Page 39 of The Stone Initiation
“New,” he said. “Something new, you are.” He blinked and shook his head. “Can’t be here. Can’t be walking here.”
“Oh, we’re so sorry,” Ginia stepped off the path onto the grass to let him pass, but he didn’t move, just continued to stare at us, his gaze continually flicking back to me. I guess I stuck out like a sore thumb in this world of six-foot-and-over males and females.
“Are you all right?” Touron asked him. “Can we help with anything?”
But the man with the cart had gone eerily still and silent, his gaze almost blank.
“Should we get someone?” Palia whispered.
The man blinked sharply then glared at us. “Got to weed the gardens. You’re in my way.”
We all stepped aside, and he trundled off down the path.
“Weird,” Touron muttered.
“Varsa is harmless.” A man joined us on the edge of the path.
A woman trailed behind him, shooting us a tentative smile.
They looked young, probably only a few years older than me. Their eyes were golden irises rimmed in black, similar to the mageri who’d transported us here. Were they related to him?
“He’s the academy caretaker,” the man said. “He’s a survivor. One of the only gargoyles to survive a Graynite siphoning.”
Had he said siphoning? “A what?”
“They won’t know yet,” the woman whispered. “You’re jumping ahead.” She dropped her gaze when I looked her way.
“Ah, yes, I have a tendency to do that,” the man said. “Which is why I have you, little sister.”
She peered up at him with a soft smile. “Shall we go to class and set up?”
“Yes.” He arched a dark brow our way. “Induction in twenty minutes. Don’t be late. I do hate tardiness in my students.”
He looked older in that moment. Wiser. He gave us a nod then strode off with his sister in tow.
“What are they?” Ginia asked.
I shrugged. “No idea, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”
We passed a building that was markedGym,and then walked by an outdoor area divided into cement, sand, and grass pitches. The sky above was clear, but storm clouds hung low over the grass pitch, spewing sheets of rain that soaked the hulking gargoyles in combat. They clashed and smashed, tails swinging and slamming into the earth to throw up huge chucks of grass, feet sliding in the mud as their stone bodies collided. A male and female, stood off pitch watching the action.
The woman had her back to us, her long mahogany hair, tied in a high ponytail, whipped about in the localized storm. Her dark clothes molded to her muscular form. Black and silver—the elite colors. This was the elite female Romi had told me about. But who was the male that towered over her?
His dark hair was long enough to get blown about but short enough to expose the back of his corded neck. His Lastonflex shirt looked like it was being tested by being stretched across his wide muscle-rounded shoulders. There was something familiar about him. Something that made me stop in my tracks and stare. A gust of wind hit my back and tendrils of hair escaped my braid, the wisps flying forward as if reaching for him.
His shoulder muscles rippled, and he turned, offering me the shaved side of his head. He looked like the images of Vikings of old. Strong nose, hard jaw, defined lips and dark brow drawn low.
I wanted him to turn all the way and look at me so I could see his face, because my pulse was pounding, blood rushing through my veins in excitement, and I needed to see. I needed to see his face.
He shifted on his feet, swiveling his upper body. He was going to look!
But the woman stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. Fire lanced through my chest. How dare she touch him. How—
“Cameron, are you coming?” Touron asked.
The strange hold on me snapped. What the hell had just happened?
“Cam?” Touron looked down at me with concern.
