Page 76 of Wicked Chains
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Thirty-Four
Rose
Weekends are always quiet on campus, since a lot of students leave, but this one is particularly so. Lucien's off doing something for the coven, Soren's buried in books at the library (which is weird enough on its own), and Drake's done his disappearing act again. It's me and Hank today.
Hank's asleep on my bed, his chest rising and falling, completely unbothered. I'm a little jealous of his peace. I pull on my jacket—the one I successfully conjured after three embarrassing attempts, thank you very much—just in case I run into Lucien, who will give me a lecture if he catches me outside without it, and decide to get some fresh air before the sun goes down completely.
The weekend emptiness of the academy is a blessing. No classes mean no Thorne and her pack whispering about me. No Helena lurking around corners, looking for excuses to torture me. Just a regular Sunday afternoon with the late afternoon November sun hanging low and golden through the bare branches.
I head toward the woods at the edge of campus, craving the solitude of nature. I know I can’t go too far, just the distance that Serpentine’s protective wards extend. My boots crunch through the carpet of fallen leaves, and the crisp autumn air fills my lungs, clean and cold and delicious, with just a hint of woodsmoke.
This is nice.
The trees are mostly bare now, their branches reaching up like spindly fingers against the overcast sky. A few stubborn leaves cling, brown, deep red, and gold. I walk deeper into the woods, following a narrow path worn by generations of academy students.
I find a fallen log and sit, letting my mind wander. If you’d asked me if I thought this would ever be my life, I would have told you to get your head checked. Sleeping with a ghost, a vampire, and a demon, dodging one evil warlock who quite literally owns me, and trying to stay safe from a psychopathic witch who'd like nothing better than to see me dead. Just your typical college experience. Hell, I didn’t even have any intention of ever going to college, let alone a crazy supernatural academy like Serpentine. The truth is, I’d never been able to picture myself in the future, not really. It’s like there was something fuzzy there when I tried to imagine it. Static, instead of a clear scene when I tried to visualize it. It’s pretty difficult to take control of your own destiny when you can’t even visualize what your life might be, five, ten years down the road. But I do know I couldn’t have come up with this bizarre reality, not in a million years.
I touch the mark on my arm. It doesn't hurt as much as it did in the beginning, but I'm always aware of it, like a cut that never fully heals. The connection to Ash is always there, an awareness in the background of my consciousness. I hate it. I hate him.I hate that he can feel my emotions, that he knows when I'm afraid or angry or turned on.
Most of all, I hate that I’m beginning to suspect there's a part of me that responds to his power, to his darkness.
The blood mark pulses, as if it knows I'm thinking about it. As if he knows.
Get out of my head, asshole.
The woods are growing darker now as the sun sinks lower behind the trees. I should head back, but I'm not ready to return to the academy, to the reality of my situation. Out here, I can pretend for a little while that I'm just a normal girl taking a nice, normal autumn walk.
A branch snaps behind me.
I turn around, heart suddenly pounding. The path behind me is empty, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm not alone.
"Hello?" I call.
No answer.
If it were Lucien or Soren, they’d announce themselves, not wanting to scare me. For fuck sakes, it better not be Thorne or Harry.
I scan between the trees, looking for any movement, but I can’t see anyone. It's probably nothing. A squirrel or a rabbit. But the mark on my arm itches again, stronger this time, and a familiar sensation tugs at the back of my mind.
Ash.
He's nearby. I can feel him through the mark, like the way a passing boat makes waves that roll in over the shoreline.
"I know you're there," I say. "Spying isn't a great look, even for you."
For a moment, there's only silence. Then he steps out from behind a large oak tree, his tall figure materializing like he's made of the shadows themselves. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and his green eyes catch what's left of the fading light.
"Not spying," Ash says. "Observing."
"Semantics, but okay." I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look unaffected despite the anxious flutter in my stomach. "What do you want?"
He moves closer, his steps silent on the carpet of leaves. How does he do that? "I felt you through the mark. You were thinking about me."
"Thinking about ways to break the blood contract isn't the same as thinking about you." I take a step backward, maintaining the distance between us.
"Liar." His mouth curls up at one corner. "I can feel it, Rose. Your anger. Your fear." He pauses, his eyes darkening. "Your curiosity."
