Page 71 of Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy #1)

“It shouldn’t.” He shifted closer, bringing a hand up toward her, tentative at first, his fingers tracing the hem of her shirt.

When she didn’t protest, he wound his fingers around her waist and tugged her toward him.

“You are my affliction because it takes everything in me not to rip apart my principles and act upon my longing. I have an impulse to be with you all the time. To be physically nearyou.”

“Do you?” Wren breathed, her fingers snaking around his neck.

August inhaled deeply. He smiled, but there was pain behind it. Anguish. “It’s exasperating.”

“What is?”

“How often I think about you.”

She studied him, waiting for a flash of irony, but found nothing. Only his ashen eyes staring back at her, the rising and falling of his chest, the slight strain in his jaw as he waited for her to respond.

She whispered the next question into his mind.

Then why don’t you do something about it?

It was a challenge. A plea. She tightened her grip on his neck, and watched in satisfaction as a muscle in his jaw jumped. She brought her hand up higher, slowly, threading her fingers through his dark curls.

“You think I haven’t been tempted to?” His head tilted back against her touch, compliant. “That I haven’t dreamt about it? That I haven’t driven myself fucking mad with the torment of my own thoughts?”

His fingers squeezed tightly at her waist. All of her nerves stood on end, a crackling energy rolling through them. She could lose herself completely in it, if she gave in, if she allowed herselfto.

“What’s stopping you now?”

“My conscience,” he whispered, a sardonic lilt to his voice.

“I wasn’t aware you had one.”

It was meant to be a joke, a teasing remark, but something about the way the words left her lips made the air in the room spark with palpable electricity. He clenched his jaw and pulled her even closer, destroying whatever space remained between them.

“Oh, I have one.” Spots of color spread over his cheeks. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her cheek. The softest touch. Agonizingly brief. And then he pulled back and whispered, “But if I’m being completely honest with you…it’s hanging on by a thread.”

“Good.”

His hand caressed her waist before rising, gently gliding onto her shoulder, not stopping until his fingers found their way below her chin. He tilted her head back, the tip of his nose brushing against hers.

“Why is that a good thing?”

“Because…” Wren arched toward him. “Threads can break.”

And that was all the encouragement he needed.

His lips crashed against hers before she could speak another word.

There was no gentle introduction. No hesitance on either of their parts.

Just an overwhelming desperation to feel one another, to be closer, to drink each other in with an unabashed eagerness that would normally set the two of them on edge.

Wren found herself collapsing into him, her arms tightening around his neck.

August held her steady, hands hungry and desperate to cover every inch of her body—her neck, her waist, the small of her back.

A small moan fluttered from his lips, and it was enough to make her whimper, enough to make her lose herself completely.

The temperature shifted in the room as August slid back onto his feet, pushing her backward.

He guided her toward the bed, neither of them breaking contact, their lips locked with every step.

He set her down gently, placing her on the mattress, brushing her hair away from her face with his open palm.

For a moment, he pulled away, eyes searching hers.

“Is this okay—”

“Yes,” Wren interjected, blushing at the strain in her voice. “Is this…are you sure this is what you want?”

August dipped his face back down, pressing his lips againsthers.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he groaned against her mouth. “How desperately I need you? How hopelessly I am yours?”

Wren slid her hands over his chest, her palms burning against his skin, and pulled his mouth back onto hers. Crossing the line between them felt like sprinting off the edge of a cliff, like falling straight through the air and savoring the inevitable destruction waiting for her at the bottom.

His eyes raked over her face, searching for something.

“Wren.” Her name slipped from his lips like a desperate prayer. “Are you sure?”

Was she sure she wanted this? Of course.

She’d always known, despite everything, that her connection with August was something she could never run from.

They had become each other’s salvation. Fated souls destined to collide.

But she also knew it wasn’t smart. That she was opening herself up to the possibility of heartbreak.

Of finding something dangerously close to hope, only to have it shatter tomorrow at the end of the last trial.

She wanted him in ways she didn’t quite understand. In ways that terrified her.

She knew he must be feeling the same thing. Confronted with the same hesitance. She saw it reflected in his eyes. That desperation to close the space between them, marred by the fear that it might be the last time.

But in the end, the answer was easy.

Wren laced her fingers through his, pulling him closer. She pressed a kiss against his neck, reveling in the way he wilted against her touch. When he looked back down at her, she saw adoration reflected in his eyes. Divinity.

I’m sure. Wren let the words flow into his mind without restraint.

