Page 27 of Darkbirch Academy

“If you wanted me dead,” he whispers, his lips almost brushing my ear, “you would have struck faster, while my eyes were closed.”

I twist violently, managing to free one hand. In a flash, I’ve slipped the silver dagger from my boot and drive it toward his side. He catches my wrist again, but not before the blade grazes his ribs, drawing a thin line of blackish blood flecked with gold.

His eyes flare with something primal—anger, respect, hunger—I can’t tell which. The room’s temperature spikes as he wrenches the dagger from my grip and tosses it across the room.

“You fight dirty,” he says, voice rough.

“I fight to survive,” I counter, using his momentary distraction to hook my leg around his waist and using theleverage to flip us. For a heartbeat, I’m on top, straddling him, my hands braced against his chest. His skin burns beneath my palms like a forge.

“There she is,” he murmurs, a dangerous smile curving his lips. “The predator beneath the mask.”

I press my advantage, reaching for the obsidian blade I’d dropped earlier, but Dayn surges upward, one hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. His other arm locks around my waist, holding me against him.

“You’re not the only one who can fight dirty,” he growls against my neck, his breath scorching my skin.

I claw at his shoulders, nails digging into flesh that feels like heated marble. He hisses, not in pain but something darker. He flips me onto my back again with such force that the air leaves my lungs in a gasp.

I lash out with my elbow, catching him across the jaw. His head jerks sideways, but he recovers instantly, capturing both my hands and returning them above my head. Our bodies press together, chests, hips, the thin fabric of my clothes doing nothing to shield me from the scorching heat of him.

I buck against him, trying to throw him off, but succeed only in creating a friction that sends a dangerous current of awareness through both of us. His eyes flare brighter, pupils dilating as his grip on my wrists tightens.

The air crackles with tension, neither of us moving. My chest heaves against his, our breaths coming in rapid bursts as we lock eyes—his molten gold burning into my disguised blue. Something electric passes between us, a recognition beyond words. Power recognizing power. Predator recognizing predator—even though his physical strength is far greater than mine.

I can feel his heartbeat hammering against mine, unnaturally hot, unnaturally fast. The runes he branded me with pulse in time with it, as if responding to his proximity. My muscles strain against his grip, but I’ve stopped actively fighting. He’s stopped actively restraining.

His voice drops to a low growl. “I suggest we call this a truce, for now.”

16

Suddenly, the weight pinning me down vanishes. Dayn releases my wrists and pushes himself away in one fluid motion, leaving me gasping on his crimson sheets. The abrupt absence of his direct heat makes the room feel cool by comparison.

I scramble upright, my hand reaching instinctively for the blade that isn’t there. Dayn crosses to the wardrobe with unhurried steps, his back to me—an irritating show of confidence. The ember-lines beneath his skin pulse once before fading to a dull glow as he retrieves a simple white shirt. He pulls it over his head in a casual motion, the fabric settling over the strange markings on his skin, hiding whatever power pulses beneath.

I push myself off the bed, straightening my rumpled clothes, and scan the room for my weapons. The obsidian blade lies on the floor near the foot of the bed. The silver dagger has skittered under a side table. Both might as well be miles away with Dayn standing between us.

He gestures to a high-backed chair. “Sit.”

“I prefer to stand,” I reply, edging toward the obsidian blade.

Dayn’s mouth quirks in a half-smile. “Your preference is noted. However—” he flicks his wrist and the blade slides across the floor, coming to rest at his feet, “—I insist.”

I weigh my options, but don’t see many at the moment, other than to scowl at him, move to the chair, and perch on its edge, muscles tense, ready to spring into action if necessary. Dayn takes a seat opposite me.

“Now that we’ve dispensed with the pretense of you murdering me tonight,” he says, his tone turning conversational, as if we’d been discussing the weather rather than trying to kill each other moments ago, “I suggest we discuss the proposal I made to you earlier.”

The proposal. His words in the classroom echo in my mind.Break the binding ritual, and I’ll ensure Heathborne can never create another Emissary.

“You’re asking me to help you break your binding contract with Heathborne,” I say, watching his face for any reaction. “Why should I trust you’d follow through on your end of the bargain?”

Dayn leans forward, those golden eyes studying me with unnerving intensity. “Because unlike the clearblood aristocracy you so despise, I keep my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me.”

“And yet, here you are.” He gestures to the space between us. “Not dead, despite your attempt on my life, and still listening.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m listening because you’re holding me captive.”

“Am I?” He raises an eyebrow. “The door is right there, Esme. You’re free to leave whenever you wish… Of course, whether you’d make it back to Darkbirch is another matter.”

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