Page 17 of Wicked Dove (Institute Thirteen #1)

TWELVE

THORNE

Idon't know what the fuck is going on.

All I know is I can feel her emotions as if they are my own. Fear, uncertainty, determination, rage; all of it. It's thrumming through my veins like it comes from within me, but I know the source.

I know it's her.

With my hand wrapped around her upper arm, I drag her through the dining hall despite the audience we’ve got. Nobody ever says a word to me; they wouldn’t dare. They also wouldn’t challenge me.

I could slaughter this girl right here, right now, and no one would come to her aid.

The desire to shed some blood prickles as a thought in my mind, but I silence it quickly. Despite my instincts telling me to put my guard up and protect myself before anything can come of it, there’s another part, a curious part.

I don't know whether I'm luring her toward medical aid or her doom. Her eyes are on me with every step. I can feel the curiosity, or maybe that’s a touch of my own, because I have no idea who this girl is, but I'm already overwhelmed by her presence.

Even more than that, I’m wrung tight with the fact I’m intervening at all. I shouldn’t be helping. I wouldn’t usually, but it looks like I’m not in control of my body right now.

As we step out into the morning air, she digs her heels in and tries to pull her arm from my grip. “Actually, I’m feeling good where I am,” she says, finally realizing she's allowing a stranger to lead her anywhere they choose.

My fingers flex around her arm as I glare down at her. “Not with a gash like that, you're not,” I grunt, and she shrugs as she discreetly tries to pull her arm free again, but it doesn't work. “You'll find yourself in the medical center,” I warn, but she simply shrugs again.

“That sounds better than dealing with you or going to class. Besides, it will probably work better than whatever you might be trying to do.”

I snicker, the sound hollow as I shake my head. “The medical center will be a whole lot more painful and do very little to heal the damage she's actually done,” I grind out, irritated with her resistance.

I take a moment to assess her, but it’s impossible not to stare at the blood that drips down her cheek and over her throat, staining her white silk shirt.

It's deep, about as deep as what I imagined Rion's scar was when it was first made.

He didn't have a shadow fae to aid him, just a medical center. Does she want that for herself too?

“A lot more painful in comparison to what? You?” she asks as Kael and Rion stroll out of the dining hall with Ocean hot on their tails.

“What's going on?” Kael asks, and I sigh.

“She wants to be scarred for life,” I mutter, and Kael grunts in frustration.

“You're going to go with Thorne. It's an order,” he bites, his brows furrowing as he stares at the mess Willow made of her face, but if he’s shocked by her lack of hysteria or pain, he doesn’t show it.

It’s clear he knows more about the girl before us than I do. A fact I didn’t care to ask about when I saw her this morning or realized he had returned in one piece. If he doesn’t want to share, it’s not my place to ask, but this might be different. I might need to know.

She laughs, shaking her head dismissively, despite the pain she doesn't seem to be feeling over such an intense wound, which doesn't make sense. “It's a mess because of you,” she bites back, finger aimed at my friend, who splutters in surprise; a state I've never quite seen Kael in before.

“How do you figure that?” he grunts, and I can't deal with his erratic emotions on top of everything else right now.

So instead, I try my luck, release my hold on her arm, and give her the freedom she seeks. I nod for her to follow me, and although she nibbles on her bottom lip with concern, she silently moves after me.

I'm rattled to the core. Here I am passing judgment on Kael’s erratic behavior when I feel just as insane myself. With every step I take, the words that have been imprinted into my soul repeat in my mind as if this is what I'm meant to be doing, like this is where I'm meant to be.

They will rise with fire in their bones and ruin in their wake, step the shadows that you reap and give more than you shall take. Blood shall bind you, love shall break you. Only in the face of death shall the path be clear; the world mourns with the final tear.

Those words… they've followed me throughout my life. I will never forget them. They were the last words spoken to me before I arrived here, and they’ll stick with me until my last breath.

I shake them off for now, though. They’re not helping me think properly. It seems, around this new addition to Institute Thirteen, I need all the sense I can get.

I head toward the academic building, where all our lessons take place. The heavy wooden doors are perched at the top of three deep steps, and I race up them, not bothering to hold the door open for her as I make my way through the sea of students.

As I step inside, the smell of rich, waxed wood fills the air, washing over me like the heavy restraint I know it to be.

I take the hallway to my left, marching to the end before I glance over my shoulder.

She's only four steps behind and the others are nowhere to be seen.

Considering that classes are about to begin this morning, I opt to move to the right, spying an empty classroom two doors down.

Barging inside, I flick the light switch on and wave her in. She comes freely and I slam the door shut behind us just as Kael and Rion appear on the other side of the glass.

“Let us in,” Kael grunts, and I shake my head.

“Stay the fuck out.”

“Thorne,” Rion warns, and I shake my head before reaching for the little string that pulls the blinds down.

“Stay. Out,” I repeat, pulling them closed as I turned the lock, securing the two of us in the room.

Turning back to the object of my curiosity, my gaze latches onto the wound that continues to ooze blood down her face. Yet here she stands, unfazed. My pulse throbs, my mind chanting the same two words over and over and over again.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.

