Page 37

“Guys…” Tanner’s voice drifts over. But it’s laced with something that makes my blood run cold.

As Mack and I venture deeper into the hall, heading toward him, the ambiance darkens. At the back, in a section with no natural light, Tanner is standing below a sign that reads, Persecution Through The Ages.

I shudder.

Ice-cold fingers of dread tiptoe down my spine.

In front of us, gruesome tools of torment — iron maidens and spiked chairs and manacles made of unbreakable steel — loom tall. But these aren’t just relics; they are instruments once used to torture accused witches and supers.

My eyes land on a large digital screen showing a looped video of a witch being burned at the stake. It’s a horrific twenty-second clip in which she screams silently while flames lick her dress.

Images of Ava flit through my mind. I see her. I feel her.

I see the fire around her feet, and I hear her calling for her child.

I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself, the weight of the memories pressing down on me.

Kole has appeared beside us.

For a moment, we stand in silence. I don’t realize I’m crying until Tanner puts his arm around me and pulls me toward him.

“Horrible, isn’t it? The things humans do?”

My entire body stiffens.

That voice.

It’s silky, but there’s an underlying bite to it — a tone that hints he could rip us apart in a split second if he chose to. A level of power that makes my breath swell in my chest and my skin feel instantly clammy.

I turn slowly and there he stands, Professor Lucien Thornfield. With jet black hair that cascades to his shoulders and pale, nearly translucent skin, he has thick shoulders and a solid jaw. His dark onyx eyes assess me, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

But it’s his aura — a potent mix of danger and allure — that commands the room.

“Nova,” he says, extending his hand to take mine.

Without meaning to, I leave Tanner’s embrace and glide forward, sliding my hand into his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He dips his head and kisses my knuckles. Just a brush of his lips on my skin, but it’s enough to send a skitter of heat down my spine.

Behind me, I feel the others gather closer.

A mixture of fear and curiosity pools in my limbs, flooding the gaps between my bones. Every instinct tells me to bolt. But instead, I’m rooted to the spot. There’s something about Thornfield, something that pulls and repels me all at once.

“I’m sorry my exhibition upset you, Nova.”

The way he says my name…

I’m still crying. Quiet tears trickling down my cheeks.

Thornfield catches one of them with his thumb and brushes it away.

He wears a tailored black suit, the fabric absorbing the dim lighting of the room. On his left hand, a silver ring adorned with a crimson stone catches my eye. It seems to pulse with an energy of its own.

“Don’t cry, Fire Bird,” he says.

I inhale sharply. Eve was the last person to call me that, but from Thornfield it feels different. As though he speaks it with reverence and respect and curiosity.

His voice is gentle, almost melodic, but there’s a darkness there, lurking just beneath the surface.