Page 83 of Unbound

"Including you?" I challenge.

His smile is almost sad. "Especially me."

Before I can respond, he moves past me, rejoining the stream of students leaving the classroom. I watch him go, puzzled by the warning—or was it a confession?

As I turn to leave, I catch sight of Raith standing near the door. As usual, he stands apart by his size and the dangerous aura that seems to cling to him like smoke.

Our eyes meet across the room, and electricity arcs between us, sharp and undeniable as lightning splitting the sky. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, then returns to my eyes with an intensity that sends pure fire coursing through my veins. One side of his mouth lifts in the barest hint of a smile before he tilts his head slightly toward the east wing—a silent confirmation of our training session later.

I give the smallest nod in return, and he's gone, disappearing into the corridor with lethal grace.

I exhale slowly, unsettled by how every fucking time our eyes meet I feel like I’m falling apart. Or is it the complete opposite? That the pieces of me are trying to snap back together when he’s around? Whatever this thing is between us, it's getting stronger, harder to ignore.

"Quite the pair of admirers you've collected," Beck says, appearing at my side with a grin. "The legacy prince and the scarred warrior. If this were a bard's tale, there'd be a duel by sunset."

"Don't be ridiculous," I mutter, shoving him lightly. "Bastian was just asking about classwork. And I'm pretty sure he's not a prince."

"Right. And I'm secretly tethered to a dragon instead of a bear." Beck winks, falling into step beside me as we leave the classroom. "Come on, admit it. The two hottest guys at Confluence can't keep their eyes off you. And you know there are plenty of other guys who would love to get into your bed, but they're too terrified of those guys to make a move."

"You're delusional."

"Am I? Serena looks ready to flay you alive every time Raith so much as glances your way."

The mention of Serena, as always, sends a spike of annoyance and rage through me. “If she wants Raith, she has an odd way of showing it. Remember what she tried during Confluence Day?”

“Some women would rather kill a man than see him shared with another. Just ask Brunhild.”

“Who?”

Beck grins. “This girl I met. She’s… something,” he says with a wistful smile. “Speaking of, I’m going to pay her a visit before elemental combat. Wish me luck.”

Beck leaves me at the east wing entrance, heading away with a spring in his step as he dodges a pair of fourth-year earths with hard eyes and absolutely massive muscles. I watch him go, noting how he moves differently now—a new confidence in his stride, strength in the set of his shoulders.

We're all changing, becoming something more than what we were.

“You spend half your day thinking of the fire-touched, angry human,”Typhon rumbles.“You have much to learn. Sexual penetration will not improve your odds of survival. Training will.”

I smile."Jealousy doesn't suit you, Typhon. And it’s training with him I’m thinking about. I learn more sparring with Raith than I do in a week of Weapon’s Class."

"I am not jealous of a human,"he sniffs indignantly."I simply question the wisdom of spending time alone with one who radiates such dangerous heat."

"The heat's not so bad,"I reply, feeling my cheeks warm at the admission.

The truth is, I've been thinking about Raith almost constantly since the night outside Voss's office. The concern in his eyes, the roughness in his voice when he said he trusted me, the lingering heat of his fingers on my wrist—all of it repeats in my mind like a song I can't stop humming. And beneath it all runs a current of curiosity about the person he mentioned, this Gareth who mattered so much to him.

I wonder if Gareth is connected to those nightmares that brought him to the top of the academy walls. To the fire that haunts him.

I've seen fleeting glimpses of Raith in the dining hall and during regular training, but except for that moment in tactics class today, he's been surprisingly scarce.

Reaching the training room door, I pause, drawing in a deep breath to steady my racing heart. It's just training, I tell myself. Nothing more.

We've done this dozens of times already, and Raith is always clinical and serious. He's all business, and that's exactly how this session will go, too. And yet my breath still hitches and warmth floods me as I push open the door and step into the familiar empty training room we've used so many times now.

Torches flicker in iron brackets along the walls, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Raith used a trick of his fire affinity to light these, and they seem to burn for days without needing to be lit, even when he's not in the room.

Training equipment lines the edges of the room—wooden dummies, racks of practice weapons, targets for projectile practice.

But I'm the only one in the room.

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