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“The location of the stone.”
The stone?
“What stone?” I ask, close to needing to sit down as the stilted information comes through. “What does a stone have to do with anything?” I push when Burton starts to shake his head. It’s like pulling teeth. It really shouldn’t be this hard.
“I’m assuming the stone is what he wants to help in his big plan to dominate the realm and merge us with the Basilica Realm,” Fitch states, nostrils flaring with anger as he addresses the entire room. “That’s where we’ve been, hiding it.”
“Hiding what?” another member hollers, the frustration in their voice matching exactly what I’m feeling. But also, they’ve been able to get off campus? How? We’re fucking trapped here, and they can do as they please? Bullshit.
“The Poten’s Ruby.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand why the Poten’s Ruby is so important, but Fitch seems to understand that we’ve already worked hard enough to draw this information from them. “You never truly own the Poten’s Ruby. If anything, you’re its vessel if you allow it to control you, and in return, it gives you the power to take powers from others. To leave other supernaturals defenseless, or to take their abilities for yourself.”
EIGHTEEN
RAVEN
One thing I love about my magic is the ability to set the water in the shower to the perfect temperature. Back in Shadowmoor, you were crossing your fingers in hopes of it being tepid, and you were showering as fast as possible before the cold stream returned.
It was a luxury showing up here, to have water that ran at a hot temperature consistently, but to have it so perfect it feels like a gift that will warm my fucking bones until the end of time.
I have to find some positives about being here, other than the Bishops and my magic, of course, and water temperature seems to be one of them. The negatives keep stacking up against me, firmly led by Erikel at this stage, and last night’s revelations at the Nightmares Guild meeting only confirm it.
Who the fuck created the Poten’s Ruby? Surely, it wasn’t just naturally found like that, harvesting such abilities when power-hungry fools like Erikel exist. It’s ridiculous. Of course there’s something this powerful out there that we now have to contend with. I understand why it wouldn’t be common knowledge, but it’s clear Burton knew this was of importance to Erikel and he chose to keep it to himself until it was impossible not to.
He swears the location of the ruby has changed over the past few days, confirming that Monarch Dutton won’t know its whereabouts, but that only leaves me worrying over his well being. The pain of the other thirty-five dead people from Pinebrook hurts, and adding another feels like I’m going to pass out.
My magic doesn’t like it.
It’s as if it has its own conscience living inside of me. Selfishly, I want to fight to protect myself and the others while my magic wants to save everyone. Ithinkit’s to save them, anyway. I’ve heard folklore about necromancers before me and their need to heal everyone to create an army of the dead. That’s what I read about in the books at Shadowmoor, but that doesn’t feel like this… I don’t think.
Running my hands over my drenched hair, I tilt my face up to the downpour, trying to calm my racing thoughts, until a soft, cool breeze dances over my skin. My eyes startle open to find Eldon closing the bathroom door behind him.
The grin on his lips as he grazes his eyes over me from head to toe makes me shiver. With a flick of his hand, his clothes are gone and he’s prowling toward me.
Fuck.
“Good morning, Little Bird,” he says huskily, stepping into the shower beside me, and all I can do is gape at him for a moment as I try to remember how to fucking speak.
“Morning,” I manage to breathe, and his grin widens. He’s so aware of the effect he has on me. It should be embarrassing.
“I missed my little spectator while I worked out,” he states, explaining the sweat beading at his temples.
“I’m disappointed I missed the visual.”
He grabs my waist, turning me to face him as he towers above me. He doesn’t bat an eyelid at the water now pouring over him, which somehow makes him look hotter.
Skimming my hands over his chest, I settle them on his shoulders as I eliminate the remaining distance between our lips, but if I had any hopes of claiming him, I’m mistaken.
He’s in control.
My back is plastered against the cool tiles behind the shower head a moment later, my back arching as he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, and I groan.
Good morning to me.
I rake my fingers through his hair, clinging to him as tingles ripple through my body.
“I want to taste you.”
I nod eagerly at his words as he trails his lips down my chin, over my neck, and across my collarbone.
