Page 55 of Stormbringer (Tracthesian Academy #1)
I rishen Sleethill was silently praying to any god or goddess or spirit, power or deity of any kind, willing to listen, not to let him fuck this up.
His biggest regret in life leaned against his chest. Hellion, son of hell, the mighty, had pleaded for his help. If that wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what was.
Worry and elation warred inside of him. The woman who had made any and all of this possible lay unconscious and battered on the floor.
Ilijas was carefully healing her, but Risha knew from experience that healing suppression only went so far. She would have to heal herself eventually, all Ilijas could do was kickstart the process.
“What is she?” Marc gasped. He seemed to be getting his power under control and was staring at Wayla like everyone else.
Sinister spoke first, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s part succubus or some sub-species thereof.” He looked at her like a puzzle he needed to crack.
“That wasn’t some hell related power,” Hellion immediately retorted. Silently, Risha agreed, not that he was an expert on the subject.
“But there’s something about her…” Sinister trailed off.
“What do we actually know about her?” Marc asked. “For certain, I mean?”
“That she would rather risk herself than kill a bunch of innocents,” Irishen blurted out without meaning to. Every eye turned to him, and he had the urge to hide behind a sneer, but Jarred’s nod gave him enough support to hold that reaction back.
“She’s kind and caring,” Jarred added. Marc snorted at that, but stilled when Jarred glared at him. “When the two of you went ballistic on her, she stood up for you, because she didn’t want to cause a rift between us. Only reason I’ve been talking to you idiots this last week, by the way.”
“You—what?” Irishen gasped. He had heard about the breakup that wasn’t a breakup, like the rest of Tracthesian Academy, but apparently, there was more. There always was when Powerhouses were involved. He should have known better.
Marc ignored him and Jarred, but Irishen felt Hellion tense against him and then push up to his feet.
“I don’t think we know anything for certain,” he said. “I really think we need to find out.”
Of course, he did. Hellion couldn’t stand being left in the dark, no matter what his poking brought to light. Irishen wanted to object. To tell him to let it be. Let her come to him, but he bit back the words. Hellion wouldn’t listen, on this, he never had.
“No.” The word came out of Jarred with such force that it halted all movement in the room. “You will not go digging, Hellion,” he said, and then moved his glare to Marc and then Sinister. “Neither will you two.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Sinister asked, clearly curious.
“How well are things going with Rosaliz?” Jarred replied with a raised brow. Sinister’s face closed off in an instant, and he shook his head.
“Point taken,” he said and walked out of the room.
“But what if—”
Jarred cut Marc off, too, “What if what? What gives you the right to go tearing through her life when at no point has she posed any threat to anyone?”
“We don’t know that,” Hellion growled. Cursing himself, Irishen spoke up.
“Even if she’s an assassin sent to kill you, you won’t do any good poking at it.”
“You think she’s—”
“No!” Irishen felt exasperated. It was like hitting his head into a wall time and time again.
“I’m saying, no matter what or who she is, if you value even a shred of the relationship you had, you let her tell you.
You don’t tear into something you have no idea—” He cut himself off. “Never mind. Ilijas, she’s stable?”
“Yes,” the healer replied quietly.
“Can I do anything else for her?”
“No. She needs rest and time.”
“Right, then I’m getting out of here.” He looked at Jarred. “Take care of her? Or get her over to Di. They’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Sure,” Jarred replied carefully. Justin nodded at him, letting him know he’d let him know if something went too badly off the rails. Maybe. Not waiting for the things to devolve further, when he really had no say in the matter, Irishen walked out without a backward glance.