Page 119 of Spark of Sorcery
Dray springs up from the bed, but Briony grabs his hand before he can lunge forward and Beaufort raises his hand to tell him to be quiet.
“Yeah and we’re very, very thankful for that Professor Tudor,” Beaufort says with a tight smile. “But you can go now.”
“No,” I say. These boys might be used to getting their own way, to ordering people about. Probably including most of the academic staff. But that doesn’t include me.
“No?” Beaufort smiles. “Why the fuck not? Don’t you have lessons to teach?”
I ignore his insolence. “I’m not leaving until I know she is all right.”
“I am all right,” Briony mutters.
“Why?” Beaufort says, stepping forward.
Suddenly, her scent is even stronger in my nose, and her beating heart even louder in my ears. It’s so obvious, so clear. I swear it must be carved across my forehead.
“We will look after her,” Thorne says. I realize I’ve hardly ever heard the kid speak and when I have it’s usually spitting with anger. Today, his words are softer. Fuck, even a little kind.
“Like protectors look after thralls?” I spit. I know how they take advantage of students weaker than they are, in return for a protection they barely provide.
“As if she were our fated mate,” he says.
Dray gasps and Beaufort mutters an obscenity under his breath. “Shit, man, what are you doing …”
But I barely hear his words. My eyes flick between him and Briony.
Fated mate? That can’t be right. That can’t be true.
“It is,” he says and I realize I spoke those last two thoughts out loud. He pulls back his sleeve.
“What is that?” Briony asks.
He paces towards the bed and presents his arm to her. From the distance, I can make out the faintest of marks across his wrists.
Amazement swamps her features. She examines her own wrists but they’re too covered in bruises to see anything even if she did have the markings.
I stagger backwards. “That can’t be right,” I mumble.
“Do you have them too?” she asks Dray and Beaufort, not hearing my comment.
“Nope,” Dray says, “Thorne has beaten us to it.”
She gazes up at Thorne and smiles – it’s a little shy but damn is it pretty.
My stomach moans.
“She doesn’t have the marks,” I snark out, petulantly. “It must be some other girl.”
Thorne shakes his head. “It’s her.”
“Briony?” I ask. Because she must know – she must feel – that it isn’t him. That it isn’t any of them.
But she’s still lost in Thorne’s gaze, oblivious to anything else around her.
“So you see,” Beaufort Lincoln says, stepping in closer and resting his hand on my chest. “She’s ours and we will protect her. You’re no longer needed. You can go.”
“No,” I say again. “I’m not leaving.”
“Why the fuck not?” Dray snaps with annoyance.
