Page 41 of Godless Saints

Confident.

Same thing when you’re delusional.

Save me under whatever name makes you feel better, prince. Just don’t delete me.

The dots hovered. Disappeared. Came back.

Fine.

I saved you as “Saint Lucia Regret.”

I laughed out loud, chest warm despite everything.

I’ll take it.

I’d take anything the little hypocrite gave me.

You would.

You’re still texting me back at midnight. That says something.

It says I have terrible judgment.

Good. Keep that terrible judgment. Especially when it’s directed at me.

No dots for a long moment.

Good night.

I leaned back and went still. “Good night, Moonshine.” I smiled, thumb tracing the words. He hadn’t blocked me. Told me to delete his. Saved mine anyway.

Fine.

I’d play his game. Lay low. Let Aleksei think I was behaving. All so I could get closer. I’d take anything from him. Even the scraps.

CHAPTER 10

MOON

Aster Court had one single advantage. Cillian Ashbourne could not step foot inside without invitation, consequence, or every Aster student turning their heads toward him. So, I stayed inside all day.

Discipline.

Liar.

One more second alone with him and the House of Moon successor would break. I refused to remember the kiss. The hickey burning under my sweater. His thigh shoving between mine. That low growl against my ear—don’t run. The memories crashed anyway. They always fucking won.

I kept writing.

My phone lay face down next to my notes. I hadn’t opened his thread. Three hours. Two hours and fifty-seven minutes. Irrelevant.

I’d wanted to text him since last night. One message. More. Hear him say Moonshine in that rough Irish accent. But that would prove I was unraveling. So I didn’t. Texting first would make me look needy. Pitiful. Like I’d been waiting all night. So I waited. Like a fool.

I was in the Aster common room, seated near the west window. Soft light fell across the polished oak tables. The air smelled of tea and old paper.

Laptop open. Comparative politics notes lined up exactly the way I liked them. Three Patronage dockets spread across the table. Useful. Presentable. Busy. The image held.

Across from me, Vivienne stirred honey into her tea with delicate patience. Sawyer lounged in the armchair, one ankle over his knee, expression soft enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him.