Page 36

Well, you know what? Fuck the rules.

Carver studies me with the intensity of a predator calculating how fast it needs to strike to kill its prey.

I lift an eyebrow. “I know I’m cute, but Carver, aren’t you engaged to Melody?” I close the distance, my chest brushing over his arms, and he practically leaps away. It’s almost hilarious, but I’m still too irritated by his attitude to laugh. With the new opening, I storm into the house, veer immediately to the right into the room with the laundry chute, and grab the cart.

Carver’s presence ripples up my spine.

My heart nearly bursts out of my chest. I spin around, acid in my veins as memories I’d rather forget bubble to the surface. Mr. Peters had a friend, Rodderick, who—no. No. I can’t remember. I don’t want to. The thoughts threaten to pull me under. For a moment, I wonder if Carver is doing this, but this has happened before. My brain is fully responsible for this panic.

It’s okay, though. I’m here. I’m safe. I look around. The laundry cart. The worn floor. The stone walls. The grumpy mage professor in front of me.

{Focus on him.}

I do as the voice in my head says. For whatever reason, it thinks he can anchor me.

Carver’s waiting several feet back. His eyes narrow even farther, taking in the slight widening of my own and the way my breath heaves out of me. I probably look like I’m about to freak out, and that’s not exactly the wrong conclusion. I school my features, though not before something a lot like understanding rushes across his face. He takes two steps back, and while I appreciate the space, I hate that he understands.

Hate that it ever happened.

Rodderick’s hand muffles my cries. “Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll be done soon.”

I can taste the filth on his palm all these years later. The memory traps me in place, a lump forming in my throat and sadness threatening to consume me. Rodderick’s words sounded so nice, though what he did was anything but. He took my innocence and obliterated it. Destroyed a part of me I’m not sure I’ll ever get back.

{{Breathe, Raina.}} Carver’s voice sweeps through my mind, chasing away the past.

I shove it into a box and lock it up before the mage can know what it is, what was done, and why I’m a mess. I suck in a ragged breath, hand pressed to my chest to keep it from splitting apart. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink, forcing them back as I swallow the lump and push it all away. Behind a wall made of impenetrable stone, as if it happened to someone else and not me. Tension slowly bleeds out of my body as what happens drifts out of reach.

Carver and I are left staring at one another. Me with my fists clenched and fighting to calm my breathing, him as still as a statue, face unreadable.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say with a shrug. “Allergies.”

One of his eyebrows arches high. “Allergies?” he asks slowly.

Yeah, that was dumb, but I’m not about to tell him the truth. “I’m deathly allergic to bossy men, especially mages with pretty tattoos.” I wince. “For the record, I’m not calling you pretty. Just the artwork. You’re fucking ugly.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I look away, internally cursing myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? “Whatever, I have work to do.” I grab the cart and push it toward the door, keeping a wary eye on him, but as I get closer, he retreats. The distance eats me alive because, even though I hid the memories before he could see, he’s pieced enough of my reaction together, the panic and the close quarters, to know.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

Another weakness for him to catalog.

I don’t meet his gaze as I leave, and I don’t look back, not even when I feel his assessing gaze trailing after me. Jaw tight, I shove everything down, I push him out of my mind, and focus on the task at hand.

Keep moving.

Keep going.

That’s all I can do.

Between work, classes, and tutoring with Carver, weeks fly by, and soon enough, it’s the end of September. The trees that once covered the mountain peaks in green have started to change to brilliant shades of yellow, red, orange, and even gold.

By now, enough time should have passed to prove that I’m not sneaking into Carver’s home for nefarious reasons, but much to my annoyance, my professor is waiting for me every morning. He watches me do my job without saying a word and slams the door shut behind me when I leave. He doesn’t bring up my little freak-out, though I’m more than sure he remembers.

I’m not sure what to make of his silence on the matter, but I try not to think about it. I have too much to worry about without adding his questions to the mix. Survival. Homework. Finding Addy.