Page 120 of Spark of Sorcery

“Because she’s my mate too.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Briony

“What?” I say, blinking hard against the fiercely bright clinic lights. Did I catch that right? Did I hear what I think I heard?

Fox hangs back in the only shadow in the room and I can’t read his face.

I push back the stupid blanket and scrabble over the bed.

“What did you just say?” I whisper, my body shaking.

I must have misheard. There is no other explanation for it. Because Fox Tudor could not have said what I think he just said.

“Are you on something, man?” Dray says to the professor. “Drink something a little psychedelic?”

“I’m perfectly sound of mind,” he snarls.

“But you said–”I begin.

“You’re not her mate,” Beaufort says, stepping into the space between me and the professor. “That’s bullshit. And I don’t know why you think you can mess with our heads and her head, but–”

“Messing withyourheads?” the professor snorts. “Why would I waste my time?”

“I don’t know, you tell us.”

“She’smymate” he says and I can’t help gasping, my head reeling. Because he said it again and this time, there was no doubt about the words he uttered.

The room spins and I have to grip the blanket in my fists to stop from tumbling away.

“Not possible,” Beaufort says.

“You think just because he has some fucking marks on his wrists – ones none of the rest of you have – ones she doesn’t even have herself – that makes you her fated mates!”

“No, there’s more,” Dray says.

“Such as?” the professor says, not sounding in the least bit convinced.

Dray peers Beaufort’s way and his bond brother shakes his head.

“What …” I begin, my voice catching in my throat. For the first time I realize how raw and sore it is. “What makes you think I’m your mate, Fox?”

It seems like the craziest thing I’ve ever heard – and jeez I’ve heard and seen a lot of crazy things since arriving at the academy.

There’s a long pause. Beaufort must be right. The professor is just messing with us. I don’t know why but–

“Your scent.”

“Huh?” Dray says, ears obviously pricking up. As a wolf, I suspect he considers anything smell-related to be his domain.

“My scent?”

“Yes,” he groans, “it’s the most delicious, delectable, damn-right hypnotizing scent I’ve ever smelled. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop wanting it.” His voice hardens. “I’m addicted to it. I’m addicted to you.”

My mouth falls open. All those times it felt like he wanted to kiss me, and I dismissed them, sure I was imagining things. All the times I felt this electricity in the air between us and dismissed them too, concluding it was simply his magic in the air.

How did I not see this?