Page 89 of Hallowed Bones

Magic or anticipation, it’s difficult to distinguish between the two as they both hover in the silence left behind the show of magical control I’ve given her. Haven’s magic, wild and barely tethered, and mine, coiled like a predator, crash against one another, and she likely doesn’t even feel it. The current in the room isn’t because of what I did. It’s because of her.

I should step back. I don’t.

Instead, I reach out, unable to stop myself from grazing her bicep with the tips of my fingers. I let my hand slide down her arm, slow, deliberate, until I close her wrist in my grasp. Her pulse is a drumbeat beneath my thumb, steady in spite of her illness. It’s only been days, but if she’s already this recovered and with only a little help from Cameron and Reyes, then her magic is likely incredibly powerful. All power, though, is not given without a price.

I look at her, at the hollowness of her cheeks. The stark reminder of the darkrot in the shadows beneath her eyes and the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat. The Veil loves power, and left without protection, it’ll continue to seek hers out—again and again, until it drains her completely. Next time, we might not be there to save her.

“You need to learn this level of control,” I say, voice rough. “Or your magic will consume you.”

She stares up at me, lips parted, and I know—fuck, I know—that if I kissed her now, she wouldn’t stop me. Her eyes are wide, guileless, and open. The mask of strength she’d put on earlier has slipped away to reveal the truth of her—she’s fucking terrified. Afraid of what my words mean, perhaps, but more likely, afraid of the changes that are coming her way.

I want to comfort her, I realize. Shield her from what’s to come, but the reality is—no one can. Rejecting her is my only way of saving her, and even that, I can’t do properly. With each step into this world, she becomes more and more shackled to our dying coven. It’s a cruel thing—a selfish act—to lay the hopes of our survival at her feet and pray she doesn’t cave under the pressure.

My soul may be chained to this place, but she doesn’t have to be.

CHAPTER 31HAVEN

ELODIE: Let Haven text me back or I swear to fuck, I’ll superglue a dildo to the back of your fucking truck.

LYALL: How the fuck did you get my number?

—TEXT EXCHANGE, PRESENT DAY

On my third morning in Bishop Manor, I wake with the taste of ash in my mouth.

Not from smoke. From all-too-familiar nightmares—the kind that linger long after your eyes open. The kind that crawl under your skin and stay there.

My phone is face down on the nightstand, and it buzzes to life before I even have a chance to reach for it. With a sigh, I pull it over and flip it so that the screen is facing me. There are several missed calls and a few messages from Elodie asking me where I am and if I’m coming back to the dorm anytime soon. I grimace as I read them, guilt creeping up my chest. She’s been a good and kind friend, and I’m sure disappearing on her and not coming back to the dorm has put her on edge and made her more than confused.

I send off a quick text, letting her know that I’m alive and recovering. I’m not sure if I’m going to return to the dorm anytime soon since the guys seem perfectly content to keep me at Bishop Manor. A part of me feels like I should keep a respectable amount of distance between us—after all, we haven’t known each other long. Yet still … there’s another part of me that knows I can’t learn more about my dad and his past and the monsters stalking my life if I don’t stick close to them.

Outside, the morning sun rises reluctantly, dragging pale light across the dark wooden floors of a room that has become mine since I woke here following my illness.

I haven’t seen Ezra again since our initial training session, but I know he’s been in the house. Sometimes I’ll walk into a room and have the strangest sense that he’d just been there—citrus and vervain in the air as if he’d just left. Instead of me avoiding him, it feels as if he’s avoiding me.

Now I know why it frustrated Reyes so much.

“When am I allowed to go back to class?” I ask as I take my seat at the breakfast table, noting the absent chair at the head. Still no sign of Ezra.

“We’ve already talked with the dean and vice dean,” Reyes answers as he appears in the doorway, dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a faded black T-shirt. My gaze moves over the contours of his chest and lower before I realize what I’m doing and yank my attention to the plate set in front of me by Cameron as he takes his seat. “They know you’re staying with us until you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine now,” I grumble, shoving a fork into the scrambled eggs. “How did you even get them to agree to let me go home with you if I wasn’t even conscious?”

Across the table, Cameron and Reyes share one of those loaded glances. The kind that means they’re about to feed me a line of carefully curated bullshit.

I narrow my gaze and then point my fork at them. “Don’t lie,” I snap.

Cameron huffs a laugh, but it’s Lyall who answers where he’s stationed at the stove—shirtless, again—because of course he is. Does the man have a personal vendetta against clothing or what?

“We have an understanding with Ipswich, Rabbit.” His voice is low, rich, and unbothered as he flips something in a skillet. Grease pops. My hormones scream.

I perk up despite myself. “Do they know?” I ask. “What you are?”

“We,” Reyes corrects smoothly. “What we are. And … it’s complicated.”

My brows lift. “What’s so complicated about it? It’s a yes-or-no question.”

A bark of laughter escapes Lyall, and my gaze snaps to the strong lines of his back as his shoulders ripple with amusement. My mouth goes dry. The orange juice on the table suddenly looks like a lifeline.