Page 60 of Of Shadow and Moon

“Why are you even here?” he grits out.

I grin. “To make your life miserable, obviously.”

Kaelion mutters something about strangling me in my sleep, Tomas laughs, and the chaos of combat class continues.

Chapter 34

Selestina

The library feels like a sanctuary most days, but lately, it seems I’m not its sole devotee. Either I haunt this space more than Matheus, or he’s here just as often as I am. As I make my way to my usual spot, a shadowed corner tucked safely out of view, I feel the weight of his presence before I even see him. His seat, as always, is positioned across the room in the only spot with a clear line of sight to mine.

I glance up as I settle into my chair, and sure enough, his eyes are already on me. His sharp nod is barely perceptible, but I catch it. My eyebrow quirks in response, an instinctive challenge.

To anyone else, his face would appear unreadable, carved in permanent disdain, that infamous scowl etched across his features like stone. But I know better. I’ve memorized that face in moments when he didn’t think anyone was looking. I see the slightest twitch of his lips, the ghost of a smirk that he lets slip only for me.

Gods above. These little silent games we play with eachother are becoming more charged as the semester goes on. By Día de Muertos, I’ll be putty for him.

The spell breaks when something, or rather someone, blocks my view. I blink, dragging my gaze upward to find another first year standing in front of me, his smile wide enough to split his face. I vaguely recognize him from combat class, though his name escapes me.

“Hey, Selestina,” he says, his grin unwavering.

“Hi,” I reply flatly, already flipping open my book and propping my head on my fist in a show of disinterest.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he grabs the chair opposite me and drags it out with an ear piercing scrape that echoes through the quiet library. My jaw tightens as every pair of eyes, including Matheus’s, lands on us. His expression has darkened, and even from across the room, I can feel his anger.

The intruder plops into the chair with an obnoxious shove; the legs scraping the floor with every adjustment. I wince, staring daggers at him. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“I’m Deryn,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We met at the party in the forest?”

I frown, trying to place him, but my memory comes up blank. “Right,” I reply, noncommittally. “Do you need something?”

From across the room, I hear a distinct scoff.

Deryn flushes but presses on. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me tonight? Around nine?”

For a moment, I just blink at him. Dinner? My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. “Dinner?” I croak out, utterly caught off guard.

Deryn’s smile wavers, though he quickly replaces itwith a forced confidence. “Yeah. Tonight. Nine. What do you say?”

Before I can respond, the chair beside me screeches across the floor. My head jerks toward the sound, and my stomach flips as Matheus lowers himself into the seat closest to me, our shoulders brushing as he sits completely.

“She’s busy tonight,” Matheus says, his voice low, slicing through the air like a blade. He doesn’t even look at Deryn.

I feel the heat rise in my chest as I glare at Matheus. “I don’t?—”

“She can answer for herself.” Deryn cuts in, but his voice cracks just enough to betray him. His bravado is paper thin, and I can see it folding under the tension.

I glance at Matheus, and my breath catches. His eyes, molten gold and smoldering with barely restrained fury, lock onto Deryn like a predator sizing up its prey. The temperature around us spikes, oppressive. Sweat prickles at my temples. This isn’t metaphorical heat. This ishim. The dragon prince in all his barely contained wrath.

And the worst part? His possessiveness shouldn’t affect me like this. It shouldn’t make my pulse race, shouldn’t send a shiver of forbidden thrill down my spine. But it does.

“Hey,” I say, my voice softer now, a contrast to the tension crackling in the air. I place my hand on his arm, ignoring the searing heat that radiates from his skin. It’s like touching a live flame, but I don’t flinch. “Matheus.”

His head snaps toward me, his gaze locking onto mine. For a heartbeat, his eyes remain hard, unyielding, but then, almost imperceptibly, they soften. My voice, my touch; it cuts through his fury. How? I have no fucking clue.

“Why don’t we start working on our project?” I tease, asmile tugging at my lips, more genuine than I expect it to be. We both know we don’t have a project to do together.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, the tension in his shoulders coiled so tightly I half expect him to erupt again. But then, with a small exhale, he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, his voice quieter, the fire in his tone replaced by embers.

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