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“Sorry for what?” she heard herself ask, and the question came from a deeper part of her than the surface of her mind, which was scrambling for a more polite response. Part of her was shocked by how cold she sounded. Wasn’t an apology what she’d wanted? Why was she questioning him?
He looked affronted… but she saw him master the flash of anger that had flickered over his face. “For the way I behaved at the party, for a start. I was drunk, and I was rude to you. And to your friend.”
Accept the apology, Morgan. He’s being nice! This is what you wanted! But some deeper instinct made her hold her tongue and let the silence stretch between them. Archer swallowed.
“And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to apologize. I… wanted to. I think that’s why I kept finding ways to run into you. But I wasn’t brave enough to actually—say that. Not in front of everyone, anyway.”
She nodded. “You care a lot about what other people think of you, don’t you?”
“No,” he said automatically, looking ruffled. “No, I—“ He exhaled hard. “Maybe. I know I care whatyouthink.”
That made her smile a little, and she could see the relief on his face as he registered the expression. “You know what I think.”
“You think I’m an idiot. You think I’m some arrogant, self-centered jock who only cares about his reputation and thinks the world revolves around him.”
Morgan took a breath and let her eyes unfocus, just a little. Up here, away from the noise and the pressure of the school, there was a strange clarity in the air, and she was surprised by how quickly she made out the colors of his aura. He was waiting for her to respond, and she could see those thick, ensnaring tangles choking his light. “I don’t think that,” she said softly, watching the way his aura flared and danced at the sound of her voice, wondering what it meant. “I thinkyouthink that, but I don’t.”
“You don’t?” He tilted his head to the side, a flash of faint amusement in his eyes, lighting up the darkness of his aura behind him.
“Maybe a little,” she admitted, letting the soft smile on her face take away the sting of it. “But I think there’s more there, too.”
“Thanks, Morgan. That really means a lot.” Archer exhaled shakily, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Somehow, the tension between them was shifting… not fading, exactly, but certainly changing. He glanced at her again, a cautious curiosity on his face now. “How’d you know I was up here, anyway? I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. And I didn’t think you were at the party anyway.”
“I wasn’t. I just…” She spread her hands, suddenly feeling faintly foolish. “I felt like flying. Something… I don’t know. This just felt like the place to be.”
“Up here,” he said, looking at her closely. She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, of how the width of the narrow ledge had forced them into closer proximity than they might otherwise have chosen. “In the middle of the night? At the exact same time I happened to come up here, too?” He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not like sulking on a mountaintop was on my class schedule…”
She laughed at that, and caught her breath at the way his aura seemed to bloom with bright color at the sound, chasing away the tangled dark for a moment. She’d never much liked her laugh—why did it seem to prompt such a reaction in him? “I don’t know. Something just told me to come up here.” She shrugged. “My magic teacher’s been telling me I should listen to my instincts more.”
“Your magic teacher told you to hang out with more jerks on mountaintops, huh? I’d think about dropping that class.”
She smiled, shrugged her shoulders. He was looking at her face intently, the lightness of his tone belied by the way his aura was burning around him like a torch, dense and fierce. She wished she knew more about what that meant, wished she was further along in her studies so she might understand more of what her magic was telling her, wished her teacher wasn’t so maddeningly cryptic… and suddenly, she wasn’t thinking anything at all, because Archer had moved in to curl a finger under her chin and tilt her face up to his, and the feeling of his lips against hers had banished every conscious thought from her mind.
A breathless span of time whirled past, and then they were two bodies again, standing apart on the rocky ledge. Morgan fought to catch her breath, worried that the giddy smile on her face was making her look stupid, but there was a matching grin on Archer’s face when she stole a glance at him and for a moment all she could do was laugh, breathless, stunned by the sudden strength of this feeling.
It must have been midnight when she got back to her room. The quiet of the house told her that her roommates were still out—the thud of the music had still been echoing across the entire island when she’d landed outside, so she wasn’t surprised that they were still dancing the night away. She didn’t mind. There was something about that electric moment on the mountaintop with Archer—she was torn between keeping it a closely-guarded, highly-cherished secret for the rest of her life, and the equally fierce desire to tell everyone she’d ever met.
