Page 41

The walk down into the pit is one I’ve come to dread. Each tutoring session I have, Carver is more and more frustrated with me. My shoulders are already bunched, bracing for the heavy exhale that inevitably leads to his angry reprimands. My muscles twitch in anticipation.

Carver is on the other side of the gym floor, as always, leaning against the low wall that rings the perimeter of the sparring floor. I walk around a pair of second years practicing—they’re always here battling it out, honing their craft—and pick my way through another cluster of students haphazardly fighting with their affinities. I don’t miss the way a few stop to watch me.

I keep my head held high, striding toward Carver, who simply waits with a blank face. I stop before him and drop my bag onto the mat. “Right. Let’s get this over with.”

He watches me the same way he does every morning, like he’s trying to pick me apart. I’m more than tired of it.

I move to our usual ring, stretching, but when I turn to face him, he’s still standing where I left him. Still studying me like a puzzle. “What, no class today? Perfect, see you next time.” I rush to scoop up my things, but two words from him stop me in my tracks.

{{Sit down.}}

Much to my annoyance, my body follows his command as it ricochets through my mind. My legs fold and my ass hits the padded floor before I can even blink. Carver moves just as fast, sitting in front of me with his legs crisscrossed and hands resting on his knees, as if he was there all along.

“Have I mentioned I hate when you tell me what to do?”

“Have I mentioned I don’t care?” he says, tone cool as a winter breeze.

This is our routine. Me being annoyed. Him not caring. It’s almost a sacred ritual at this point. Now that I see him half-naked every other morning, squinting at me like I’m planning something evil rather than simply doing my job, it’s more than irritating. The only good thing about that situation is that the ward around his house hasn’t threatened to stab me again. I assume his presence is part of that, but I like to think the ward realizes I’m not a threat.

With as much calm as I can muster for the man who frustrates me to no end, I take a breath. “Okay, so what are we doing?”

“Sitting.”

“Was it your astute observation skills that got you kicked out of the Paranormal Guard?”

“Maybe it was my killing an insufferable student.” His words are biting, but his tone is still the same, indifferent. Bored.

I tip my head, strands of my purple hair falling over my shoulder. Carver’s gaze follows the movement.

“What would Chancellor Tweed think of you threatening me?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“What makes you think I give a fuck what he thinks?” he growls. Finally, the mage shows signs of life.

“Did he fuck your girlfriend or something?”

Carver rears back. “What?”

“You two clearly don’t get along. Why?”

He clenches his jaw. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

I hold up my hands. “You’re the one who practically bit my head off when I mentioned him. I’m just curious why Tweed, of all people, has the power to shake you.”

“He doesn’t shake me,” Carver snaps.

I lift an eyebrow. “That tone? That’s shook.”

Carver slices his hand through the air. “Enough with the smart-ass comments. I need you to listen.”

“To what, exactly?”

“If you would shut up, you might find out.”

Grudgingly, I snap my mouth closed, though not before I level him with a glare.

The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. I can’t help feeling like I’ve done the unfathomable. I made him angry and he almost laughed in the same conversation. That’s as impressive as killing a horde of demons all on my own.

“You’re distracted,” he points out.