Rolling his eyes, he whispered, “That my dad is a prat.” Her eyebrows shot into her hairline as she stifled a choked laugh. He slyly poked, “Oh come off it, Em. I know you agree.”
Her silence was answer enough.
“He won’t stop, you know. Until he has what he wants. That’s what I took from the meeting today, Em. The division of the world, of our parents, of this place, is all boiling down to something.”
She huffed. “But what’s the point now? Why fight about what kind of freedom people have the right to? Our parents have been best friends for over a decade. What would come between that?”
Jealously. Power. Status. Greed. Expectation. “Things change, Em. Sometimes there are things people can’t come back from.”
A shadow flickered across her face as she sucked in both cheeks. “Your dad wants to build a new monarchy. My parents want to uphold the gains they have made, not by force, not by titles. We are the peacekeepers, the protectors of the borders. But what exactly will that mean for us? What are we being groomed to be?”
She was stricken, and he wanted nothing more than to fold her in his arms and whisper that it would be okay. That they would be okay. He didn’t move, wrapping his arms around his knees instead. She’s not yours. Not yours. It was a vicious pull, his gut twisting and his ears burning. He had never been one for knowing how to navigate being forward about his feelings. Three years ago, he had tried and like most things Adair tried to make good of, it withered and burned, her rejection still stinging him. But there wasn’t one day that passed that he hadn’t wanted more. That he didn’t dream of it. Sighing again, he leaned forward, running a hand through his hair.
Hooves thudded in the distance, rolling across the forest like disjointed thunder. Both of their heads snapped up, the hazy afternoon spell over them broken.
“What the?” Emory breathed, standing fast.
He stilled, everything within him becoming quiet. There was no movement, but the noise grew, rolling toward them like a wave crashing to shore. Standing slowly, his hands flexed by his sides, brushing against his ability churning beneath his skin. Then a flash of deep green and their visitors made themselves clear.
Fifty stallions pushed toward the Academy, galloping under the sigil of broken steel and a churning sea. Ice cut through him the same time as her skin drained of all color. They were scrambling to run as he looked at Em, the shock etched into her features. The Shattered Isles. The Shattered Isles. Scaling the hillside, his muscles screamed with the sudden movement. Pins and needles made his legs feel numb, but he pushed, weaving in between the various buildings in a blur. There could only be one reason the Shattered Isles would come here. The world stilled, and all he could hear was his pounding heart, his ragged breath.
She was his shadow, her voice ragged as she gasped. “Move!”
Adair sucked in humid air, his lungs clotted with the thickness of it. The world remained oblivious to the fact that their nonexistent gates were being charged by people who were bred for war, for the bloodlust and the thrill of the fight. By people who, he knew for certain, would not play fair.
They were about twenty yards from the main building, their curt breaths marking their tempo as they pushed faster. Men’s and women’s voices floated behind them, their catcalls and untamed hollers chasing on their heels. Ten yards, that’s all. He could make it. Adair’s ability floated around him like a cloak, begging for release, to slip into someone else’s mind and overtake them. To fight, to get help, to do something. Five. Emory flew past him, wanting to reach the door first, her determination plain. If she was afraid, he couldn’t see it, and he admired her for that. They should be afraid.
He desperately tried to shut out the hooves booming behind them. Colliding with the door, they scrambled as she slammed it open. Breathlessly, they skidded to a stop, scrounging the empty hallway.
She panted. “Come on. We must find someone—anyone. Now.”
His hands slightly shook, and he looked at her, not needing to ask. Exhaling, he let go of the restraints and with each snapping cord, his ability billowed from him. He always imagined it like smoke spilling from him and searching for what his heart sought. What his soul sought. His strength wasn’t one made from pureness, it wasn’t a gift. It was one of darkness, of control, of desire. One that he had at his constant disposal. One that Adair couldn’t get enough of. He was lost in his darkness, in the hunt of the person he was searching for. There was no distinction between his ability and man, not in this. A trigger flared in his mind as his ability brushed against Nei and Roque’s energy.
Consume, consume, consume.
It pulled at him, drowning him in his want. Having the power to possess another’s will was intoxicating to him. He could feel it expand, circling around them like a predator stalking their prey. Sniffing and weighing its options right before landing the killing blow. Snarling, Adair pulled back, being slammed into the present moment.
“The library,” he wheezed. Emory took off, her footfalls echoing down the hallway, not looking back once. Pumping his arms, he followed, seething low under his breath.
Low laughter echoed behind them through the doorway. He swore, stumbling as his knees grazed the unrelenting floor. He felt the skin on his kneecap tear, and warm blood trickled down his leg. Pushing himself back up, his legs shook from the defiance of gravity, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Gaze forward, do not look back. Do. Not. Look—
A sharp tugging sensation caught his left wrist and gravity left him once more as he slammed into the cold stone floor. Black dots tinged his vision, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness
