Page 20 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

“My plan for my project was to release it for free online,” I say.

My mouth is dry, tongue sandy. “After graduation. No patents, no copyrights. I have a job lined up with a nonprofit that does that sort of thing, so I was going to use this as a way to reaffirm their choice. We’re only supposed to see how evocation and conjuration overlap, but if our projects end up being tied together, that could mean your project getting released, too. ”

I expect him to recoil at the idea of releasing any spell for free. The Tourael will come out in him, and he’ll balk.

But he shrugs. “I have no problem with that. Even if we don’t get concrete conclusions by graduation, our research will still make a good stepping stone for others.”

My eyes narrow.

Is he mocking me? But he looks sincere.

I shift toward my desk, scrambling for grip in a brain that suddenly feels polished smooth. “Sure. Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” I straighten my already straight laptop. “That’s all light-years away. But my—my project.”

Elethior’s chair squeaks again, and out of the corner of my eye I see him slide down in it. He’s fidgeting with his pen, tapping it on his notebook, his knee bouncing.

“I’m studying a way to cap energy pulled from components during spells rather than a wizard having to rely on their own concentration to ration amounts,” I say too fast. Familiarity cancels out the strain, and my shoulders relax as I fall into something I know.

“A safety net thrown over every spell so wizards don’t have to worry about unnecessarily draining components. ”

He’s writing something, and he nods. “It’s irritating to always have to allot focus to ensure the correct amount of a component is used.”

I barely restrain an eye roll. “Yeah. Irritating.” I idly scroll as I talk.

“I’ve been poking at this idea for months—well, longer, but I fine-tuned it for the grant proposal.

The biggest problem I keep running into is that having one rune or equation that could be thrown into a larger spell is complicated, because every spell is too unique, with different components and amounts.

I’d have to factor the energy demands of every possible component for every spell into the safety net so it’d adjust to whatever’s being used, which would make it massive and impractical. ”

“And when you thought we’d be able to get away with working solo”—he peeks up at me with a told you so leer, and my hands clench—“what was the schedule you were aiming for?”

I spin my laptop to show him the calendar I created.

“Research for the first few weeks,” I explain. “Develop at least three different theories. Test those theories. Fine-tune based on the results. Run more tests.” An anticipated sub-step: scream in frustration a lot. “Develop a conclusion and overall analysis, then write it up.”

Elethior rolls his chair closer to my screen. It puts him right next to me, his rich, earthy cologne nebulous in the air.

His thigh touches mine.

Warmth blazes from the base of my neck down to my lower back and I rip my leg away.

He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s studying my calendar, making a few more notes.

“What are you working on?” I ask. Damn these silences straight to hell.

Elethior grins at his notebook and kicks my desk so he rolls a few feet away. “The energy between a conjurer and their conjured item. But I have an idea. I’d like you to hear my idea before you bite my head off. Can you do that?”

My glare flattens. “Lose the condescending tone and yeah, I can.”

“I think we should focus on your project first. We can both tackle research so we—”

“ Woah, no way. It’s your turn to tell me what you’re working on. What do you mean, a conjurer and their conjured item?” That’s all Davyeras said at the awards brunch, too, that Elethior was working on the limitations of the energy connection between a conjurer and their conjured item.

Elethior sighs, stands, and walks his chair back to his desk. The dismissal has me shoving up from my own chair and crossing into his workstation, even though it means kicking his gym bag out of the way.

He squares off toward me like he’s prepared for a fight. “We should start with our combined focus on your project, at least for a week or so. It’ll let us figure out how to work together before we take on too much. Email me the research you did for your grant proposal, will you?”

He scribbles something on a piece of paper, rips it out, and hands it to me before tossing his notebook on his desk.

I take the paper. It’s his email address and cell number.

My back cramps. “Um, you email me the research you did for your grant proposal, and we’ve got a deal.”

He’s perfected the disappointed, exhausted sigh thing. “No.”

I roughly pocket his email. “ No? ”

“No. As I said, I wanted you to listen to my idea before you take my head off. We should start with your project. We’ll get familiar with working together on it, then I’ll bring my project into the mix. Yours has merit, and I want us to—”

I black out. One minute, I’m standing a respectable distance away; the next, I’m right against him.

