CHAPTER 6

Selina

Before I could answer, he turned and walked away. I stood alone in the courtyard, feeling the wind stir my hair. My stomach felt tight. He had almost apologized. Almost. And he had issued a warning. That was more than I had expected.

That evening, I was back in the archives with Alfred. Geraldine stopped by briefly and spoke to him in a low voice. Their gazes lingered longer than necessary, and I couldn't help but smile. At least someone here had a chance at something good.

 

When night fell, I returned to the shared quarters. Raymond was already there. He was sitting at the table, reading something. He looked up as I entered.

 

Have you eaten?

 

Yes. Alfred brought me something.

 

Of course. Nice guy, Brandon.

 

I sat down across from him. Why do you leave food out for me if you hate me?

 

He closed the book. Because the bond weakens if you’re weak. And because I don’t want you collapsing and blaming me.

 

That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.

 

He shrugged. It’s the truth.

 

We sat in silence for a while. The silence wasn't as heavy as it had been the day before. Eventually, he stood up and walked toward his room. He paused at the door.

 

The magic. If it comes back, call me. Not the vampire. Me.

 

Then he was gone. I remained seated, staring at the empty spot where he had stood. My heart was racing. I still hated him. But... Hatred felt different. Less sharp. More complicated.

 

I went to bed and lay down. My shoulder ached only slightly now. The magic tingled beneath my skin, as if waiting for something. I closed my eyes and thought of green and gold sparks. Of ice-blue eyes. Of a scent that made my head spin.

 

Sleep came slowly. And with it, dreams of mountains and curses, and of a man who saved me while simultaneously destroying me.

 

When I woke up the next morning, a new shirt lay on the chair. Fresh and clean. Beside it sat a small bottle of ointment for the wound. No note this time. Just the silent gesture.

 

I picked up the ointment and applied it. The scent was herbal and healing. Raymond had done this. The man who called me pathetic. The man whose words hurt. The man whose nearness confused me.

 

I put on the shirt and looked in the mirror. My curves were there. My soft face. My long hair. And somewhere beneath it all, the sparks that were waiting.

 

Today, I wouldn't hide. Today, I would learn.

I stood in front of the mirror and put on the fresh shirt Raymond had left behind. It was soft and smelled faintly of the Academy’s laundry detergent. The ointment had significantly eased the pain in my shoulder. My skin felt warmer than usual, and somewhere beneath the surface, the magic was still tingling. I took a deep breath and decided I wouldn't run away today. Not from the stares. Not from the magic. And not from him.

When I stepped into the living room, Raymond was already dressed. He was wearing a dark shirt that accentuated his arm muscles and left the snake on his forearm visible. His ice-blue eyes lifted as I entered.

"The ointment helped?" he asked, skipping any greeting.

"Yes. Thanks."

He gave a curt nod and reached for his bag. "Today you have History, and then Combat again. Geraldine wants to see you privately after class. And stay away from the Fae. Especially the one with the silver hair."

Liora. I had seen her before. She smiled too much, and her eyes were too alert.

"I know. Alfred warned me."

"Of course he did. Good old Brandon."

I rolled my eyes. "You sound jealous."

Raymond’s jaw tightened. "I’m not jealous. I’m cautious. There’s a difference."

He walked to the door and held it open for me. Surprising. I stepped out and felt his warmth brush against me briefly. The hallway was already full of students. Some stared; others whispered. This time, I didn't lower my head. I walked straight ahead, feeling Raymond stay close behind me until we parted ways.

In History class, I sat next to Alfred. The teacher—an older werewolf with gray hair—was talking about the ancient ley lines and the wars between the packs and the Fae. When he spoke of pure souls, he glanced briefly in my direction. I stared at my notebook, writing with trembling fingers. Alfred quietly slid a piece of paper over to me. It read: *We’ll find more in the archives. Tonight.*

I nodded, feeling less alone.

 

After class, Rowan was waiting outside the room. He was wearing a light training jacket, and his golden eyes shone kindly.

 

"Geraldine asked me to pick you up. Private training. Come on."

 

We walked together to the empty training room. Beta Geraldine was already there, eyeing me from head to toe.

 

"Show me your hands," she said.

 

I held them out. Nothing happened.

 

"Concentrate. Think about yesterday. About the moment the sparks appeared."

 

I closed my eyes and thought of the shame. Of Raymond’s laughter. Of the heat that had raced through my body. Suddenly, the tingling returned. Green and gold lights danced around my fingers. Geraldine watched closely.

 

"Good. Now hold it. Don't let go. Breathe."

 

I breathed, and the sparks grew stronger. Then, suddenly, too strong. A small spark jumped to the floor and scorched the mat. I pulled my hands back, and the light vanished.

 

"It’s tied to emotion," Geraldine explained. "Anger, fear, and even closeness can trigger it. You have to learn to summon it without emotion. Otherwise, you’ll become dangerous—to yourself and to others."

 

Rowan stepped forward. "I can help you. Dragon blood reacts similarly to strong emotions. We’ll train for an hour every day. Slowly."

 

I nodded gratefully. "Thank you, both of you."

 

As we left the room, Raymond was standing against the wall outside. His arms were crossed, and his eyes followed Rowan’s hand, which had briefly rested on my shoulder.

 

"Private training with the dragon?" he asked once Rowan had left.

 

"He’s helping me. That’s all."