Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Bastian's composure cracks slightly. "I'm trying to help, Hollow. My father doesn't cast suspicion lightly. This meeting with the Rector could be incredibly dangerous for Nessa."
"I'll be careful," I promise Bastian. "Thank you for the warning."
He nods, rising to his feet. "Just... remember appearances can be deceiving. Voss is charming, intelligent, and utterly ruthless when it comes to achieving his goals." He hesitates, then adds, "If anything unusual happens, find me immediately."
After Bastian leaves, Raith and I sit in silence, the weight of his warning hanging between us.
"Do you trust him?" Raith finally asks.
"I don't know. But he's only telling me to be careful. I think I was going to do that either way."
Raith considers this, his scarred face thoughtful in the torchlight. "You're smart. Forget what Bastian says. Just follow your instincts. They've gotten you this far."
I smile at the compliments. Raith doesn't try, but he has a way of making me appreciate myself more. There's a no-nonsense way about him and a tendency to acknowledge strengths in others. He makes me believe his compliments when they come, and he never makes me question their intention. It’s easy to see why the fires practically worship him.
Serena is the only fire who seems to want him out of the way, but she knows she'll be torn to shreds if she makes a move against him and anyone discovers it. Like Malakai, I'm worried she's only waiting quietly for a rare moment of weakness—that she'll never stop watching and waiting.
I start gathering my books. "Thanks, Raith. I'll be careful. And I'll trust my instincts."
As I rise to leave, Raith catches my wrist. The contact sends a familiar rush of heat through me—partly his natural fire, partly something else entirely. My breath catches as his thumb traces a small circle on my pulse point.
"Be careful," he says, voice lower and rougher than before. "If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you get out of there. Promise me."
The power in his eyes makes my heart stutter. For all his gruffness, all his careful distance, there's something in the way he's looking at me now that makes my skin flush and my pulse race.
"I promise."
He releases my wrist slowly, his fingers trailing along my skin. "Remember. I'll be waiting somewhere nearby tomorrow. Just in case."
"I don't need a bodyguard, Raith."
His lips curve in a rare half-smile that transforms his face. "Not your call, Saltcrest. I'll be there."
The simple words send warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with elemental magic. Before I can respond, he stands and collects his things.
"Tomorrow at sunset, then," he says.
I nod, suddenly unable to find words.
As we part ways at the library door, I glance back to see him watching me go, his expression impossible to read in the shadows. Something has shifted between us tonight—something subtle but undeniable. And as I make my way back to my room, I can still feel the phantom heat of his fingers against my skin, like a promise or a warning.
17
I know the Rector himself isn't likely about to murder me as soon as I step into his office. The knowledge doesn’t stop dread from coiling around my spine like a serpent, tightening with every step I take toward the meeting.
"If he is a fool, he can try to harm you. I will simply eat him,” Typhon notes as he glides through the air beside me in his ridiculous fish form, butterfly-like wings flapping rapidly. He didn't even make me beg him to take the form this time, and I'm grateful for it, even if I know he's hiding himself from others.
The Rector's office lies atop a winding spiral staircase in a seldom used section of the castle. As I climb, I notice the paintings lining the stairwell—frame after frame depicting former Rectors of Confluence, I assume. They're all sitting in the same office, even if the furniture changes from painting to painting.
By the time I reach the top of the stairs, my heart is pounding, and it's not from exertion. Daily training here has me fit enough to jog up these stairs without losing my breath.
I drum a nervous pattern on my thighs as I walk the simple hallway lined with stained glass windows. A single door waits. The door to his office, just where I was told I’d find it.
No guards. No staff. No sign of Raith, either, even though I know that doesn't mean he isn't close. For such a large man, he can draw less notice than a shadow when he wants.
Somewhere nearby, he'll be watching. Waiting. I haven't caught so much as a glimpse of him since I left my room, but the thought of him standing vigil calms my racing heart. It’s a whispered promise from the darkness I shouldn’t need or want, but it’s there all the same.