Page 19 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
Skylar plants her hands on her hips. “Dangerous strangers?”
“I mean, come on.” He gestures toward me like I’m some suspect piece of street art. “Guy shows up out of nowhere, doesn’t talk about where he’s from, dresses like—” His eyes flick over me, catching on the plain black hoodie and jeans Skylar made me wear. “…like that.”
Skylar’s glare sharpens. “You’re the last person who should be warning me about guys I hang out with.”
His smirk wobbles but doesn’t fall. “I’m just saying?—”
That’s as far as he gets.
I step forward. Just one step, but I let the glamour slip at the edges. Not enough to reveal obsidian skin and runes, but enough to let himfeelme. It feels heavy, electric, the way it does before a lightning strike. My gaze locks on his, unblinking.
“You think I am dangerous,” I say, voice low enough that he has to lean the tiniest fraction to catch it. “You are correct.”
For a heartbeat, he freezes. I see his pupils dilate, the faint twitch in the muscle at his jaw. His body knows something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet—that whatever’s in front of him isn’t playing by his rules.
Skylar glances between us, lips pressing together like she’s calculating whether she needs to physically get between us.
Johnson clears his throat and tries to laugh it off. “See? That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”
Before Skylar can answer, another voice cuts in.
“Well, well, well,” Syndee drawls, strolling up with a paper coffee cup in one hand and the kind of slow, deliberate smile that makes you check if your wallet’s still in your pocket. “Looks like I missed a reunion.”
Her gaze flicks over Johnson like he’s a stain she’s deciding whether to bother cleaning, then slides to me with a quick, assessing sweep. “And who’s the new guy? Please tell me you’re trouble, because Sky’s overdue for some.”
I feel the corners of my mouth lift, just slightly. “I have been called worse than trouble.”
Syndee laughs, and it’s sharp enough to make Johnson’s ears go red. “God, I like him already.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Skylar mutters.
Syndee sips her coffee, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I’mabsolutelyencouraging him. In fact, I’m putting this entire exchange in my mental gossip vault for later.” She tilts her head toward Johnson. “And you—shouldn’t you be off somewhere flexing at a mirror?”
Johnson’s jaw tightens, but the weight of my stare hasn’t left him. His bravado’s fraying; I can smell it in the faint tang of sweat that wasn’t there before.
He finally shifts his weight back, muttering something that’s probably meant to sound dismissive but comes out tight. “Yeah, whatever. Just watch yourself, Sky.”
Then he turns and walks off, a little too quickly for someone pretending not to be rattled.
I watch him go until he disappears into the crowd. Not because I think he’ll turn back again, but because I’m memorizing the angles of his retreat, the set of his shoulders, the tells that say more about a man than his words.
Harmless in a fight, maybe. But on Protheka, I’ve learned that blades aren’t always the sharpest weapons—sometimes it’s whispers. And human politics? They smell just as treacherous.
Skylar exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “You didn’t have to?—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “I did.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue.
Syndee, on the other hand, looks like she’s just found her new favorite form of entertainment. “Oh, this is gonna befun.”
The door to the dorm clicks shut behind us, and I barely have time to scan the room for changes before Skylar whirls on me.
“What was that out there?” Her hands go straight to her hips, chin tilting up. It’s an oddly defiant stance for someone barely reaching my sternum.
I let my weight settle into the too-soft couch, stretching one leg out. “If you’re referring to the worm with too much hair gel?—”
“I’m referring,” she snaps, “to you intimidating people in broad daylight on campus. Do you haveanyidea how suspicious that looks?”
