Page 37

I’ve finally found the strength to do the research. My laptop and books are spread out in front of me, only taking up a quarter of the large wooden library table. There are intricate carvings on each leg, the crests of each order, pretty ornamentation around them. Dark beams run across the ceiling of the study space, and anchored to those are wrought-iron chandeliers. Their light illuminates the room with a warm amber glow, bright enough to allow for comfortable reading, but dim enough to be relaxing.

The murmur of low conversations from students studying nearby fade into the background as I study the books around me. Reading up on the orphan placement process hasn’t given me any useful information, other than the fact that the Paranormal Guard has their own supplemental processes that are executed alongside the placement process. Maybe that’s the missing piece.

“There has to be something useful,” I whisper to myself, manifesting the possibility. I flip through the copy of the Paranormal Guard Handbook I borrowed, reading the investigative process.

Wait, maybe this is something. My eyes fly over the page. Any paranormal they process—criminal, orphan, or those whose magic is unstable—has to have their personal record in the paranormal administration database updated and marked as such.

Excitement surges through me. This is finally it! The lead I needed. I set the tome aside and navigate to the website. My fingers shake as I type in Addy’s name and hit enter. My pulse races, and I hold my breath. Waiting. Wishing.

But disappointment douses me. Nothing came up. Okay. That’s fine. I can try again. I enter her full name first, a variation of the spelling, the nickname, the first half, the last half. Addy Stone. Addison Stone. Addie Stone. But every result is the same. If I knew my old last name, I’d try that, but unfortunately those blank spaces in my mind stole that knowledge as well.

Regardless, Addy is a Feral orphan. She should pull up under Stone, but it seems my twin doesn’t seem to exist.

Frowning, I type in my name and hit enter. Immediately, my details pull up, complete with that terrible picture the admissions lady took when I enrolled at Diremount.

Goddess-dammit. That photo is going to haunt me. I shove aside my annoyance and focus.

Name: Raina Stone

Designation: Mage

Family: Deceased

My throat tightens. Not all of my family is dead. Addy is out there somewhere. The more I say it, the more I worry it’s not true. I fiddle with my half of the butterfly necklace. There are a few other details, nothing specific enough to tell me anything useful. There aren’t even links to my family's records. I rear back. That’s weird. I grab the handbook and read through the database entry process. There should be links to my family's records. I glance at the book again. No, I was right. There should be essentially a family tree. With so many paranorms, it’s how the empire keeps track of everyone.

I erase my name and type in Stone, pulling up hundreds of records for orphaned paranorms. I click on the first one, skimming the details. Their parents are incarcerated, and there are active links to those profiles.

So, why aren’t there any for mine? Nothing for my parents. Nothing for Addison. It’s like they never even existed.

“Women who read are so hot,” a familiar, and all too cocky, voice murmurs.

I glance away from my computer as Bellamy takes the seat beside me. His black hair is tousled, like he can’t be bothered to style it. The black button-up shirt has the first three buttons undone, revealing his sculpted torso and smooth skin. The smirk on his face instantly annoys me. He knows he’s hot.

“Hey, Threshold Breaker.”

I stiffen. That’s the lovely nickname the Foundations have given to me. “Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. How about babe?” He reaches over and fiddles with a strand of my hair.

I smack his hand away. “It’s like you want my knife at your throat again,” I mutter, shaking my head, going so far as to eye the blade cradled in my thigh sheath.

“Some might call me a masochist.” His eyes glitter like we’re in on a secret together.

I don’t trust it, and I’m not really sure what he wants. “Don’t you have someone else to bother or some Foundation bimbo who will fawn all over you?”

“Nah, they’re all too easy.”

Eyebrows, meet hairline. “And I’m what, a Feral-blooded challenge to keep you entertained? I can tell you right now we’re never fucking. You can’t drink my blood.” I shrug. “You may as well find some other girl to fall at your feet.”

“But it’s you I want to see on your knees.” Bellamy’s red rings deepen to crimson, and he runs his thumb along his bottom lip, studying me with far too much intensity.

“That’s not happening,” I tell him firmly, shaking my head. “Unless it’s me cutting your dick off.”

“I love a woman who plays hard to get.” This vampire doesn’t know how to take a hint.

I close my laptop and stuff it into my bag, then reach for one of the books.

He grabs it first and reads the title. “Orphan Processing.” His eyebrows pinch. “Why are you reading this?”