Her face falls, and she gets slowly to her feet. “Makes sense. I don’t think anyone trusts me.”
I roll my thoughts around for a moment, weighing them, then say softly, “That’s not true.”
“Oh?” Her brow arches again. She goes to cross her arms, then winces at her wrist and lowers her arms back to her sides. “Are you sayingyoutrust me?”
A smile tugs on my mouth. I try not to let it out, but I fail. “Youdidtransplant those sniffleblooms without a single sneeze. That’s worth something in my book.”
She laughs again, but this time, it sounds joyful. She’s so hot and cold, flickering between smiling and frowning, like a fire dancing, sending light and shadow twirling together in a mesmerizing display. “Well, that makes one person. And Juniper, I guess. She counts too.”
I remain there in the doorway, leaning against the wood, regarding the small fire witch standing in my sitting room, sweater and trousers smeared with mud. And she regards me right back. What does she see when she looks at me? A reclusive groundskeeper? A faculty member? A minotaur who’s much too old for her?
Somewhere deep in my chest, an ember of yearning flares to life.
A yearning for her to see deeper than that, past my cold exterior and into the truth of who I truly am.
But that yearning is forbidden. And I shove it down as quickly as it arises.
Problem is, I’m not so sure it’ll acquiesce to being buried.
Chapter 12
Lyra
THE STAIRS UP TO ROOM NT33 are long and spiraling. I’m pretty sure I’m leaving a trail of mud behind me as I climb each step, but I don’t want to turn and look. I just want to go take a long hot bath and wash away all the gunk from the day.
My wrist is still sore from falling and spraining it, but more than the pain, I feel Cairn’s hand as he lifted me off the ground, then the tenderness with which he wrapped the cotton bandage around my wrist, his fingers warm and gentle. I still have a slight tingle where he touched me, and it’s making my brow furrow, making me wonder why my stomach flipped and flopped in a not-wholly-unpleasant way while I stood in his sitting room and watched him lean in the doorway, his horns twisting so high they nearly brushed the ceiling.
One of our exchanges comes back to me, making my throat warm.
Don’t you like your own company?he asked me.
And when I told him I don’t, his response was,Well, I do.
He didn’t elaborate, but when I looked up and met his eyes, they regarded me unflinchingly, sturdy as a big old oak tree.
He likes my company . . .
Before I can stop it, a smile is rising to my mouth, lifting the corners of my lips.
Do I like his company too?
My body responds before my brain can, getting warm and tingly at the idea of seeing him again, hearing that deep voice, perhaps even feeling the warmth from his big, strong hands.
Shit. I’ve always liked men with big hands.
I’m so lost in thought that I almost walk right past our dorm room; if not for Raelan standing in the hallway, the colorful light from the stained glass window glowing down over his short dark hair, I probably would’ve just kept on going.
He arches a brow at me. “You okay?”
With some effort, I banish the smile from my lips. “Fine.”
Quickly assessing me, mud and all, he says, “Looks like you had an interesting morning.”
I blow out a strong puff of air, sending one of my curls dancing. “You’ve got no idea.”
He smiles, just a little bit, and I turn to walk into our dorm room.
The air is warm with a hint of sage from Maeve’s morning incense meditation, and the girls are all sprawled about the sitting room: Poppy reading from a book on sentient flora, Alina copying runes into a notebook with a feather quill, and Maeve lounging on the couch, one leg over the back, letting Isis curl about her arm.
