Page 132 of Unbound

His expression turns serious again. "Be careful, Nessa. These next few weeks before the Crucible—they're going to be dangerous. Malakai's making moves, and he's not the only threat out there."

"The siphon," I say quietly. Cold, icy terror slips under my skin at the memory of that feeling the other night—like something hungry was lurking just out of view and waiting to strike.

He nods. "Just... watch your back."

"I thought that was your job," I say, trying for levity.

"It is." His voice drops, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. "But I can't be everywhere."

"Can't you?" I tease. "Because lately it seems like whenever I turn around, you're there. Lurking in shadows, swooping in to save the day."

"I don't lurk," he protests.

"You absolutely lurk. It's very mysterious and brooding."

A student passes by, glancing curiously at us before hurrying on.

"Go," Raith says again, taking a step back. "Before someone sees us together and adds more fuel to Malakai's rumors."

We part ways at the junction, each heading toward our respective classes. I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk away, watchful, protective.

My guard dog, as some have started calling him. But there's more to it than that—more to him than the dangerous exterior he shows the world. The gentleness with Cade had revealed that much. The mention of Gareth had shown even more.

"He carries much pain,"Typhon observes, uncharacteristically somber."Pain and purpose intertwined."

"I know." And I do know, somehow. I can see it in the way he moves, the way he keeps a barrier between himself and others, the way he tries to hold himself apart from me. Raith Hollow is a man with ghosts, with burdens I can only begin to guess at.

But for all his warnings about danger—about himself being dangerous for me—I can't bring myself to stay away. Something about him calls to me, draws me in despite every rational thought telling me to keep my distance.

Maybe we're both a little reckless, a little broken. Maybe that's why we keep circling each other, unable to fully connect, unable to fully let go.

As I slip into channeling class, murmuring apologies for my tardiness, I can still see the fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he faced down those earths. Still hear the rough edge in his voice when he spoke his brother's name.

Gareth. A piece of the puzzle that is Raith Hollow. Not the whole picture, not by far, but a start.

Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I'll push a little harder, dig a little deeper. Tomorrow I'll try to understand the man who seems determined to protect me while keeping me at arm's length.

I just hope we have enough tomorrows left.

27

"We need to talk."

Raith's voice startles me as he materializes from the shadows just outside the water tower. I nearly drop my flask, glancing around to make sure no one has noticed us. Some fourth-years are arguing in low voices nearby—a pair of fires and earths, their elementals on display as tempers seem to run high.

"About what?" I ask, keeping my voice low, though I don't know why, exactly. Everybody’s attention is on the arguing fourth-years.

"Not here." His eyes—amber in the morning light—scan the tower stairs behind me. "Meet me at the eastern gate in an hour. Wear something you can move in."

I arch an eyebrow. It is a weekend, so our class schedule is light. I had been planning to find an empty room to practice pretending to be a water affinity. Sestra has been threatening some kind of exam, and I want to be ready when it comes.

"Something I can move in? Are we training again?"

"Better than training." For a moment, something almost playful flashes across his face. "I want to show you something."

Before I can ask more questions, he slips away, footsteps silent against the stone floor. I watch him go, curiosity piqued despite my better judgment.

An hour later, I'm waiting by the eastern gate, dressed in my training leathers with my practice rapier secured at my hip. The guard station beside the main gates leading outside the castle stands empty—unusual for midday—but I don't question the stroke of luck.

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