Page 22 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

August

Wren wasn’t drunk. She was absolutely plastered. August struggled to keep her upright as they walked out of Olivier’s room, hoisting her arm over his shoulder despite her slurred mumbles of protestation.

Wren groaned against his shoulder. “Don’t need help…I’mfine…”

“I’m sure you are,” August whispered into her ear as they walked into the corridor.

It would only be a ten-minute walk from Litterman to Pettyworth, but something told August that Wren’s inebriated state would lengthen their trip quite substantially.

Not to mention the risk of being caught wandering past curfew… again.

He steadied her, holding on to her shoulders. “I’m going to relocate us to your room.”

“No, no, no…” Wren shook her head. “I can walk…I don’t need…”

“Loughty. Look at me.” August grabbed her chin, angling her face toward him. “I am not letting you walk by yourself in this state. And if I’m going with you, we may as well relocate together.”

She hiccupped, eyes sluggishly blinking. “Since when do you care, hm ? I assumed you’d be finding a way to weed out the competition already.”

August tensed. His grip on her loosened.

“You truly think so little of me?”

“What does it matter?” Her eyes struggled to stay focused on his. “It’s not like you care what I think.”

“Loughty.” He inhaled a sharp breath and shook off the tightness in his chest. “I’m not going to leave you here defenseless, despite what you may think of me. Don’t worry. Come tomorrow morning, you can go on hating me and cursing my name. I promise.”

Wren groaned and shoved him firmly in the chest, catching him by surprise.

“You absolute idiot. ”

He blinked at her, stunned. “What?”

“You’re so”—she stumbled and gestured wildly with her arms—“ you. ”

August sighed. “Thank you for the rave review. Now, if we’re done here—”

“No. You know what? We’re not done.” Wren pressed her hand against the wall in a feeble attempt to steady her wobbling stance. “You are…you are so infuriating. You think I hate you? You think it’s that simple?”

August shook his head. He didn’t mean for the words to come out so bitter, but he couldn’t help himself. “Isn’t it?”

“God, I wish it were.” Wren rubbed her face with her hands and sighed. “I wish…I wish I could despise you. It would make all of this so much easier.”

“Loughty—”

“But despite my better judgment, despite everything about you that drives me insane…I can’t bring myself to hate you.” August tried to ignore the agony in her voice, the desperation. It was enough to drive him mad. “I can’t—I can’t even convince myself to stay away from you.”

August’s head spun viciously as he attempted to gather himself.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispered. “You’re drunk.”

Wren stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and pleading. And then she simply shook her head and said, “Fine. I hate you. I detest you. I curse the day you were born. Are you happy now?”

August bit back a smile. “Positively overjoyed.”

She let out a sigh.

“Perfect. Take me to my room.”

He reached out his hand without saying a word. She placed her hand gently over his, her fingers delicately brushing his palm. August shut his eyes and summoned the relocation spell—a rush of warmth spreading up and down his limbs.

When he opened his eyes, they were back in her room.

Darkness filled the space between them, a sliver of light pooling in from the window.

The sheer lace curtains fluttered in the breeze, each movement sending ribbons of shadows across the walls.

He’d been in Wren’s room countless times before—mainly to pester her in the middle of the night—but something about this visit felt different.

Wren watched him with a strange expression. Maybe it was the whiskey working its way through her system, but August noticed that the contempt she usually held in her eyes had vanished, replaced by something softer. Almost tender.

Her lips curved into a smile. “Are you going to tuck mein?”

August chuckled. “Not a chance.”

“Good.” Wren approached her bed, kicking off her shoes, and slowly crawled beneath the sheets.

August was overcome with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her. It was so strong, so startling, that he took a rigid step backward, terrified that he might actually do it. What was wrong with him? Daydreaming about grazing Wren Loughty’s cheek? Running his fingers through her hair?

He was losing it.

“I’ll—” August cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’d begun to walk toward the door when she spoke behindhim.

“Do you think we’ll be chosen?”

August stilled, hand clasped over the doorknob. “I don’t know.”

She hesitated before asking the next question.

“But if you are…and you win…will you choose to stay?”

August didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was, no matter what happened over the course of the next few weeks, his mind would never change.

He had to leave.

And he had no intention of ever coming back.