Yvan, walking toward the forest at a fast clip.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him heading into the wilds. I’ve spotted him a number of times from the North Tower window, striding purposefully toward the forest, always curiously alone.
I watch Yvan’s long, powerful stride and think about how things between us have continued to change. His overt hostility is gone. I catch him watching me in both the kitchen and Mathematics now. His expression is often difficult to read, and he quickly looks away as soon as I catch his eye. Against my better judgment, I continue to do a fair bit of discreet watching, too. It’s thrilling to look at him; he’s so absurdly handsome.
And I can’t stop thinking about the mystery of him—how fast and strong he was when going up against Damion Bane. Unnaturally so. And I notice, more and more, how he’s able to pick up heavy things around the kitchen as though they weigh nothing. Just like Jarod.
I dwell on other things, as well.
How he always leaves the top button of his shirt undone, the shadows of the kitchen playing over his elegant neck and throat. The sinuous grace of his movements, never a clumsy, false step, his reflexes razor-sharp. The sharp line of his jaw. The perfect bow of his upper lip, his mouth so distractingly sensual.
A warm flush rises in my cheeks just thinking about it.
“Where does he go?” I wonder as I watch him, thinking out loud.
Aislinn turns to me. “Where does who go?”
“Yvan Guriel. He’s always going off into the woods like Rafe, but not hunting. He never carries anything with him. He just goes. It’s like he’s Lupine or something.”
“So follow him,” Aislinn says despondently.
“That’s bold advice,” I laugh.
Aislinn shrugs listlessly.
I get up and brush dried leaves off my tunic.
“Where are you going?” Aislinn asks.
“I’m taking your advice,” I tell her. “I’m going to follow him.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rescue
“Why are you following me, Elloren?” Yvan’s tone is exasperated, but not angry. He doesn’t bother to turn around.
My face grows hot at being discovered, and from the ridiculous thrill of hearing his deep voice say my name. “I’m curious about you,” I reply, my tone self-conscious and stilted.
“About what, exactly?” he asks, not slowing, not looking back.
About so many things. “About why you’re always going off into the woods. I’m wondering if you’re secretly Lupine.”
He stops abruptly, and I stop, too, a nervous rush of energy coupled with my efforts to keep up making my heart race in my chest.
He puts his hands on his hips and looks down as if collecting himself, and then turns to me, his emerald gaze disconcerting.
My thoughts scatter like marbles, overcome by his severe beauty.
Our eyes lock tight, the woods quieting around us, save for the dry rustling of the remaining autumn leaves and intermittent birdsong. The silence between us grows charged, vibrating with suppressed emotion, an unsettling heat taking hold deep inside me. I search his eyes and wonder if he feels it, too.
“All right, then,” he finally says, his voice low, his eyes darkening, as if with challenge. “Try to keep up.”
*
“Where’s the University’s border?” I ask after what seems like an eternity of hiking.
He pauses and turns to me, brow furrowed in question.
My breath hitches in my throat. It would be easier to talk to his back. I stare at him for a split second like a complete idiot, distracted by the way a shaft of sunlight illuminates his handsome face.
He cocks one perfectly arched brow, his expression hardening with what seems like discomfited annoyance. Like he can read my thoughts.
“It’s dangerous for me...to cross the University border,” I testily clarify.
The furrow of his brow deepens. “Why?”
“There’s an Icaral trying to kill me.”
His eyes light with surprise.
“It thinks I’m the next Black Witch,” I try to explain. “Of course, I’m not. I’ve no magic at all, but it doesn’t know that.”
Yvan’s face darkens. “You look exactly like Her, Elloren.”
I bristle, stung by the accusation in his tone. Hurt by it. “Really, Yvan?” I snap, my traitorous voice breaking. “I had absolutely no idea.”
His eyes widen a fraction, then he gives me a close look as if taking my measure.
I inwardly slump, the impenetrable wall between us laid bare. I suddenly and fiercely wish I could be on the other side of it. Somewhere I could truly belong.
If only I looked like Iris.
I immediately regret the thought. I harshly remind myself that I’m not a Kelt. And I can’t be having these thoughts about a Kelt. He shouldn’t be so focused on me, either. It’s a stretch for Yvan and me to even be friends, and it would be impossible for us to be anything more. But I suddenly wish with surprising force that we could at least be friends.
There’s frustration and hurt in my eyes, and I’m too exhausted to hide it.
Yvan swallows and blinks at me, his expression losing its edge.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says with firm certainty, like it’s an unassailable fact.
Warmth spreads through me, some of the anxiety melting from my shoulders. I take a deep breath and nod, believing him and bolstered by his steadiness. Somehow, I know I’ll be safe with him.
Yvan stands there for a moment longer, considering. “Did the Vu Trin magic the border? To keep the Icaral out?”
“They put some type of protective ward along Verpacia’s western border, and an even stronger ward around the University’s border.” I gesture around loosely with my hand. “The Icaral escaped from the sanitorium, so I guess it’s ward-marked.”
Yvan frowns and spends a long moment studying me through narrowed eyes. “I’m going well past the border.”
Fear slashes through me, and I see the Valgard Icarals’ hideous faces in the back of my mind. I force the image away, grit my teeth and decide to be brave.
“You said you’ll protect me,” I say grimly. And I know you’re stronger and faster than a broken Icaral. “I’ll take my chances.”
*
After what seems like another hour, we come to the northwestern edge of the Verpacian Spine.
Yvan circles a tree near a jutting behemoth of Spine stone then, bends to lift a tangle of brush that covers the entrance to an underground tunnel. He steps inside and turns to me. “Coming?”
“Where? What is this?”
“A way into Gardneria.” He points up toward the vertical mountain of stone and gives me a wry look. “Unless you want to go over the Spine, that is.”
I frown and follow him through the thin brush and down into a hidden, cavernous tunnel as he fishes some Elfin lumenstone from his pocket to light our way.
I wonder how on Erthia he found this tunnel. And how many people know about it?
We travel through a series of caves, not much to see but the dripping of water and the occasional resting bat, all of it cast in the lumenstone’s green glow. We ascend through more brush, pushing through a veil of dry branches to the outside.
I wordlessly follow him on. Soon the forest starts to slope upward. I struggle to keep up with his fast clip, a sharp cramp in my side. Sounds ahead begin to assert themselves. Commands being shouted. Horses. And something strange, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end—a low-pitched shriek that sets the forest floor vibrating.
Yvan pauses, then turns to me and holds a finger to his lips in unspoken warning. He motions for me to stay still, then climbs swiftly up a steep hill before us.
I watch him, amazed by his speed and silent ability to fluidly wind around the trees without even needing to grasp onto anything for balance.
He’s now at the top of the wooded hill, crouched down behind some thick brush and peering over it. He motions for me to follow.