Page 48 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)
Louise cleared her throat. “I know I probably don’t have a say in this, but…I would prefer it if you didn’t say anything. At least not until we know more.”
Irene’s eyes narrowed. “And why’s that?”
“Because…I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Louise admitted in a whisper.
“I know I shouldn’t be able to cast shadow magic—but I did.
And Headmaster Silas is clearly obsessed with keeping Blackwood safe…
with keeping order and balance. If he finds out that I’m actually capable of casting shadow magic, then…
” Her voice trailed away, but August instantly understood what she was trying to say.
They’ll accuse her of being a Demien.
“I vote we keep this between us,” Wren said. “For now, at least. We can do our own research first. Try to find an explanation. If by the end of the week we can’t find any answers, then”—she looked at Louise, who offered her a feeble nod—“then we tell Silas.”
Emilio nodded. “I’m fine with that.”
“Same,” Olivier agreed.
Masika hesitated, then let out a sigh. “I suppose that works.”
Irene rolled her eyes.
“I still think this is an immensely stupid idea, but… fine. ”
August was the last to answer.
He stared at Louise. Straight into her eyes.
“We won’t say anything. But just know—we will find an explanation. So…if you know something else about the shadow magic, something that could help us figure out how you cast it, then tell us.”
Louise shook her head. “I promise. I know nothing else.”
August nodded, ripping his gaze away from her.
“Then…we’re all in agreement.”
After a few mumbled goodbyes, Emilio and Louise wandered out of the hall, Olivier and Masika trailing behind them. Irene hesitated, eyes darting between August and Wren, before following the others and slamming the door behind her with a sharp flick of her wrist.
August lingered. He fiddled with the ring on his finger until he was certain everybody had left.
Wren hadn’t moved, her gaze fixed on the Ether’s arched doorway, but August knew she was aware of his presence. It was the slightest tensing of her jaw, the faintest movement of her lips.
And then she spoke.
“Do you have something to say?”
His fingers froze over his ring.
“I just—” The words were lodged somewhere in the back of his throat. He inhaled a sharp breath. “I wanted to make sure you were feeling okay. After everything that happened.”
She tilted her head to the side, a soft flutter of laughter rumbling from her chest. “Like you care about my feelings…”
August couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of him, brash and defensive. “Christ, Loughty. You have some fucking nerve. Have you already forgotten I was the one who found you? The one who dragged you out of there—”
“Why did you save me?” Wren interrupted, stepping toward him. “Explain it to me. Because I have to admit I’m at a loss. I’m your competition, aren’t I? Why wouldn’t you take the opportunity to eliminate me? Why choose to save me?”
“I saved you,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Is that not enough?”
She shook her head. “I deserve an explanation.”
Of course she deserved an explanation, but what could August offer her other than the torment of agonizing thoughts that would undoubtedly plague her once she knew the truth?
What could he offer her other than unmitigated disappointment?
There were no words he could string together that would make all of this better.
He stepped closer and gently grazed his fingertips against her wrist. It was the faintest touch.
Featherlight. But it was enough to send a shocking current through his limbs and into his chest. Enough to drive him mad.
Wren tensed beneath him, the familiar blanket of goose bumps traveling up her arms.
She closed her eyes. “August. Don’t. You’re avoiding the question.”
“Because you know I can’t answer it.” He let his fingertips draw slow circles over her wrist. Every inch of her he touched was another rule broken. Another promise shattered. “No explanation I can offer will ever suffice. It will never satisfy you. I can’t…I can’t give you what you want.”
Her face twisted into an emotion bordering on agony.
“You don’t know what I want,” she whispered.
August dropped her wrist. He took a step back, distancing himself from her.
“My sweet Loughty…” He shook his head and chuckled. “I know you completely. Every part of your soul. It’s my greatest weakness.”
Her eyes searched his face, desperation radiating from her.
“August—”
He turned away. “I should go.”
A deafening silence enveloped them, flooded with the words begging to be spoken.
“All right…fine.” She stepped past him, her fingers brushing his as she crossed his path.
There had been moments when August thought Wren looked like an angel.
Like when he’d seen her reading beneath a tree, blanketed in evening mist, her auburn hair splayed over her shoulders.
Or the time he’d caught her practicing for an exam, her arms bathed in threads of gold, brows knitted together in concentration.
Christ, there had even been times when the thought crossed his mind as she had a knife pressed against his throat.
But it was in this moment, with her face haloed by the silver glow of Blackwood and her silhouette washed in shadows, that he had never been more certain.
She was an angel in every sense of the word—vengeful, heartbreaking, beautiful.
Dangerous.
“Good night, August.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her walk out of the hall. “Sweet dreams, Loughty.”
He didn’t go to bed immediately, unable to silence the thoughts burdening his mind, the uncontrollable thoughts plaguing him like a terminal disease.
And as he stood there, contemplating what on earth had possessed him to touch her in such a shameless manner, he couldn’t help but listen to the other half of his brain.
The half that begged him to tell her that the only thing he could ever think of, the only thing he could ever dream of, was her.
That from the moment she’d appeared before him, from the moment he had first laid eyes on her, he’d known, beyond doubt, that Wren Loughty would become the immovable force that would redirect the trajectory of his life forever.