Page 108 of The Bound Blood
Adeline blinks. “I thought we already were?”
Tamsin stares at her for a beat…then grins. A slow, delighted, chaotic grin. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she declares, wagging a finger at Adeline. “You and me? We’re doing this.”
Adeline lifts one elegant shoulder. “If you insist.”
The bickering between Tamsin and Adeline has just reached the point where I’m certain the table might actually combust from personality friction when the air changes.
A presence approaches—controlled, confident, annoyingly self-assured.
Auron Draven.
He moves through the dining hall like he expects the walls to part for him. White-blond hair, immaculate. Posture perfect. Expression bored in the way only someone raised on too much privilege can manage.
He stops at our table, eyes sliding past Nolan like he’s furniture and skipping right over Tamsin as if she doesn’t exist.
“Lindsay,” he says, voice smooth as polished steel, “are you prepared for our patrol tonight?”
Nolan stiffens. Tamsin bristles. Lindsay blinks, taken aback. And Auron doesn’t even pretend to notice either of their reactions.
He finally acknowledges me with a curt nod. “Raiden.”
I nod back, jaw tight. “Auron.”
Then his attention shifts to Adeline—because even Auron isn’t stupid enough to ignore a fae noble and her glacial lineage. He dips his chin in polite greeting.
“Lady Torren.”
Adeline returns the nod, eyes narrowing just slightly, like she’s assessing a threat level. “Draven.”
Auron doesn’t linger on her either. He’s already turned back to Lindsay, because that’s where his focus has been the entire time.
“I’ll meet you at the west perimeter gate,” he continues, ignoring the way Nolan’s grip tightens around his book. “Be ready by dusk.”
Lindsay hesitates, glancing between the rest of us. “I… yes. I’ll be there.”
Auron’s lips tilt. “Good.”
He gives one final sweeping look over the group—pausing a fraction of a second longer on me, as if checking whether I’m about to challenge him—then turns on his heel and walks away with the entitled grace of someone who’s never once been told no.
The second he’s gone, Tamsin hisses, “I don’t like him.”
Nolan mutters, “He didn’t even breathe in my direction.”
Adeline sips her tea. “He’s predictable. Predictable can be useful, if you want to use him, that is.”
Lindsay sighs, leaning back in her chair. “He’s…complicated.”
I watch Auron’s retreating figure, my gut twisting with something I don’t have a name for yet. Complicated isn’t the word I’d use.
Not even close.
THIRTY-NINE
LINDSAY
The air bites tonight.
Enough to warn winter is close. The sky is fading from bruised lavender into deep indigo as I make my way toward the west perimeter gate. Frost is already forming at the edges of the stone path, catching what little light remains and scattering it like crushed glass.
