Did he leave me here?
The wave of relief that comes over me when I spot him sitting beside the fire, coffee cup in hand, makes me question my own sanity, just for a moment.
I’ve had one-night stands before, and I’m usually the one to disappear in the middle of the night. But not seeing Severin beside me, thinking he’d left me here, made a well of pain open up inside me, strong enough that even now, as I watch him read a newspaper by the flickering light of the fire, I almost want to cry.
Pushing the blankets back, I slip from the warm bed, then pad across the room to him. He looks up as I approach, his gaze sweeping quickly over my naked body before settling on my face. And whatever he sees there makes him set his newspaper and coffee cup on the side table.
Without a word, I sink into his lap, pulling my knees up so I can curl myself against his firm chest. His arms come around me, holding me, and he whispers into my tangled hair, “Good morning,furtuna mea.”
I grip his charcoal-gray button-up in my fingers. “What does that mean?”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “It meansmy storm.”
A small smile pulls on my lips. I like the idea of being his storm, being hisanything.
“There’s coffee,” he says, still holding me with one arm while he gently detangles my hair with his other hand, his fingers working delicately at the messy strands. “Or I can go down and order you something to eat.”
“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” I whisper, feeling suddenly small and childlike.
He makes a thoughtful sound, and the hum reverberates in his chest under my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I take a breath, comforted by that, then shift in his lap to look up into his dark eyes. Slowly, I smile. “I’ll take a coffee though. Black.”
His resulting smile is gentle. “I’ll pour it for you.”
We lounge in the room for a few hours, drinking coffee and sitting in front of the fire. I know I can’t spend all day here, even though I want to. If only I could stay here with Severin, behind the locked door, with no one to interrupt us. We’d talk and make love and laugh and not have to deal with anything outside this small firelit space.
Of course, that’s not possible. I need to keep working on my fellowship application essay, and I still haven’t made much progress with my energy sphere.
The thought of it makes my stomach squeeze uncomfortably.
A nagging fear has been rising up inside me these past few weeks: What if I can’t control it? What if no matter how hard I try, I can’t do it, can’t use my magic in the way I need to if I’m going to try to develop energy systems for the nonmagic people of Elarwyn? That’s all I’ve been focused on since the idea first came to me, and the thought that I might not be able to achieve it, might not be able to get the fellowship and continue developing my magic with the help of the Arcanum Collective, leaves me feeling sick inside.
“Where did you just go?” Severin asks.
My gaze flicks up to him from where I was staring at the fire. He’s standing beside the window now, the blinds open, looking out at the rain-slick streets of Wysteria. The rain started about an hour ago, and given the gray sky and the energy I can feel tingling in the air, I know it’s not going to stop anytime soon.
“I was thinking about the fellowship,” I say. “Professor Azula has me rewriting my application essay—again.” I let out a sigh, then finish the last sip of my coffee. “No matter what I do, she doesn’t seem happy with it.”
Severin tips his head, his dark hair catching the gray light coming through the window. “If you need help, I’d be happy to take a look at it.”
One of my brows arches. “You know something about the Arcanum Collective?”
His lips quirk into a sideways smile, and one of his fangs peeks out from under his top lip. “I’m very nearly as old as the Arcanum Collective—I know much about it.”
That reminds me . . .
I stand from the armchair I was curled in and cross the room to join Severin at the window. Tipping my head back to look up at him, I place a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm, and ask, “How old are you?”
He places his free hand over mine, one brow arching slowly. “Are you sure you want to know?”
I nod.
Severin lets out a soft sigh, then says, “I’m 333 years old.”
I thought his age would surprise me, but it doesn’t. It feelsright, like I always expected it just from looking into his eyes.
Rising onto my toes, I press a gentle kiss to his mouth, then say, “I’ve always preferred older men.”