Nobody should be able to stand there like that, all wounded without feeling an ounce of pain. I can sense her emotions, the uncertainty of being in this room alone with me, a feeling she has every right to, but whatever she’s destined to awaken in me isn’t what I want or need.

“What are you?” I snap, and she rears back in surprise, hand flying to her chest as she shakes her head at me.

“That's rude.”

I roll my eyes at her in irritation. “Don't pretend like Ocean didn't tell you who I am.”

She shrugs, her eyes darting to the left, fixated on the chalkboard that hasn’t been used since I've been here, but now it seems to hold her attention more than I do.

“What. Are. You?” I repeat, and she sighs.

“I thought you were going to help me with this?” she grumbles, pointing at her face, and I huff.

“I’m still deciding.”

“Deciding?” she repeats, eyes wide in confusion, and I grunt.

“Whether to help you or make it worse,” I answer truthfully, and her jaw falls slack.

“Why would you do that?” she mutters as I take a step toward her.

“Tell me what you are.” My magic thrums through my veins, easing the ache and tension that always coils tight when I keep it on lock, but when I set it free, it’s enthralling.

I let it seep into the room, whispering around the edges, and she gulps.

“A scythe.”

There's confusion in her words as she speaks.

“A scythe? They never make it out of The Sanctum. And Kael is your guardian?” I clarify, and she exhales with irritation.

“Unfortunately.”

Fuck. I don’t know what any of this means.

Retracting my magic, I turn to the closest desk and brace my fists on the wood as I try to gather my thoughts, but all my body, mind, and magic want to do is reach out and touch her.

I feel no rage, no fear, no pain.

It’s jarring.

A scythe isn't a threat, not to me, but at least it explains why she's walking around all bewildered and confused about the whole damn world she’s found herself in. But the level of magic that she holds is undeniable.

How did they even let her live?

She doesn't know her capabilities, not like I do, and it’s better it stays that way.

There’s a reason scythes never make it through The Sanctum, that they’re mostly a myth among the world since their existence dwindles.

It’s why their magic is hidden, the beings mingling among the humans without knowledge.

Most of them die never knowing, unless they cause someone’s death. Then their truth is revealed.

She’s as rare as the shadow fae, just not as rare as me.

Coming here was a political move for me, one I had no say in, one to shield me away from this level of magic.

No wonder she evokes such strong emotions inside of me.

But I didn't come all the way from my homeland to face off with someone like this.

The decision to come here was because it was the most logical and safe place for me. My plan beyond here is my own when the time comes, if the time comes, but that begs the question of what she knows.

Does she know my allies, my sworn enemies, my secrets?

Fuck. Death, it has to be.

She exhales heavily, distracting me from my thoughts as she perches herself on the desk beside me. “Can you decide what you're doing because the blood really is making a mess,” she grumbles.

“It won't matter when you're dead,” I threaten, and she sighs again, standing tall as she faces off with me.

“I think if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already.”

I stand, turning to face her so we're toe to toe, hoping to use my height advantage to make her step back, but it has no effect.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, and she shrugs.

“I don't know, a feeling, I guess.”

All I feel from her is calmness. Running my tongue over my bottom lip, my fingers flex at my sides and my mind tries to settle, but it’s impossible when I’m so wrapped up in the enigma before me.

“Tell me who I am,” I order, nostrils flaring as I try to contain my instincts.

“Thorne,” she states, and I cock a brow. She knows what I mean, and the eye roll that comes next confirms it. “A shadow fae,” she admits, but I let the silence stretch out, waiting for one last word to be added to that statement, and she huffs. “The last shadow fae.”

“And what does that mean?” I push and she scoffs, blinking up at me in confusion.

“How am I supposed to know?”

There’s no elevation in her heart rate, no nervous eye contact, no sense of fear or uncertainty. I have to believe her.

Before I can think better of it and change my mind, I lift my hand to her wound and let my magic consume me. My eyelids fall closed as a slight hiss parts her lips. I’m eager to check on her, but instead, I focus on the task at hand.

She doesn't move an inch. If anything, she embraces the touch, encouraging the healing until my magic coils back up my arm, returning to me.

When I finally open my eyes, there's not a single blemish on her face, just blood on her shirt, the only evidence that any harm was caused here today. My fingers are still splayed across her cheek, and I can't seem to pull them away.

Despite my efforts, my thumb strokes across her delicate skin, like I'm lured closer; her magic drawing me nearer as I lean in without realizing it.

Her chest heaves in short, shallow puffs as my lips ghost her cheek, sealing the wound, but the contact is too much and I bolt to the other end of the room.

With my hands splayed on the walls behind me, I heave every breath, my heart almost ripping from my chest at her proximity.

Fuck.

Her touch against my lips is something I can’t even comprehend.

She gapes at me in surprise, a flicker of uncertainty, and I latch onto it.

“Keep the hell away from me,” I snap, already regretting healing her instead of killing her, but I know I can't do that now, not with the emotions running through me. “I mean it, stay away from me,” I repeat as she lifts her hand to her healed cheek.

I snarl at her, baring my teeth as my magic begins to flood the room, and she hurries for the door as the tendrils of my magic threaten to reach her.

Will she let me catch her, lure her into my trap? Definitely not.

Instead, she glares over her shoulder at me, uttering two words before she disappears.

“With pleasure.”