I shot upright, needing to warn her, to tell her what I’d learned. “Claire!”
A blast of spirit energy hit me square in the chest, knocking me backward into the stone, my head landing harshly against the rock.
Claire, it’s not who we thought. It’s—
Claire
Exos!
I flew upward, hand to my racing heart.
Titus stirred beside me, his abdomen rippling as he stretched in his sleep. He murmured my name and sighed, his lips curling.
God, he was beautiful.
For a few blissful hours, he’d helped me forget, provided me with a pleasure that still hummed through my being.
Until Exos called to me.
I rubbed my chest, tentatively plucking at the wounded bond and wondering what he’d been trying to tell me. It sounded like a warning, a sharp plea for me to listen, only to be silenced by something harsh.
The connection between us thrived, more alive than before but still tainted by a dark, disturbing presence. Who are you? I wondered, careful not to provoke the essence. It weighed over our bond like a thick cloud, menacing and cruel and filled with malicious intent.
Something about it seemed familiar, reminding me of the out-of-control vortex from Air Quad earlier this week. But that was impossible. Aerie had cast that havoc, laying the blame falsely at my feet.
So how do I know you? I slid from the covers, my skin tender from Titus’s affection. A glance at the clock had me swallowing a groan. I’d slept for maybe two hours. It would have to be good enough because I was wide awake now.
But Titus could sleep another ninety minutes or so before he had to wake for class.
Maybe I’d have breakfast ready for him.
I smiled at the thought of something normal to do. Then remembered there was nothing normal about fae food. Frowning, I put on a pair of silky shorts and a camisole top, then wandered into the shared kitchen of the dorm to see what I could find.
No eggs.
No bacon.
Not even potatoes.
“What the fuck am I going to make without the staples?” I grumbled, unfamiliar with pretty much every item in the fridge. What I wouldn’t give for some cheese and peppers to put in an omelet. Ugh, my stomach rumbled in agreement at the thought.
“Uh, want some help?” a soft voice asked from behind me.
I whirled around to see Vox standing in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants, his long hair mussed and hanging around his bare shoulders. I blinked twice, stunned by the sight of his surprisingly ripped torso. His slender appearance had placed my expectations on the scrawny side, but Vox possessed the body of a runner—lean and athletic, without an ounce of fat on him.
He raised a dark brow. “Claire?”
I shook my head, clearing it. “Sorry, you startled me.” Understatement. More like he shocked the hell out of me. I coughed to unblock my suddenly thickened throat. “I, uh, wanted to make an omelet. But there aren’t any eggs.”
“Eggs?” he repeated, his brow furrowing. “In the morning?”
“When else would you eat them?” I wondered aloud.
He stared at me for a long moment and shrugged. “Not in the morning, but all right.” He started shuffling through cabinets until he found two cartons and set them on the counter. He inspected the inside and smiled. “These’ll do. They’re fresh, too.”
“Why aren’t they in the fridge?”
“Why would you put eggs in a fridge?” he countered.