She split the difference, in the end, sitting up for another hour to write a long letter to Acantha, sharing every single detail. Acantha would understand. Morgan still remembered counseling her sister through the chaotic events that had marked her fateful first meeting with Cato, the rocky road those two had walked that eventually led them both to a blissfully happy union. Was this the start of her own story, Morgan wondered? Would she and Archer one day be telling their friends and family the story of how they’d met at university and fallen in love?
Thrills raced up and down her spine at the thought, almost overwhelming in their intensity… but for once in her life, she let herself feel them. Her whole life, she’d forced herself not to get carried away with emotion, to keep a watchful eye on the storm that her feelings could turn into if she didn’t keep them sharply in check. But what had suppressing herself like that ever done for her, really? It was time to ease up, she told herself. Ease up on the rigid self-control, stop being so damnpoliteall the time. She said as much in her letter to Acantha, even her usually neat handwriting beginning to grow messy and chaotic with the strength of her enthusiasm. Finally, the story told, she folded the thick pages and set them aside, yawning.
She’d expected sleep to be a difficult prospect, but as she climbed into bed she felt the weight of the day rush up to meet her, making her limbs heavy and her eyes droop. Her plain little bed had never felt so luxurious as she snuggled down deep into the embrace of the blankets. And sooner than she’d expected, sleep came rushing up to claim her… sleep, and a series of vivid, fanciful dreams, all featuring a certain golden-eyed suitor with sun-kissed skin and the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen.
Chapter 12 - Archer
Archer was genuinely wondering whether he’d entered some kind of hallucinatory state up there on the mountain as he winged his way back down to the party. When he was still a child, he’d gone sailing with his father, and in a moment of carelessness, he’d been struck hard in the back of the head by the boom when a gust of wind caught the sail unexpectedly swiftly. He’d barely heard his father scolding him with the ringing in his ears, and while he’d been right as rain within a few minutes, he could still remember the curious sense of unreality that had gripped him in the seconds that followed the impact. As though a crack had opened in the world and he’d fallen right through it.
That was how he felt now, winging his way back towards the party as though he didn’t quite belong in his own body. He could hardly even think about what had happened, hardly bring himself to touch the memory of her lips against his in case it dissolved the way dreams did in the morning if you fought too hard to remember them. But that hadn’t been a dream, had it? It had been too real, too immediate, too strong. How could it be that it had felt so electric? He’d slept with dozens of women before, but even the loftiest heights of passion in the most luxurious places paled in comparison to the faintest brush of Morgan’s lips against his. The absolute terror that had gripped him in the moment before she’d responded… the unbelievable joy that had blasted through him when he’d felt her start kissing him back…
He landed in the water a short distance down the beach from the party, where it seemed most people had moved to the dance floor. He still felt like he was dreaming when he shifted and walked up towards the heaving crowd, the music a comforting buzz in his ears. He walked past the dance floor, oblivious to the shouts of his friends, heading for the relative quiet of the bar.
“Where’d you go, dude? It’s been like an hour! We were getting worried about you!”
Zack was breathing hard—it was clear his friend had been dancing for quite some time, his forehead beaded with sweat and his eyes wild. Archer clapped him on the back, feeling more at peace than he had for months. “I didn’t go far.”
“Yeah?” Zack’s eyes glinted curiously. “I’m guessing you weren’t alone, huh?” He hesitated for a moment. Some deep instinct in his gut was telling him categorically that he shouldn’t tell Zack about what had happened with Morgan on the mountain peak. But it was too late to come up with a lie—his silence had already done the talking for him, and as Zack whooped and hit him on the back, he felt himself starting to worry. “Who was the lucky girl, then?”
Lie, he thought, beginning to panic. Just lie. Make up a name. Pick one at random—get out of here—but Zack’s eyes were widening.
