Morgan pushed open the bathroom door, and stopped short, her head snapping up as she scanned the room. Warmth flashed across her skin, every cell coming alive, and her breath caught in her throat.
“What’s wrong?” Ryder snapped to attention, taking position in front of her.
Draven remained slouched against the wall, his knee bent, his foot flat against the wall, his casual stance belying the way he intently scanned the crowd from under his lashes.
“Ascher and Kincade are back.” She smiled, but her nerves were drawn up tight, remembering their last conversation. What if nothing changed? What if they kept treating her as an outsider? She wasn’t sure her heart could take it anymore.
She could barely stand still, scanning the room again, not sure which direction they would emerge.
Then she saw Ascher and Kincade slice through the crowd, every inch the predators, people scurrying out of their way. Ascher wasn’t in hellhound form, but barely. He wore pants slung low on his hips, his form-fitting shirt displaying each and every muscle in fine detail. Steam practically rose from his skin as his eyes locked onto her. His eyes were glowing with emotions, and when he smiled, his canines were more pronounced.
She couldn’t move.
Seconds later, he was standing in front of her.
He enveloped her in a hug, until she was cocooned in his charcoal and fire scent. His skin was so scorching hot, she was marveled that all she felt was…like coming home. When he leaned back, she didn’t want to let him go. He cupped her face, staring into her eyes, as if searching for something. Then he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Touching her seemed to calm him, and the slight smoky residue that rose like a mist around him faded.
“Be gentle with him. His heart isn’t made of stone,” Ascher whispered in her ear, then reluctantly lifted his head.
Morgan gave a start of surprise, uncertain how to reply.
Neither man cared for the other, only tolerating each other for her sake. To have Ascher request a boon for Kincade made her heart wrench in her chest.
Her worry over Kincade intensified, the molten silver marks on her arm aching as she tried to read him—it was like running into a brick wall.
Kincade was a hard-ass, never bowing to anyone.
It was one of the things she liked best about him.
She didn’t want to change him, she only wanted to be a part of his life…but maybe she was asking for too much. The last thing she wanted was to turn him into someone else.
Ascher ran his fingers down her arm, distracting her as the heat of his touch chased goosebumps across her shoulders. He caught her hand in his, gave her one last squeeze, reluctantly releasing her and stepping to the side.
She immediately missed his warmth.
He didn’t go far, as if afraid to let her out of his sight.
She felt the same way.
She barely resisted the urge to reach out, pull him close, and never let him go.
When Morgan turned away, her gaze connected with Kincade’s turbulent light green eyes. His look was intense, eating her up with his heated gaze. There wasn’t any warmth in his expression. He was too absorbed in examining her from head to toe. He looked like hell—his clothes wrinkled and unkempt, his face haggard.
She suspected the only thing holding him upright was sheer, stubborn willpower.
She approached him cautiously. His expression was so forbidding, she wasn’t sure if he would hug her or wrap his hands around her throat. When she stopped only a hairsbreadth away from touching him, he flinched. She felt like he’d punched his fist through her ribcage and squeezed her heart.
She narrowed her eyes on him, gritting her teeth while the molten silver mating marks on her arms ached, as if they were being ripped out of her arm.
Even though he stood only inches away from her, it was like he was already gone.
To hell with that!
She wasn’t letting him go without a fight.
She took the last step separating them and wrapped her arms around him, unable to forget what it felt like to have his lips on hers.
He stiffened until she felt like she was hugging a rock, but she couldn’t tell if it was his alternate form or if her touch revolted him that much.
It was all she could do not to lean back and drop him to the floor, anything to get a reaction out of him.
She ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders, then skimmed them around to the back of his neck, sinking her fingers into the dark, messy strands of his shoulder-length hair. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend there was nothing wrong.
“I knew you wouldn’t give up. I always knew you would come for me.”
“Even though you regret our bonding?’ His hands rested lightly on her hips, as if afraid she was a figment of his imagination who would vanish if he touched her. When she leaned back to look at his face, he grumbled low in his throat, and wrapped his arms around her so tightly, her ribs creaked.
Morgan barely resisted the urge to smack him. “I never said any such thing. Never.” She yanked his head back by his hair until she could see his face, not caring about his hiss of pain. “I want a partner. I don’t need a guardian or a parent or a teacher. I need you to be my friend and mate. I need you to stop being an ass, and stop pretending there’s nothing between us. Understand? I won’t survive this world alone. If we don’t work together, I fear no one from the Academy will either.”
Emotions flooded those wonderful eyes for one heart-stopping second. Then he managed to gain control of himself and became all business. “What’s going on?”
“We need to find Atlas.” She shook her head, conscious they were not completely alone. Fragile hope that he finally understood what she’d been trying to beat into his thick skull soared through her, and she grabbed it with both hands, wanting to cheer at the small victory.
His expression sharpened subtly, and she suddenly got a sinking feeling in her gut. She pulled away and crossed her arms.
“What do you know.” It wasn’t a question. The bastard was keeping something from her.
“It’s not my place to say.” His jaw tightened stubbornly, and Morgan threw up her hands in disgust, her magic rising with her annoyance.
The last thing she needed was to draw more attention. She could already feel eyes on her wherever she went.
“Look, you either tell me, or I’m going to head off and figure things out on my own.” She lifted her chin, determined to be just as stubborn as him. “Your choice.”
He cast her a calculating look, possibly measuring her resolve, then scowled when he didn’t find a crack. “Atlas was not on a sabbatical. He was banished from the elven lands. He refused to stay in the primordial realm, and went on a self-imposed exile to the Academy.”
Morgan shook her head in confusion, not understanding what he was trying to tell her. “So?”
“This castle is on elven land. When he led the students to this castle, he knew the consequences of returning.”
“They would’ve died if he didn’t.” Morgan was outraged, then went light-headed when the rest of what he said registered. “What do you mean, consequences?”
Kincade shook his head, his face grim as he raked his fingers through his hair. He refused to look at her. “The reason for his return doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t.” She was so furious, she couldn’t stop shaking. “Where did they put him?”
But she already knew.
This was a castle.
There was only one place to put him—the dungeon.
Magic rose, bubbling up from her bones at her outrage, burning to be used. The runes on her back grew heavy against her skin, the markings burning ice cold.
Find Atlas.
Chapter Nine
Morgan wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she commanded her magic to obey, but nothing certainly wasn’t it.
Her magic skimmed over the tattoo etched on her back, then seemed to fizzle out. Loki wiggled enthusiastically, using his talons to claw his way up her body, leaving behind bloody welts. He peeked out from the collar of her shirt, rested on her shoulder for a few seconds to nuzzle her chin, then sprang into air. Before she could catch the little bugger, he jumped to the floor and scampered away on all fours.