will you be here?"

Raith doesn't look at me, but I see his shoulders tense, then relax on an exhale. "I don't make promises."

It's not a yes, but it's not a no either. I'll take it.

"Goodnight, Raith."

As I turn to go, his voice stops me. "What we heard... I wouldn't speak of it to anyone. If the Rector is involved, then the information is extremely dangerous. You don't want to be called into his office for questioning. Trust me." For some reason, his eyes fall to my left hand when he says that—to my disguised mark.

I slip it in my pocket, nodding, a chill running down my spine at his warning.

Trust him. Yeah. That hardly seems like a good idea. And yet... part of me wants to. Part of me already does, whether I like it or not.

He's facing away, his broad silhouette a solitary shape against the vast night sky.

His words follow me all the way back to my room, settling into my mind like heavy stones in the churning current of my thoughts.

When I finally sleep again, the nightmares don't return. Instead, I dream of amber eyes and scars that look like rivers of gold in moonlight—and of strong hands touching places that make me wake with a gasp, my body aching for someone I know I can never have.

But the most dangerous things are always the ones we want the most, aren't they?

8

"The elemental trial will claim some of your lives," Instructor Sestra announces, her voice slicing through the classroom like an executioner's blade.

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