Page 63 of The Ordeals
‘All right, good work today,’ Professor Silver says, nodding at each of them as they gather their things, filing out. I hover for a beat at the end, thanking her, and turn for the door. ‘Wait. A word of advice, DeWinter.’
‘Yes?’ I ask, stumbling as I turn to face her.
‘When you use your magic to unpick a wielding, any masquier can sense the press of your eyes, even if they’ve never come across what you can do before. It’s rare, to be able to sense magic, and see beneath it, and I imagine Lewellyn is training you in how to develop this. In fact, it’s a very interesting ability. But, if you use it in the next Ordeal to see the truth of a masquier, theywillsense it.’
I bite my lip and nod. ‘I hope I didn’t overstep.’
‘Not at all.’ She waves a hand. ‘The Ordeal of Lies is a tricky one to pass. I hope to see you around Killmarth next semester.’
It’s not until I’ve closed the classroom door behind me with a gentle click that I realise I never gave my name. Yet she knew exactly who I was.
With my mind fizzing over with possibility, jubilant that, finally, I may have found a way of wielding my magic that does not leave me entirely drained, I saunter to the junior common room in Gantry. Deciding to reward myself with a glass of silky velvane before the fire, I sink into one of the sofas flanking the fireplace, with a novel I’ve plucked from the bookshelves on the back wall. Atone point, out of nowhere something occurs to me. I realise it’s the same knack, the sight as Silver called it, that I used just now in her classroom as I did in Lewellyn’s first mentor session.
‘Finally, getting somewhere,’ I murmur, snuggling down lower into the cherry-red velvet cushions, kicking off my shoes and nestling into a corner. I’m on the second chapter of the most delicious Gothic mystery, and the heroine has just met a tall, brooding groundskeeper of the secluded manor house she’s moved to, when I hear the common room door open with a click behind me. A cool breeze ruffles the back of my neck and I swallow, switchblade instantly in my fingers as I jerk round, thoughts jumping instantly to Marcus, the broken heap of bones, how very alone I am in this room—
‘DeWinter,’ Alden purrs, standing with his hands in his pockets a few feet away. He’s holding a book under one arm, wearing slacks and a deep forest green wool jumper, which sets off the mahogany hue of his eyes so damn perfectly that it’s obviously intentional. He gives me a small smile then twists the lock on the door, shutting us in here together. Or perhaps shutting any other hopefuls out. ‘Were you lurking around Godolphin this afternoon for any particular reason?’
I watch as he crosses to the decanter to pour himself two inches, sinking into the other end of the sofa. The fireplace pops and crackles, devouring another log, and the scent of woodsmoke permeates the room. He leans back, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, and crosses an ankle over his knee. He eyes me as he sips his velvane, gaze deep and unreadable as I nurse my own tumbler, propping a hand under my chin.
‘Attending a lecture with Professor Silver. At least one of us should prepare for the next Ordeal.’
‘And you think I’m not?’
I narrow my eyes, blinking slowly. ‘I think you’re all out of tactics.’
He snorts, shaking his head. ‘Mytacticas you call it was partnering with you and eliminating a potential threat.’
‘But you no longer deem it necessary to actually work as partners?’ I ask lightly, tilting my head with a smile. ‘Or are all the secrets catching up with you, the outside threat of the cold ones growing too great—’
‘It’s you who has secrets, DeWinter. It’s you who’s the distraction I can’t figure out,’ he says softly, his voice like smoke, like the silken whisper of the velvane in my glass. He edges closer, taking the tumbler from my hand and placing both our glasses on a side table.
‘Then I’d say your tactic isn’t working out so well,’ I say faintly, a blush of heat unfurling inside me. All I can think of is how Knox is trying to protect him, how I promised to stay away and how strangely, I want to protect him as well. And yet the feel of his lips, the touch of his hands on my body still lingers like a fever dream. And I want more. ‘If I’m so very distracting.’
His eyes bore into mine, pinning me to the cushions at my back. ‘You forgot potentially dangerous. For all I know, you could be the murderer, picking off hopefuls.’
I chuckle darkly and shift position, so my body, my mouth are aligned with his. The scent of amber and woodsmoke, of velvane and something that is entirely Alden Locke floats like perfume around us. ‘Then you should definitely be staying away from me. I seem highly untrustworthy.’
He reaches up and my breath stills as his fingertips linger along my jawline, eyes sweeping down, then back up to meet mine. ‘As your partner though, you wouldn’t be able to kill me without destroying your chances of staying here. So I’d say that being close to you is the safest place right now.’
‘An interesting notion,’ I murmur.
‘Either that, or you’re far too caught up in something you don’t understand,’ he replies, as he leans towards me, his words like feather-soft kisses along my jawline, his lips like a ghost against mine. ‘So which is it, DeWinter? Are you guilty as sin or innocent and in danger?’
‘Ask your friend Knox,’ I say, releasing a soft gasp as Alden pushes me back, leaning over me, our bodies flush as his mouth hovers over mine. ‘Ask him, ask him if I’m a threat—’
‘I’d rather learn all your secrets for myself,’ he says, before his lips lower to mine and I unravel. He kisses me hard and I moan softly into his mouth, every part of me lighting up at his touch, his closeness, his scent. He shifts back, breaking our kiss, and I find the Alden I first met in the bar. Gaze dark and devouring, lips flushed and swollen. ‘Tell me it’s the latter. Tell me I’m not wrong about you,’ he says, searching my face. ‘Let me in, Sophia. You saw me for who I really am, and you’re still keeping everything inside.Let me in.’
‘I can’t.’ Then his hand moves up my inner thigh, stroking slow, slow circles and I swallow, watching him as his eyes fill with wickedness. ‘Is this what you want, Sophia? Do you want me to stop?’ he asks, as his lips graze my throat.
I can barely think, barely breathe as his fingers, those slow circles move closer to my centre. ‘Don’t stop,’ I say breathily, and he brushes aside the lace and silk and strokes his finger along my core. I gasp, my grip on my thoughts splintering. ‘I’m a threat as long as you’re near me.’
He pauses, watching me as I pant beneath him, aching for him. Wanting him. ‘You’re delicious,’ he says softly before lowering his mouth to mine. ‘If you’re a threat then so be it. I was lost the moment I first chose you as my partner. I can’t stay away.’
Then his fingers resume their steady strokes, the ache building and building inside me and with his other hand he pins my wristsoverhead. I arch against him, wanting more, wantinghimand his kiss deepens as I moan, the steady build in my core cresting like a wave, sweeping all of me away. He removes his hands from me and I look up, finding his eyes roving over my body, dark and glittering, still ravenous.
‘I’m supposed to be staying away from you,’ I say, wanting his body pressed against mine, wanting more of him. He lingers, hovering over me for a heartbeat before leaning down to kiss me, a gentle kiss. I wind my arms around his neck and sink into the pool of warmth, of his soft kisses.
Then he moves back slightly, a few inches between us and brushes my hair back from my face, his eyes searching mine. ‘But that’s the problem. I really don’t want you to.’