“You’re not taking my project, Tourael,” I snarl.

He huffs through his nose. “I’m not taking it. We should focus on yours to start . Gods, I told you not to bite my head off—”

“We’re working together. Which means figuring out how conjuration and evocation interact in both of our projects and doing what the committee wanted us to do, so when we have our check-ins, we can tell them more than Elethior’s being a great assistant for me .”

He rolls his eyes. “Like fuck I’ll be your assistant. And, again, I didn’t say forever . Just until we get our sea legs with not wanting to kill each other, which we’re doing a bang-up job of so far.”

“And my project’s the guinea pig?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

Rage is lava-hot, scalding every fiber, every nerve ending. My hands lift, fingers curling, not because I want to hit him, but because, okay, I do, but I won’t; and I want to cast a banishment spell and shunt him back to the Fae Plane, but I won’t.

I told him about my project. Only Orok and a few of my professors know the details; my parents know about it in a vague sense because I was obsessed with the concept when I was younger.

It’s like Elethior took this knowledge and shoved it carelessly into his disorganized clutter of a notebook, and it cracks me like glass, a shatter spiderwebbing through my torso.

“You pretentious piece of shit ! You coerced me into telling you about my project and now you’re holding it hostage?”

Elethior sucks his teeth, annoyance heavy on his face, which grates on my already raw nerves like sandpaper. He has no right to be annoyed by me; it isn’t his research getting used as a test dummy for cooperation.

“Not everything is a manipulation,” he growls. “And right now, you’re proving me right in being cautious about us taking on too much at once.”

“Then we should’ve decided on parameters before you had me tell you about my project, and we should’ve decided whose to go in on together . This isn’t collaboration; this is you being a narcissistic control freak.”

His head jerks to the side, nostrils flaring. I watch his chest rise and fall before he crosses his arms over that black T-shirt.

“You’re right,” he says softly.

I jolt back. Then regroup. “I know I am.”

Elethior faces me again, chin lifted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have decided on our plan of action without your input.”

My mouth drops open.

At my surprise, Elethior’s eyes sparkle, but his steady mask holds.

I snap my jaw shut.

“Now.” He tips his head, black hair falling over his shoulder. “After this little… interaction, do you honestly believe we’re ready to tackle both projects at once?”

My body thrums with the need to move, to do something, all that anger festering in my muscles like poison. I groan, take a step away, come back, and groan again.

“Screw you,” I growl.

He grins. “We’ll work on your project and see how evocation and conjuration play together with that. We have three weeks until our first check-in; that gives us plenty of time to figure each other out.”

I glare one more time, trying to read him for any weak spots. There are none, as usual.

“Whatever,” I grumble like I’m twelve. “I’ll send you my research and let you know what reading I was planning to do. You can take half of it. If there are any conjuration resources you think would supplement, would you mind, O great one, mentioning them before we delve in too deep?”

Elethior sits again, slowly looks up at me, and positively beams.

“Are you admitting that there are valuable things to be learned from conjuration?”

I hold my ground—I have to stop letting him bait me so easily.

“I am, actually.” I march back to my desk. “That’s the point of this grant now, right?”

“Aw,” he throws at my retreating back. “I’m proud of you, baby boy.”

Don’t cuss at him.

Don’t curse him.

Don’t anything him.

I sit primly. Perfect posture. I’m downright elegant .

After I fire off an email to him with all my research, I sort through the components I have in my belt. I always keep a wide array of things along with a few prepared vials.

I find what I’m looking for and toss an appreciative nod to the dagger hail that’s still going strong outside, thanking it for the inspiration.

Elethior’s back is to me as he scrolls through what I assume is my research on his phone.

I ready the components, mutter the incantation, and send the spell skipping merrily across the lab.

Frost creeps up the bottom of his chair, freezing the wheels, the rungs, the base, until—

He rockets up with a yelp, only his chair is frozen to the floor and can’t roll away. Which makes him bang his thighs into his desk and flail back onto the now ice-solid seat of his chair.

Elethior stills, hands splayed, ass no doubt a little chilly.

“Sebastian,” he barks, still not facing me.

“Oh no,” I coo. “The evil witch-king must be after you. Should I call an adventure party?”