Page 114 of Storm of Shadows

“We’ll see you later.”

What? No apology? No attempt to patch things up?

Nope, just back to treating me like they always do.

“Seriously?” I say, closing my eyes. When I open them again the other two shadow weavers have gone. In fact, everyone else has gone, leaving just me and pain-boy out here in the dusk.

I roll my head to the side. It’s not just my muscles that hurt, the cramps are really painful now and I have a feeling moving is going to make them worse.

Through the darkness, I spy Thorne’s large figure. He’s no longer running. Instead, he stands with his arms outstretched, his shadow magic streaming across the field. His shadows aren’t silvery like Beaufort’s, they’re jet black – like the deepest part of the forest back home where the branches of the trees all tangle overhead, black like the darkest of winter nights. They streak across the space, and even from this distance, I feel their power, despite their darkness, a warmth brushing against my skin.

I can’t read his face over the distance, but I can tell, by the stance of his legs, by the way he’s bracing his body, that he’s using all his strength to shoot those shadows across the field. Or maybe it’s not that at all? Maybe he’s using all his strength to wield those shadows, to control and bind them.

I shiver, thinking of my sister. Maybe Fox is right. Shadow weavers can unleash their powers out here with no restraint and no precautions. Maybe it would have been easy for her to take a wrong turning, to stumble somewhere she shouldn’t have been, and end up caught in the crossfire.

No! Amelia was smart and careful. I just can’t believe it.

With a dramatic groan, I roll up to sit and then heave myself up onto my feet.

My detention starts in twenty minutes and I have no desire to turn up a sweaty, broken mess.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Fox

Once upon a time, nights at the academy were the highlight of my entire short-lived existence. A chance for fun and frivolity that was seriously lacking in the mundane and misery of Slate Quarter.

That was a long time ago, though. It’s been years since my nights could be considered anything close to fun or entertaining.

Perhaps tonight will be different.

Because tonight the girl is due here for her detention and, despite everything, despite the dangers, a sense of anticipation builds in the pit of my stomach. Another sensation I haven’t experienced in a long, long time.

I wait at my desk, an unread book open on the surface, my gaze focused on the door, my ears alert for the sound of her tread on the steps, for the first hint of her scent. The anticipation in my stomach builds, and my hands ball into fists on my knees, my short nails pinching into my skin.

This is dangerous.

What was I thinking telling her to meet me down here alone? Where no one would find us. Where no one could stop me.

I screw shut my eyes.

I am being pessimistic. I am in control. I will maintain control.

For a moment, I believe it, and then I hear it. The first distant slap of her shoe on the stone.

With my eyes still closed, I inhale, deep and strong, sucking the air through my nose and into my mouth.

I groan as I catch the first taste of her and my tongue slides automatically along my lower lip.

The smell of her is even more potent today than before. More metallic, more raw. It has my aching stomach moaning in pleasure and in torture.

If only I could …

The footsteps quicken as if she’s trotting down those last few steps, and then there’s the inevitable knock on the door.

My eyelids snap open.

“Come in,” I boom.