And for the first time since Wren had spotted August sulking down the halls of Blackwood Academy, neither of them fought to fill the space between them with words. Neither of them challenged the other with snarky remarks, desperate to outwit one another.

For once, they were silent. Their bodies communing under the silver glow of night.

Wren woke up hours later, the taste of August’s lips still lingering on her mouth, the feeling of his hands still burned into her skin. But when her eyelids fluttered open, hand reaching out toward him, there was nothing there.

Only a cold, empty bed.

She wasn’t surprised. She had expected him to leave. He wasn’t one to face his emotions, and the pain of their losing one another was probably too much for him to bear. She didn’t take it personally.

If the tables had been turned—she would have done the same thing.

But once she was awake, she couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was more than just the memories of August. There was something missing.

The pieces had been revealed to them, the truth of the Decennial an unwelcome burden she now carried with every breath.

But none of that explained how Louise had been able to access shadow magic.

None of that answered the questions they had been plagued with for the past week.

Wren snatched her coat from her nightstand, slipping it on as she strode out of her room and made her way out of Pettyworth.

The impenetrable fog slithered around her limbs like the featherlight touch of a ghost, clouding her vision and disorienting her senses.

Her mind was a scrambled mess of desperation, but even so, she knew exactly where to go, her feet moving steadily beneathher.

Litterman House loomed in front of her, windows completely devoid of light.

It was like looking into the carcass of a beast. She shivered, approaching the double doors.

When she placed her hand upon the doorknob, she realized that the wards had been shut off.

Strange. The protective wards were always working during the night, preventing students from other Houses from entering without a chaperone.

But there was no time to unravel that mystery.

Wren simply counted herself lucky and stepped inside.

She made her way up the stairs, cursing as the old wood creaked beneath her weight.

The dormitories were on the second and third level, another maze of corridors and doors similar to that of Pettyworth.

But Louise had mentioned her room number weeks earlier, which meant Wren knew exactly where to go to find her.

Room 31.

Wren knocked, holding her breath. She expected to hear the shuffle of feet, the sound of the bed creaking as Louise stood up to greet her, but there was nothing.

She knocked once more.

“Lou?” she whispered, pressing her ear against the door. Still nothing.

Wren placed her hand upon the doorknob, surprised to find the door unlocked. She pushed forward, stepping into the room.

A strangled gasp escaped her throat when she found what waited for her on the other side.

The room had been ransacked. A scattered valley of ripped-up papers and journals. The sheets had not only been thrown to the floor but torn. Ripped apart as though they had been mauled by a wild animal. Black ink smeared the walls, spelling out nonsensical ramblings with no beginning and no end.

And, most importantly, there was no sign of Louise.

Wren placed a shaking hand over her mouth as she took in the mess in front of her, scanning the walls, attempting to make sense of the frantic writing. There were words that stood out to her: carnage, deceit, prophecy, awakening. But none of it made sense.

Something caught her eye. A piece of paper placed upon a wooden desk.

She approached it slowly, a horrible tension gripping her chest, twisting her insides mercilessly.

And that was when she saw it.

Her name. Smeared in red ink. Written over and over and over.

Wren. Wren. Wren. Wren. Wren. Wren.

She picked up the paper with a trembling hand, lifting it toward the silver glow of the sky. But something was wrong. This ink wasn’t just red. It was dark crimson, dried and crusted over.

It was blood.

Wren gasped, dropping the paper. She stumbled backward, panic and confusion blotting out her senses. She was paralyzed by a tidal wave of questions, each one more terrifying than the last.

Had Louise done this? Had someone taken her? Had her friend been lying to her this entire time?

Wren needed to find her. She bolted out of the room, determined to locate Louise, only to go crashing straight into another body. She gasped, prepared to fight, summoning a surge of fire through her limbs—

“Ms.Loughty!” It was Housemaster Calligan. He gripped Wren’s shoulder tightly with one hand, the other clutching a lantern. “What on earth are you doing here? We’ve been looking foryou.”

“I—I came to find Louise. To speak with her.” Wren attempted to steady her breathing, speaking through choked gasps. “But she’s not in her room. She’s not there—”

“Oh, I’m sure Louise has simply snuck off somewhere…much like you, might I add.”

Wren shook her head. “But her room…I think something might have— Wait. Did you say you were looking for me?”

Calligan nodded, solemn. “There has been a change. Unforeseen circumstances have altered the Decennial’s schedule.”

Terror pooled in Wren’s stomach. “What are you saying?”

Calligan stepped forward, the glow of his lantern illuminating the space between them.

“You must come with me,” he whispered. “The fourth and final trial is about to begin.”