Page 51 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
He grins, the kind that’s all teeth and zero warmth. “I’ve seen you with him. A lot. Who is he, really?”
The way he says it — not just jealous, but curious in that invasive, prying way — makes my skin crawl. “None of your business.” I shoulder past him, but he slides to block my path again.
“You never went for the quiet, brooding type before,” he presses, voice dropping. “What’s the deal? Exchange student? Or is he… something else?”
I whip around to glare at him, pulse spiking. “You sound insane.”
“Do I?” His eyes are sharp now, mean. “Because I saw something last night. His eyes?—”
And then the air changes.
It’s subtle at first — a faint pressure, like the moment before a storm cracks the sky open — then it slams into me, heavy and electric. Rovax is suddenly there, moving fast enough I swear I didn’t hear a single footstep. He doesn’t touch Johnson, but the space between them feels charged, dangerous.
“Step away,” Rovax says, low and even, but his voice has an edge like a drawn blade.
Johnson laughs, but it’s shaky. “What, am I supposed to be scared?”
The glamour ripples. Just for a heartbeat, but it’s enough — a flicker of obsidian skin across Rovax’s cheekbone, a glint of red deep in his eyes. Johnson freezes, the smirk sliding right off his face.
“What the hell?—”
“Leave,” Rovax interrupts, every syllable tight with the kind of control that promises it’s temporary.
I don’t wait for Johnson to argue. Rovax’s hand finds my elbow, firm but not hurting, and he turns me toward the path without looking back. His strides are long enough I have to half-jog to keep up.
“Rovax,” I hiss once we’re out of sight, “you can’t just?—”
“Yes, I can,” he cuts in, not slowing. His voice is quieter now, but the fury in it hasn’t cooled.
I glance over my shoulder. Johnson’s still standing by the vending machines, staring after us like he’s not sure what he just saw. My heart pounds harder.
By the time we’re back in the dorm, my nerves are stretched so tight they hum. I dump my bag on the desk a little harder than necessary, the strap catching and jerking against the wood with a sharp snap. Rovax shuts the door behind us with deliberate care, like he knows I’m two seconds from unloading on him.
I spin on him. “What the hell was that?”
He doesn’t even flinch. Just leans against the door, arms folded, gaze steady in that infuriating way of his — like I’m the one who needs to explain myself.
“You mean,” he says slowly, “protecting you from a man who was one breath away from grabbing you?”
I throw my hands up. “Protecting me is one thing. Flashing thecreepy otherworldly faceat him is another. Do you realize what he saw?”
“Enough to make him think twice.” His tone is flat, but I catch the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile — more like the ghost of satisfaction.
I pace because if I stand still, I’ll yell. “You can’t just… you can’t keep doing that. If people start talking, if someonerecordssomething?—”
He straightens from the wall, the shift in his posture subtle but enough to pull my attention like gravity. “I am not built to hide, Skylar. In my world, concealment is either strategy or shame. And I have neither reason.”
“That’s not the point!” I snap, but my voice cracks halfway through.
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s still not sure he wants to solve. “Then what is?”
The air feels thick, like the heat before lightning. I cross my arms, trying to keep my breathing steady. “The point is, you can’t risk it. Not for me. Not for some… ego trip about not hiding who you are.”
His eyes flash — not with color this time, but with something rawer. “It is not ego. It is… a discomfort. Hiding is beginning to feel like lying. And I am not good at lies that don’t serve me.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Not because they’re romantic — they’re not — but because they’retrue. He says them with that same steady cadence he uses when he’s telling me something strategic, a statement of fact, not a plea.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands over my face. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re talking about blowing your cover like it’s just… inconvenient.”
