But he stops. His hand covers mine, pressing it back to my side. His voice a strangled whisper. “Not yet.”
He grinds me deeper into the cushions as the candlelight orbs flicker a glow, casting us in an amber light. His hand finds me again, fingers moving rhythmically against my core.
The pressure fractures into something I can no longer hold back, like glass under heat. I cry out, my whole body drawn tight as release barrels through me.
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he just turns us gently, cradling my back against his chest as we lie there facing the quiet room. He presses a kiss on the curve of my spine just between my shoulder blades.
Without moving me, he grabs a blanket and draws it over us like a shield, the fire in the hearth collapsing into embers. I turn my face up to him, his calloused fingers grasping my chin as he kisses me—slow, reverent.
My peripheral vision catches movement: liquid streaming out in erratic zigzags over the wood surface from the now tipped coffee mug. For a heartbeat, the spill gathers, shimmering, almost star-shaped, before it sinks into the grain.
Well, fuck.
I couldn’t hold it. Not completely. And I know that Noa saw it too. That’s why he stopped us.
Disappointment clings to me, sharper than the afterglow of the pleasure he just wrought from me.
Guess I still need more practice.
Noa presses another kiss to my shoulder, but I feel the truth sink in like cold water: control isn’t mine yet. And until it is, apparently neither is he.
CHAPTER 11
Not all reactions follow known pathways. In rare cases, the interaction of certain substances will yield results no potioneer could fully anticipate.
—“Modern Principles of Alchemy and Potions,” Dr. S. Davenport,Journal of Applied Alchemical Sciences
On Thursday, a misty rain blankets the campus. The crisp air pebbles my skin as I step outside the Blue Dahlia, the buildings around me blurred into ghostly shapes by the haze. I had grabbed Noa’s jacket and an umbrella, but I welcome the rain. I always have. The way it falls. The way it feels. Whispering to me just as it did when I was a child.
I walk toward the northern edge of campus, headed to Advanced Potions with Professor Ching. Browning Hall stands alone, as if the rest of the campus moved on and left it behind—forgotten by time but too stubborn to disappear.
The stone cottage is weathered and moss-covered, more like something from a fairy tale than an official school building. Itssloping thatched roof is silvered with age, making me think of a place where a witch might step out at any moment, brushing flour from her hands and muttering spells under her breath.
Inside the oldest Potions classroom in the school, there is a hum of energy—wild, layered, something alive in and of itself. The air is thick with the mingled scent of chalk dust, scorched thyme, and old parchment. Dried herbs hang in tangled bunches from a crooked rack beside the door. An ancient well, its stones crumbling and its bucket long retired, sits off to the side.
The tables are scarred from generations of flame and failed mixtures, their charred edges evidence of those who came before. Strange shapes hang from the rafters and crowd the shelves—bones, vials, shimmering orbs, and preserved things that were once living that I can’t name.
While the Logistics building labs were pristine, sterile, Browning Hall is chaotic—unnerving, and yet beautiful.
Some students have already arrived, clustered around the four large tables. At the front, I spot Finn, his tousled sandy-blond hair damp from the rain. His handsome face and warm brown eyes light up when he sees me. I wave.
He grins as I slide into the seat next to him. “Moving up in the world, are we, Farris?” he teases, nodding toward my Advanced Potions textbook.
I shrug as Professor Ching enters and gives me a polite nod. “The professor asked me to come,” I say, a little lamely.
“Beautifulandbrilliant,” Finn says, winking. “Should’ve known from the way Noa talks about—oof?—”
A strong hand grips his shoulder, hard. “The way Noa talks about what, exactly?” The air warms instantly around me as Noa appears, one eyebrow raised, standing behind us like an unmovable force.
“Noa! You didn’t tell me you were in this class,” I say, slightly breathless.Gods, get a grip, Celeste… How does he always affect me like this?
“I spoke to admin this morning,” he says. “Figured I’d squeeze in one more Potions class before I graduate.” He leans down and kisses me, soft and quick. “Class was already full, but Thorne pulled some strings.”
Finn just rolls his eyes. “Yeah… because Potions hasalwaysbeen a favorite subject of yours,” he says sarcastically, with a pointed cough in my direction.
Noa just winks at me, and heat rushes up my neck—hot enough I’m sure it shows—as I try, and fail, to hide my grin.
The rest of the class begins to settle as Mauve joins our table, leaving just one seat empty in the back. Then the door blows open, rain gusting in behind it, and the final student steps through.
