Mag-log inKenna
My heart is in shambles as I walk up the slight rise to the willow tree. The forest groans all around me in a stiff breeze that promises cooler weather and storms tonight. It would be a welcome relief from the heat and a distraction from the raw conversation I just had with my parents about everything that happened and will soon happen.
I’ve been blessed to have never experienced the torment of war. Sure, small tangles and skirmishes have occurred
SkyeA network of skybridges and elevators leads to a handful of warming rooms and airlocks directly on the surface of the ice. The main one is quite large and houses a row of lockers, as well as changing rooms for men and women, and separate outdoor entrances for both. I hang my coat in a locker, fiddling with my padlock, then walk into the women’s changing room, where steam creeps across the floor, and several shower nooks spray warm, wet air, the entire space almost suffocated with humidity. I change out of my clothes and fold my pants and sweater neatly before donning the robe I brought from my condo. It took me an hour to find it, seeing as I’ve barely started the process of organizing my clothing after moving into my new place, but now it’s almost midnight, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I burned off some energy. It’s a balmy negative sixty when I shove open the door to the airlock and close it with a crunch behind me. Wind rattles the thick, frosted glass
SkyeI adjust the thick scarf worn around my neck and square my shoulders, careful of every movement I make while Abby picks at the plate of food on the tray in front of her. The cafeteria around us is quiet at this hour, full of students snacking in silent solitude over laptops and stacks of books, and professors and postdocs finding scraps worth of a meal after a long day of research and lectures. My last lecture of the day wrapped up less than an hour ago without the drama or fanfare I expected. Most of my lectures are math-heavy, which seriously irks my more experimentally leaning students. I spent the entire lecture with my back turned to the podium, making sure my scarf and turtleneck stayed in place, ignoring the groans and murmuring behind me. Now, the bruise is hard to ignore. It pinches with every move I make, and the scarf is definitely overkill. I’m sweating under the weight of it. “What’s up with you?” Abby asks, looking just as uncomfortable and as exhausted as I am.
Skye“Chin up.” I tilt my chin, my vision taken up by the serious but strangely devoted look painting shadows across the planes of Alex’s face as he zips me into a bright yellow parka, all the way to the neck. He’s careful, far more gentle when touching me than he was only half an hour ago, when I was breathless on his lap, and he sucked a bruise so deep I can still feel it throbbing. He’ll barely meet my eyes as it stands. In all honesty, I can barely meet his. Whatever that was felt… less like I was offering him the sustenance he desperately needed and more like something totally, completely, out of control and overtly sexual. I flush with heat just thinking about it, a small, involuntary squeak leaving my lips when he grips my fingers and reaches above my head to dig through a bin of gloves. We’re chest to chest, and he smells… amazing. Like everything male, dangerous, and delicious. Like things I can’t possibly place because this is the first time I’ve ever wanted–“These should
AlexVampires generally don’t need sleep. By sleep, I mean the deep, vulnerable kind that allows dreams to fade into focus and a body to go slack. Vamp kids, sure. They sleep all the time, but once our biological clock starts to slow, once necessary things like sleep make less of a difference in our overall performance, we generally don’t do it. A light rest? Sure. I’ve needed one of those for a long, long time, which is why, when I open my eyes after an hour on Skye’s couch to find her sitting on the coffee table in front of me, our knees touching, her eyes open wide and full of so much excitement she’s trembling, I wish on whatever gods are listening that I could, in fact, just shut my eyes and let the entire world fade to black, even just for a few more hours. She’s gripping a notebook for dear life, her eyes holding on mine expectantly. “What time is it?” I ask. Deciding not to move an inch and pretending to be in some kind of blood coma might work in my favor when it comes to
SkyeWhen I was a little girl, I had these amazing dreams almost every night. I could have gone anywhere in the dream realm, coasting on ribbons of thoughts and memories that didn’t belong to me, but one place felt like home more than others. One place with scratchy chairs, sconces lighting the floor, and otherwise, darkness. I still don’t know why I used to have dreams about the observatory on the campus where I now work as a professor. I don’t know why that little, nameless boy haunted those dreams. His memory is starting to fade with every year that passes, but I know one thing for certain. I am meant to be here. Not because of my brain. Not because of my advancements in physics and the world of science as a whole. Not because of my map of distant stars that witches will one day use to strengthen their magic. No, it’s because of this. Gods, I feel it in my bones the second I press my bare wrist to Alex’s lips. His eyes meet mine, unsure, maybe even a little scared. How long
SkyeA lab assistant, a young woman in her early twenties by my estimation, makes quick work of the blood draw, but I still feel queasy and unsteady while wrapped in a blanket in the clinic lobby, silently munching on a bag of the stalest oatmeal raisin cookies in the Allied Kingdoms. Alex dutifully escorted me here, choosing the quickest path through campus. This early on a Saturday morning, the chances of running into anyone we knew were slim, and luck was in our favor, because we didn’t pass another soul. Now, it’s closing in on 9:00 A.M., and my unintentionally wild night has caught up to me in droves. My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I haven’t slept in years. I assured him I could get home on my own, and he left, which should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.“Dr. Scarlett said you’re not feeling well,” the lab assistant says, returning to my side. “I have some basic medicine here. We keep healing tonics in stock as well, if that’s more your vibe.”“I’m–I’m fine, just
*Isla*Maddox left Elijah with me, of course. It’s his responsibility as Beta to rule in Maddox’s place when he’s away. While I like Elijah and have come to appreciate his quiet presence in the house, I miss Maddox. It’s been almost three weeks since he left. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times, bu
*Isaac*Lorena sits in a wing-backed armchair in the formal sitting room off the front garden. Her golden hair falls over her shoulders in soft curls. Her eyes haven’t left mine for the past hour, and to be honest, I find myself growing more and more uncomfortable in her presence. This isn’t good. Sh
The girl standing before me is not what I expected. Emery stands, slowly clutching the bars as she peers at me through the darkness. The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickers as I pull up a stool and sit facing her, crossing my legs with my hands knitted in my lap. Elijah said not to let her o
*Maddy*Reginald hasn’t spoken to me since he brought me back to his townhouse last night. Fresh bruises pepper my skin from the beating he gave me last night on the way home last night. I used my forearms to shield my face from the blows before he finally turned around and left me alone. Today, he







