“You’re not taking my project, Tourael,” I snarl.
He huffs through his nose. “I’m nottakingit. We should focus on yoursto start. Gods, Itold younot to bite my head off—”
“We’re working together. Which means figuring out how conjuration and evocation interact inbothof our projects and doing what the committee wanted us to do, so when we have our check-ins, we can tell them more thanElethior’s being a great assistant for me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Like fuck I’ll be your assistant. And, again, I didn’t sayforever. Just until we get our sea legs with not wanting to kill each other, which we’re doing a bang-up job of so far.”
“And my project’s the guinea pig?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
Rage is lava-hot, scalding every fiber, every nerve ending. My hands lift, fingers curling, not because I want to hit him, but because, okay, Ido,but I won’t; and I want to cast a banishment spell and shunt him back to the Fae Plane, but Iwon’t.
I told him about my project. Only Orok and a few of my professors know the details; my parents know about it in a vague sense because I was obsessed with the concept when I was younger. It’s like Elethior took this knowledge and shoved it carelessly into his disorganized clutter of a notebook, and it cracks me like glass, a shatter spiderwebbing through my torso.
“You pretentious piece ofshit! You coerced me into telling you about my project and now you’re holding it hostage?”
Elethior sucks his teeth, annoyance heavy on his face, which grates on my already raw nerves like sandpaper. He has no right to be annoyed by me; it isn’thisresearch getting used as a test dummy for cooperation.
“Not everything is a manipulation,” he growls. “And right now, you’re proving me right in being cautious about us taking on too much at once.”
“Then we should’ve decided on parametersbeforeyou had me tell you about my project, and we should’ve decided whose to go in ontogether. This isn’t collaboration; this is you being a narcissistic control freak.”
His head jerks to the side, nostrils flaring. I watch his chest rise and fall before he crosses his arms over that black T-shirt.
“You’re right,” he says softly.
I jolt back. Then regroup. “I know I am.”
Elethior faces me again, chin lifted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have decided on our plan of action without your input.”
My mouth drops open.
At my surprise, Elethior’s eyes sparkle, but his steady mask holds.
I snap my jaw shut.
“Now.” He tips his head, black hair falling over his shoulder. “After this little… interaction, do you honestly believe we’re ready to tackle both projects at once?”
My body thrums with the need to move, to dosomething,all that anger festering in my muscles like poison. I groan, take a step away, come back, and groan again.
“Screw you,” I growl.
He grins. “We’ll work on your project and see how evocation and conjuration play together with that. We have three weeks until our first check-in; that gives us plenty of time to figure each other out.”
I glare one more time, trying to read him for any weak spots. There are none, as usual.
“Whatever,” I grumble like I’m twelve. “I’ll send you my research and let you know what reading I was planning to do. You can take half of it. If there are any conjuration resources you think would supplement, would you mind, O great one, mentioning them before we delve in too deep?”
Elethior sits again, slowly looks up at me, and positivelybeams.
“Are you admitting that there are valuable things to be learned from conjuration?”
I hold my ground—Ihaveto stop letting him bait me so easily.
“I am, actually.” I march back to my desk. “That’s the point of this grant now, right?”
“Aw,” he throws at my retreating back. “I’m proud of you, baby boy.”
