Page 47 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t pace. He just stands near the wall, arms folded, watching me like he’s cataloging every twitch of my expression.
“Are you going to yell at me now?” he asks finally, and there’s a faint edge to it — not mocking, but challenging.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to start.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t.”
“God, you’re impossible,” I mutter, turning away to busy myself with rearranging the stack of books on my desk.
But I can feel his eyes on me, steady and unflinching. The same way they were in that classroom. The same way they are whenever he decides I’m in danger.
And the worst part? The very worst part?
I’m starting to like it.
I grip the edge of the desk and take a slow breath, the scent of paper and dust grounding me. “Just… don’t make a habit of swooping in like that,” I say without turning around. “It’s dangerous.”
Behind me, I hear the faint rustle of his coat as he shifts. “For them,” he says simply.
The silence that follows is deep enough to drown in. I turn just enough to catch his profile in the lamplight — sharp lines, that impossible stillness, eyes fixed on some point far away.
Dangerous, I remind myself. He’s dangerous.
But danger has never looked so much like safety.
CHAPTER 17
ROVAX
The city’s noise fades the farther we drive.
By the time we reach the lake, the only sound is the low hum of the wind and the occasional hiss of tires on cold asphalt. I kill the engine and step out, letting the night air hit my face. The chill is nothing to me — just a sharper kind of oxygen — but I can hear Skylar’s breath catch behind me.
The lake spreads wide and black under the moonlight, its surface barely moving, like glass stretched too thin. The scent here is different — wet stone, dead leaves, the metallic tang of cold water.
Skylar tucks her hands into her jacket pockets as she walks up beside me, her boots crunching over the gravel. “This is… random,” she says, glancing sideways at me. “You planning on tossing me in? ’Cause, fair warning, I’m a terrible swimmer.”
I don’t smile. The attempt at humor is thin; I can hear the strain in her voice. She’s still knotted up inside from earlier, from Bill’s questions and my interruption.
“I thought you needed air,” I say simply.
Her brow furrows. “Air?”
“Space,” I clarify. “Distance from… them.”
She huffs a quiet laugh and shakes her head. “Well, mission accomplished. This is about as far from campus drama as you can get.” Her gaze lingers on the water for a moment before she adds, “Feels almost too quiet.”
“That’s because no one’s watching you here.”
Her shoulders shift — not quite a flinch, but close. She’s always sharper when she knows eyes are on her. I can feel the muscles in her tense like a creature waiting to spring. Here, in the dark, it’s different.
I walk to the edge of the shore, the stones crunching under my boots, and stare at our reflections in the black water. My glamour holds, but the moonlight threads across its surface like it’s trying to slip through to what’s beneath.
Skylar joins me after a moment. “So… this is the part where we make awkward small talk to fill the silence?” she says.
“I don’t do small talk,” I answer.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she mutters.
