Sighing, he turned the corner, dappled light filtering into the building making the interior seem softer—more welcoming—than it ever was. Swallowing, he rapped on the door, trying to still his heart when it swung open.
Emory blinked up at him. “Brokk? What’s up?”
Darkness lined her eyes, her skin dull and pale, her ebony hair pulled in a messy bun.
“Hey, Em. I was wondering if you would be up for a walk?”
Questions hung in her emerald gaze as she appraised him. “Sure. Give me a second.”
The door clicked shut as internally he kicked himself. Did she wish Memphis had been on the other side when she opened it? Maybe his best friend had already sought her out, finding his own reprieve from what they had gone through.
Exhaling, the door opened once more, Emory adorned in a black collared jacket and high leather boots. A jeweled knife was buckled around her hip.
“Where were you thinking?” she asked.
“I need to talk to you. Come on.”
Before he could think this was a terrible idea, he grabbed her hand, warmth traveling up his arm, as he led her outside. The sun welcomed them; the warm breeze unseasonably warm for the end of summer. Drinking it in, Brokk let go of Emory’s hand, trying to keep his voice level. “Up for a trip in the woods?”
“Brokk, we can’t. Whatever you have to say to me, you’re going to have to do it here.” She shrugged.
“And when did you start caring about the rules?”
“When people started dying.” Her tone was equally as icy, and he shook his head.
“This was a bad idea. Sorry to bug you, princess.” His words were hostile.
Emory stepped back. “Do you have a problem with me now, Brokk? Whatever it is, get it off your chest.”
Standing in the courtyard, there were so many things he wanted to say. That he was sorry for not telling her the truth about the secret he carried. That he wished everything could go back to normal between them.
Tension hung heavy, like a live wire.
But most of all, he wished he could tell her about his darkest secret. That deep in the night, his heart revealed his greatest wish these past years.
And it was her—had always been her. To taste her lips, hold her against his chest, feel her heart beat in time with his own. He was unconditionally in love with her, and for a fleeting moment he had the impulse to tell her everything. But now, being with her, his best friends face swam in his mind the fear of losing Memphis made him bite back every word.
Shooting fear clambered through him as Emory pointedly looked at him, daggers in her eyes.
“Just forget it.” Gruffly, Brokk dropped his books, shifted in one motion, and galloped toward the trees, blood pounding, heart roaring. The coolness of the forest washed over him, as he tried to empty his mind, not looking back at Emory once.
Chapter Thirteen
Adair
Sitting in his bedroom, Adair realized the days had little meaning anymore. Ever since arriving back at the Academy, he felt hollowed out. Every second, every breath, his heart sank a little deeper, his thoughts consumed by one thing. His obsession.
To find this Book of Old.
After he had killed the creature from Sarthaven and passed out, Roque and Nei had moved him so that he awoke in their office, bloodied and bruised, but there with them. Their pale faces stared at him, filled with fear and awe. Adair clenched his fists, remembering the discussion. How they were so proud that he was standing up with the Academy even though both of his parents...
He had blocked out most of the conversation after that. But sitting there, as they bantered on, the room around him seemed to bend and move like the ocean until Adair was staring at one fixture in the wall. It seemed to pulse, a strange glow seeping around the edges, a deep green. The mist spiraled and churned toward him, making his pulse thrum.
Blinking, he was entranced but pulled himself back to the conversation. He had nodded and thanked them graciously, saying that he was honored to be a part of this with them. How, of course, he had thought his parents were wrong. Reassured, he had left them, claiming he needed rest and had made his escape.
The first thing he did before heading back to his room was to get rid of the book that had led him to Gortach. The Faes wouldn’t be looking for it, especially in the common library. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t care who found it, it would only lead them to their death.
A day had passed since this, and he could practically hear the chilling whispers of those demons that haunted him endlessly from his nightmares. They clambered to him through the walls of the Academy, relentless.
“Find me. Find me.”
Through his classes, through the night, they called to him. He went through the mandatory day, floating through his classes, his mind constantly calculating how he would get back into the Faes’ office. How he would claw and tear through the walls, destroying and consuming everything until he found it. He could practically taste that same ancient magic oozing through the walls, and he wanted it.
Adair blinked, looking at himself in the mirror. His bedroom was more chaotic than usual, books and clothes littering the floor. His skin was deathly pale, bruises flowering almost every inch of his skin, dark circles underneath his eyes. Taking in a shaky breath, he started to unbutton his loose shirt. A dull pain throbbed along his chest, a constant reminder of what had happened ever since those monsters had touched him in his nightmares.
One came loose. And then another. Slowly, he made his way
