Aislinn swallows and looks at him, wide-eyed. “I...I won’t be afraid.”
Jarod rolls up the right sleeve of his tunic and lifts his hand, keeping his eyes on Aislinn. We all watch, mesmerized, as it morphs and grows furred, with curving claws for nails.
Jarod walks over to the wall and uses a claw to quickly hollow out multiple areas in the stone, then morphs his hand back to normal and screws the hooks in. He turns to gauge Aislinn’s reaction.
“That’s very...useful,” she observes, her understated words at odds with the stunned expression on her face.
Jarod studies her reaction for a moment longer before repeating the process, Aislinn’s shock softening as he works.
*
Well past midnight, we all rest on the floor by the fire.
The room is completely transformed. Warm tapestries now hang on every wall, and a series of sculptures and paintings line the upstairs hallway and spiraling staircase. The North Tower has become a small but impressive private gallery of fine art.
I make tea and pour it for everyone. Everyone except for Ariel, who’s still passed out on her messy bed.
Jarod and Aislinn are taking turns reading from Jarod’s poetry books as Wynter sits on the windowsill listening.
After a time, Aislinn’s lids grow heavier, and she keeps interrupting herself with yawns when it’s her turn to read, so Jarod takes over the reading in its entirety, his deep, steady voice pleasant to listen to as I drink my tea.
I watch, amused, as Aislinn’s eyes close, little by little, until, like a flower folding its petals in for the night, she eventually gives in, lets her eyes fall shut and leans into Jarod.
Jarod pauses in his reading. He gently puts his arm around Aislinn to steady her. She breathes deeply and snuggles in close to him, her hand finding his waist.
Jarod raises his eyebrows in surprise, frozen in place, the poetry book now lying forgotten in his lap. Wynter has retreated under her wings, perhaps asleep, as well.
Jarod’s eyes dart toward mine warily. And his wariness is not unfounded.
My heart speeds up slightly at the sight of them so close, so intimate, and I suddenly feel worried about my friend. It’s one thing to wish Jarod was Gardnerian in the abstract. But he isn’t. He’s the son of his people’s alpha, and Aislinn’s from one of the most conservative families in Gardneria. Our people hate each other.
No, this isn’t good. This is a road best not traveled down—a road leading straight off a cliff.
“Jarod,” I say, a cautionary note to my tone, “Aislinn’s become a good friend to me.”
He cocks one eyebrow and regards me coolly. “I know, Elloren,” he says slowly. “To me, as well.”
“I can see that,” I reply as I glance pointedly at the arm he has wrapped loosely around her. “I just don’t want to see her get hurt.” The atmosphere between us grows chilled, the tension palpable.
“And you think wandfasting to Randall is the best way for Aislinn to not get hurt?”
I don’t know what to say to that, and am momentarily unnerved by those glowing amber eyes of his boring into me.
Of course it’s probably the best way for her not to get hurt. She and Jarod are good friends, but a romance between them would tear Aislinn from a family she loves more than anything. Maybe Randall isn’t Aislinn’s idea of the best person to spend time with, but he won’t be around much, and she has many other interests and people who love her to make her life complete. Besides, she finds romantic attentions of a physical nature to be very off-putting—although I have to admit that she looks pretty comfortable nestled in Jarod’s arm. I can’t for the life of me imagine her looking like that lying against Randall.
A flicker of disgust passes over Jarod’s face, and he turns to look at the fire. “Don’t worry, Elloren. I don’t plan on dragging her off into the woods anytime soon.”
His words sting, and I feel immediately guilty for interfering in something that is really none of my business. “I’m not worried about that, Jarod,” I clarify anxiously.
He turns his Lupine eyes back to mine. “I know what you’re getting at. We’re just friends.” Bitterness gives way to a flash of quiet devastation in his eyes before he looks away. “I know that...anything else between us would be impossible.”
My eyes catch on Jarod’s fingers. He’s stroking Aislinn’s hair absently with a tenderness that’s heartbreaking to witness. I turn away from them both, tears filling my eyes over their hopeless situation.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lupine Eyes
Aislinn and I are having breakfast a few days later. It’s week’s end, the dining hall almost empty at this early hour, pale streaks of sunlight spearing down through the arching windows. Aislinn stirs honey into her wheatberries, chatting gaily about her family. She’s been happily anticipating the arrival of her sisters for weeks now, and they’re due to arrive anytime now.
I glance up to catch Yvan staring at me as he sets a basket of rolls out on one of the long serving tables. His green eyes flash through me and set off a restless longing that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.
Things have changed between us since that day he defended me in the kitchens. I now catch him staring at me throughout my shifts, and we’re always incredibly aware of each other’s physical presence. If he’s loading wood at my stove and I shift, he immediately compensates, like a dance. It’s hard in those moments, when he’s so close and so aware of me, to fight off an intense, irrational urge to touch his hand, his chestnut hair, his shoulder.
I wonder what’s wrong with me. How can I be so drawn to a Kelt? I imagine Aunt Vyvian’s reaction and can’t stifle the smile that quavers on my lips just as Yvan’s eyes settle back on me. My pulse quickens, and I dampen my smile, but can’t pull my eyes away from him, the air suddenly charged between us. Even from this far distance, his gaze is hot on me, a ruddy flush coloring his cheeks.
Iris bursts from the kitchen, jauntily balancing a tray of smoked meat, and the moment abruptly shatters. She has a flirtatious smile dancing on her face as she sets down her tray and sidles up to Yvan, one hand on her cocked hip, her golden hair loose today and cascading down her back.
Yvan launches into conversation with her, but he’s holding himself rigidly, as if he’s as distracted and unsettled as I am.
“Oh, Elloren, they’re here!” Aislinn enthuses, breaking my heated focus.
I turn, cheeks uncomfortably flushed, to find Aislinn’s sisters making a boisterous entrance, children swirling around them like a swarm of busy bees, a baby in the arms of each sister.
“Linnie!” they call out to her.
Aislinn springs from her seat, overjoyed. She rushes to them and is quickly enveloped in a tangle of hugs and kisses.
I rise and briefly look toward where Yvan was. I note, with a spike of envy, that both he and Iris have gone back into the kitchen.
Let it go, Elloren, I tell myself. You’re a Gardnerian. He’s a Kelt. These thoughts need to stop. I sigh and turn back to Aislinn’s family.
Both her sisters are wearing white armbands, the children surprisingly banded as well, unlike Aislinn and me. I wonder what Aislinn’s sisters will make of her lack of Vogel fervor.
“Oh, how we’ve missed you!” the taller of her two sisters exclaims, beaming at Aislinn.
“Look at how big everyone’s grown!” Aislinn gushes over her nieces and nephews, the children hugging her legs. “Elloren!” She beckons for me to join them, her face full of happiness. “These are my sisters and some of their children.”
Some of them? Gardnerians, as a rule, usually have large families, but Aislinn’s sisters don’t look much older than her.
“How many more nieces and nephews do you have?” I ask Aislinn, trying to keep my tone friendly instead of incredulous.