Page 36 of Ashes to Ashes

“Excellent demonstration,” he announces to the class, his voice steady despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Professor Morgan has proven her point about adaptive techniques. Sometimes the oldest traditions can be countered by unexpected approaches.”

His eyes find mine again, holding them a beat too long.

“Or remembered by those who’ve forgotten they knew them in the first place.”

The students shift from foot to foot, exchanging glances with raised eyebrows and widened eyes. Some lean together, whispering urgently behind cupped hands. Others stare openly, reassessing everything they’d assumed about human capabilities.

A young Unseelie student with midnight-blue hair leans forward. “Professor Wildfire, the spiral counter sequence—that’s from the ancient texts, isn’t it? The ones locked in the forbidden archives?”

“Observant, Kellen,” Orion replies with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Though perhaps we should focus on the practical applications rather than historical origins.”

His deflection isn’t subtle. More confirmation that something is very wrong with what my body knows.

“I appreciate this, Professor Wildfire,” I say evenly. “An educational exchange.”

His eyes meet mine with unmistakable meaning. “More educational than expected.” His voice drops to a murmur meant only for me. “We should talk later. About where you learned those forms.”

His fingertips brush mine as he retrieves his belongings, the brief contact sending another wave of heat up my arm that settles in my chest like mulled wine, warming me from the inside out.

“Though perhaps...” he leans closer, his breath hot against my neck, “we could discuss it over dinner instead of in some stuffy classroom. I’d love to see what other... skills you’re hiding.”

Luckily just as I’m about to open my mouth to tell him no the bell rings ending class and a few rush toward Orion, their voices excited and high pitched.

Other students file out while casting curious glances my way. The Unseelie boy who had pantomimed throat-cutting now gives me a respectful nod. A Seelie girl watches with undisguised fascination. Many who entered with dismissive attitudes now keep their distance, bodies angled slightly away as they pass.

“Did you see how she countered the Thornblade strike?” I hear one student whisper to another as they exit. “No human should even recognize that form, let alone counter it perfectly.”

“And her eyes—did you notice how they changed during the second sequence? Just for a moment they looked almost like...”

“Shut up,” hisses her companion. “You know we’re not supposed to talk about that.”

Talk about what? My hands clench involuntarily, a cold dread settling in my stomach like lead. What did they see that I couldn’t?

Finnian approaches as the room empties, the scent of old books and herbs surrounding him like an aura. “Impressive demonstration,” he says, genuine admiration in his voice. “You handled Professor Wildfire’s challenge admirably.”

“He’s an exceptional fighter,” I respond carefully, watching Finnian’s face for clues. His eyes—those gold-flecked amber depths—study me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

“One of our best,” Finnian agrees. “Though I’ve never seen him quite so... matched before.” He adjusts his robes, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. “Your countermeasures were particularly fascinating. I’d be interested to learn more about the military tradition that developed them.”

Before I can formulate a suitably vague response, Orion joins us, clapping Finnian on the shoulder with casual familiarity that nearly knocks the smaller man off-balance.

“Your human instructor is remarkable, Finn,” he says, studying me with open curiosity, his earlier warmth now tempered with thoughtful assessment. “Where exactly did you say you trained, Professor Morgan?”

“Special operations,” I reply with deliberate vagueness. “Various classified programs.”

“Must have been very special indeed,” Orion muses, closing the distance between us again.

His finger traces a line just above my sleeve where the thorn patterns hide beneath fabric. Never touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat emanating from his skin.

“I’d love to hear more about them. Perhaps over dinner? I know an excellent place in the eastern gardens.” His eyes hold mine with unmistakable heat. “Unless you’re afraid to be alone with me.”

Wait... My mind catches up. He just asked me out. My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Or out of her depth.

“After what I just witnessed, I think I should be the nervous one,” he adds, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrates through my chest.

Before I can respond to this unexpected invitation, a cold voice interrupts from behind me.

“Professor Wildfire.” Kieran’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “How predictably territorial of you.”

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