Page 41 of Ashes to Ashes

My hand withdraws empty. Some knowledge isn’t meant to be shared.

A prickling awareness at the base of my skull interrupts my thoughts. Not the vague feeling of being watched, but a specific, localized cold that drills into my brainstem like an icicle. Someone is watching me. Not Viel—someone else, hidden in shadows deeper than the moonlight should allow. The air around me chills so rapidly that moisture crystallizes on nearby leaves.

I move toward the Gardens, my steps measured, deliberately casual despite heightened alertness. As I pass the central library, movement catches my eye through tall windows. A familiar figure sits surrounded by ancient texts, golden light dancing around his fingertips as he turns pages with reverent care.

Finnian. Even at this hour, buried in research. Our eyes meet briefly across the distance, and he offers a small nod of acknowledgment before returning to his work. Something in his expression suggests he’s not surprised to see me wandering after midnight.

The gardens at night are a tactical nightmare—plants that move without wind, paths that rearrange themselves, flowers that emit light in patterns suggesting intelligence. I navigate carefully, documenting what I can while maintaining awareness of that persistent sense of being watched.

As I approach a section marked as restricted in the briefing materials, frost forms on nearby leaves despite the mild night. The patterns on my arm pulse in warning, a cold tingling that spreads up to my shoulder. My teeth ache as if the temperature has plummeted below freezing.

“Most humans respect boundaries,” says a cold voice directly behind me, silk over steel. “But you’re not most humans, are you?”

I turn slowly, maintaining the calm demeanor of someone with legitimate business rather than an infiltrator caught in the act.

Kieran Nightshade materializes from shadows that shouldn’t be deep enough to conceal him—not stepping out but forming from darkness itself, like ink bleeding into water but in reverse. His formal attire absorbs rather than reflects the persistent moonlight. His presence fills the space between us, turning the simple garden into a claustrophobic arena.

Unlike Orion’s constant motion and heat, Kieran emanates perfect stillness and cold. Where Orion’s hair seemed alive with flame, Kieran’s darkness absorbs light like a black hole, pulling all attention toward him with irresistible gravity.

“I was exploring the grounds for tomorrow’s training session,” I say evenly. “Getting my bearings for outdoor exercises.”

“At two minutes past midnight.” He steps closer, each movement precisely calibrated, ice forming in his wake. “Either you’re remarkably dedicated, or you’re hunting for something specific.”

“Which do you think?”

“I think you’re exactly as dangerous as you are beautiful.” His smile is winter sharp. “And that’s saying something.”

“I work best at night,” I respond with a slight shrug. “Fewer distractions.”

“Indeed. Fewer witnesses as well.” Another step forward, forcing me to either retreat or hold ground. I choose the latter, refusing to yield physical space despite the intimidation tactics. His eyes study my face with unsettling intensity.

“Is there a curfew I should be aware of, Prince Nightshade?” I ask, deliberately using his title.

His mouth curves slightly—not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment of the challenge. “No curfew. But there are boundaries, Professor Morgan. Areas restricted for very specific reasons. Areas you seem determined to approach.”

“Is this section restricted? I don’t see any markings.” Answering a question with a question.

“We don’t typically need signs,” he replies, closing the remaining distance between us. “Most beings at the Academy can sense the wards. Most beings know better than to test them.”

He maneuvers me backward until I’m pressed against an ancient stone wall, his body not quite touching mine but close enough that escape would require physical contact. A classic intimidation technique I’ve been trained to counter.

Instead, I find myself frozen in place, not from fear but from an inexplicable awareness of him—his scent like winter forests and something metallic, the temperature drop that surrounds him, the barely contained power that pulses beneath his controlled exterior. The air between us crackles with invisible energy, making the fine hairs on my arms rise.

His shadows extend beyond normal boundaries, curling around my ankles like sentient smoke, twining up my calves with a touch that burns cold even through fabric. My entire body responds with contradictory signals—combat training screaming to break contact while something deeper, more primal urges me to lean into the darkness, to let it claim me completely.

“You’re staring again,” I say without looking up.

Kieran’s voice hums with that infuriating calm. “Can you blame me? You’re standing in moonlight wearing secrets like jewelry.”

I glance at him, arch a brow. “If I had a knife, you’d be considerably less charming.”

“If you had a knife, I’d be considerably more interested.” His smile turns predatory. “I do enjoy a challenge.”

“Gods help us all.”

“The gods aren’t watching tonight.” He steps closer, invading my space completely. “Just me.”

I pause. That stupid heat climbs into my cheeks, and I curse him for it.

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