Page 48 of Darkbirch Academy

Without warning, he transforms. Not physically—there’s no scale or claw in sight—but something fundamentalchanges in his presence. His shoulders soften, his stance opens, and his eyes... his eyes take on a warmth that seems to reach directly for something primitive in my brain.

He approaches me slowly, each step deliberate yet seemingly casual. “Imagine I’m Mazrov,” he says, his voice pitched lower than usual. “I’ve noticed you across the tavern, sitting alone.”

Despite knowing this is just demonstration, I feel my pulse quicken as he stops before me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him but not so close as to invade my space.

“You glance up,” he instructs softly. “Not immediately. Let him wait.”

I count to three in my head, then raise my eyes to his, trying to mimic an inviting look.

“Better,” he murmurs. “Now look away—not quickly, but as if something else momentarily caught your interest.”

I follow his direction, turning my gaze toward the window before looking back at him through my lashes.

“Good.” His approval shouldn’t please me, but it does. “When he speaks to you, tilt your head slightly. It exposes your neck—a subconscious signal of trust.”

I do as instructed, feeling increasingly ridiculous yet strangely powerful as I see his pupils dilate slightly in response.

“May I join you?” he asks, the question deceptively casual. Without waiting for my answer, he takes the seat next to me at the imaginary bar. “When he makes this move, don’t shift away immediately. Let him believe his presence is welcome.”

I force myself to remain still, though every instinct screams to maintain distance.

“Now,” he continues, his voice a murmur, “he’ll offer to buy you a drink. Accept with gratitude, but not eagerness. You want him interested, not suspicious.”

“I know how to accept a drink,” I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

“Do you?” His eyebrow arches. “Show me.”

I clear my throat, softening my expression. “That would be lovely,” I say, my voice deliberately lower, smoother than my natural tone. I allow a small smile to touch my lips, then glance down at my hands before meeting his eyes again.

“Not terrible,” Dayn concedes, “but your shoulders remain tense. Remember, a less confident woman might be nervous around an attractive man with Mazrov’s authority. You find him intriguing, if a bit intimidating.”

“Should I twirl my hair around my finger too?”

“Sarcasm is unbecoming in a seductress,” Dayn says dryly. “But a little genuine laughter would help. Your eyes light up when you laugh—it’s quite transformative.”

“I wasn’t aware dragons were such keen observers of human beauty,” I say, deflecting from the unexpected compliment.

“We’re keen observers of everything.” He leans slightly closer. “When he moves into your space like this, don’t retreat. Instead, lean forward slightly—it suggests interest and creates intimacy.”

I follow his instruction, bringing our faces uncomfortably close. The amber of his eyes seems to darken, flecks of gold appearing at the edges.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now touch his arm briefly—casualcontact establishes a physical connection that can be built upon.”

I hesitate, then lightly place my fingers on his forearm. The heat of him burns through the fabric of his shirt, and for an instant, I feel that strange connection flicker between us again—much fainter than before, but unmistakable. I’d thought it was a temporary reaction triggered by our proximity to the raw power of the convergence waters, but it seems there is still some intermittent after-effect. I try to shake it aside. I need to focus.

Dayn’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “You’re learning,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “But seduction is more than just physical proximity.” His eyes hold mine with unsettling intensity. “The tavern has private guest rooms.”

“And?” I withdraw my hand, suddenly needing distance.

“The guest rooms are reserved for travelers and the occasional Heathborne visitor,” Dayn explains, his eyes never leaving mine. “All conveniently located on the ground floor, with large windows facing the back garden.”

I catch his meaning immediately. “Easy extraction points.”

“Precisely. You need to convince Mazrov to book one of those rooms for the night.”

I blink, the implications washing over me. “You expect me to?—”

“No,” Dayn interrupts. “But you need to make him believe that’s where the evening is headed.” His eyes darken, the gold flecks becoming more pronounced. “Once he’s in that room, vulnerable and distracted, we’ll have our opportunity.”

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