Page 31 of Of Shadow and Moon

His bright green eyes glint with mischief, and his shaggy brown hair falls just past his ears in deliberatedisarray. The smirk spreads lazily on his face, self-assured, as if he's entertained by my misstep.

I cross my arms, tilting my head to glare at him. “Actually, no. What are you doing standing right in front of my door, creep?”

Rhyker doesn't say anything right away, just leans against the doorframe, his smirk deepening like he's savoring some private joke. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes.

When it's clear he's not going to explain himself, I scoff and push past him toward the dining hall. I'm not going to waste my morning entertaining whatever game he's playing. The halls are quieter now, most students still dragging themselves out of bed. My boots click against the stone floor in a steady rhythm as I make my way along the familiar path.

But then I notice him trailing just behind me. Not subtly, either. He's walking close enough that I can feel the warmth of his presence, like he's deliberately making it impossible to ignore him.

I stop abruptly, spinning on my heel to face him. “Excuse me?” I wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to the stalker. What are you doing?”

He doesn't answer. Instead, he chuckles, a deep rich sound that grates against my patience, and steps past me, continuing down the hall as if nothing happened. His stride is unhurried, his posture loose, like he has all the time in the world.

I stand there for a moment, watching him disappear around the corner, my annoyance simmering just below the surface. “Freaking weirdo,” I mutter under my breath before continuing on toward the dining hall.

The hall is busy now, students huddled in small clumps at long wooden tables, their chatter merging into a dull roar. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea fills the air, intermingling with the more acid tang of coffee. I get a plate quickly and choose a spread that is starting to become my normal order: chocolate chip pancakes, ketchup with a side of eggs, and a steaming mug of coffee with more milk and sugar than coffee, settling down into my quiet corner of the dining hall.

For a few blissful moments, I focus on the food before me, allowing the ordinary act of eating to muffle the din around me. But with each sip of coffee, the memory of Rhyker's smirk, or the way Matheus lingers in the mornings, or the countless other moments coil around me.

I take another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest. Whatever today brings, I’ll be ready.

Chapter 18

Rhyker

From the moment I first laid eyes on Selestina, I knew there was something different about her. The way she moved, the intensity in her eyes—it all captivated me. I’ve always been good at observing without being seen. But this… this was different. I wasn’t just observing; I was drawn to her in a way I couldn’t explain.

I find myself watching her more often than I care to admit. She’s an enigma, a puzzle I’m desperate to solve. Today, like many days before, I follow her from a distance, blending into the environment seamlessly. She’s heading back to her dorm, her posture rigid, her steps purposeful. Always on guard, always alert.

Being Fae means I can glamour myself to almost any Tonaloca, but especially to humans, it is to be forged from the raw, unyielding spirit of the earth itself. There’s no gentleness in our kind, no softness; we are born from the primal force of the land. The magic that runs through me is wild, fierce, like an ancient beast slumbering beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

The green tattoos spiraling across my skin are more than markings; they’re bonds, conduits for the earth’s energy. They shift and grow with me, a living testament to my connection with the land. Each twist, each line, is an extension of the forest, a promise to uphold its power and to wield it without mercy.

Fae magic is not gentle. My magic stirs at my command, rough and unrelenting. With a thought, I can split the ground, call forth walls of thorns, raise barriers of stone as unforgiving as the cliffs of Itzcalli. But this magic is hungry, it demands tribute, and each time I summon it, I feel its cost—a weight that settles into my bones, a reminder that nothing in nature is ever given freely.

I am bound to this power, as much a servant as I am its master.

My father has shown me the consequences of weakness. In his court, power is everything, and mercy is a foreign thing, a weakness. To be fae is to embrace that brutality, to accept that survival is a battle, that control is an illusion, and that strength must be seized, not begged for.

When she reaches her room, I slip in behind her, my presence undetected. I’ve done this countless times now, memorizing her routines. However, she does something different this time. Without going to the bathroom to bathe and change, she undresses quickly, exhausted from the day and only thinking of sleep, down to her sports bra and underwear, revealing a body marked by scars.

Scars. She hasscars.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of them. The urge to reach out, to trace the lines of her pain, is overwhelming. I’ve seen scars before, my body is littered withthem, remnants of lessons learned, but hers… hers are different.

There's one that runs from her shoulder to her hip, as if clawed by something far more ferocious than a blade. Another scar curls around her side, wrapping over her ribcage like the impression of a serpent. The ones on her arms are small and jagged. They're rough to look at, as if they'd been reopened and healed over time and again.

The last scar I see is the one that stops me cold; a thin line across her throat, barely there but unmistakable. How have I not seen it before now? Someone once held her life in their hands, close enough to feel her pulse, and decided to leave her breathing.

I clench my fists, willing myself to be silent. The roommate is sleeping in the bed opposite across the room, just five feet separating them, and the last thing I need is to alert her to my presence. I've come too far to risk being discovered now. As Selestina climbs into bed, I retreat to the corner, my heart pounding in my chest.

I feel the anger in me rising as I think about her scars and what kind of disgusting creature would ever think to harm my kitten.

My breath catches, and for a moment, I'm immobile. The anger starts low, a simmering heat in my chest, but it doesn't stay there. It grows, surging like wildfire through my veins until I'm shaking with the effort of keeping it contained.

What kind of monster could do this? What kind of vile, twisted creature would even dare touch her, let alone leave these marks? My jaw clenches so hard it aches, but I don't care. All I can see are the scars. All I can feel is the rage building inside me, threatening to break free.

My fingernails claw into the edge of the door frame of her closet, as I fight against myself to remain in place, telling my body to be still, still as stone, quiet as silence, while my every urge implores me to have this explained and this anger coursing within the blood of my veins to pour forth.

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