Page 87 of Mantle

It had been absolutely brutal and it was an emotional place for our family.

And going there had proven fruitless as well because Ketheron hadn’t been there.

So, with all of that in play, I just needed a moment.

I had class with the guys in ten minutes—Arcane Combustion & Elemental Synergy—and I had to tell them that I’d had another dream last night. It had been the exact same one as before, Ketheron once again opening up that mental link between us. It hadn’t revealed anything new. But it had unsettled me.

The fact that it kept happening.

The fact that he was still in so much pain.

The fact that we hadn’t found him yet—the fucking failure of it when I was operating at a supreme level now, completely in control of my magic and mastering so much more with Cassius every single day and at a rapid rate.

In spite of all of that, I hadn’t succeeded.

I felt so… impotent.

And my boys weren’t going to be happy about me suffering another mental invasion from Ketheron.

I’d considered not telling them, but I couldn’t do that.

Not doing so when it came to Sylas’ warning was bad enough.

But them knowingthatwould risk tipping them over the edge.

All of them were too raw right now with everything they’d suffered through.

Besides, I literallycouldn’tbe killed.

It was stupid. Unfounded. A mistake on the necromancer’s part.

“Ariana.”

I spun around just as a chill rolled through the air.

And then one hell of a surprise greeted me.

Not the good kind.

Talk about a blast from the past.

I actually had to do a double take, questioning what I was seeing—who I was seeing.

There he was, short, slicked back blond hair styled with meticulous care, not a strand out of place. He was wearing one of his usual tailored blazers, this one dark and sharply cut and patterned in a muted check, the fabric decadent. His black shirt beneath was unbuttoned low enough to tease skin in his infamous seductive way. It brushed the waistband of his navy tailored pants. He was wearing a lot of chunky rings and bracelets, one of his signature fashion choices.

And then there were his steely eyes.

They stared into mine with a familiarity I didn’t care for, nor did I want to recall.

A wave of heated embarrassment rolled through me—and I hated it. I hated that it still impacted me, that him standing here now was the living embodiment of that mortifying night and my former failings.

I wasn’t that person anymore.

I’d learned. I’d grown. I’d accepted who I was.

Ilikedwho I was.

I was finally comfortable with the real me.

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