She waved her hand at me as if she didn’t want me to speak and reached for my hand. Pulling it up to her face, she traced the lines in my palm.

“You opened the door?” she asked.

Her expression showed no fury or menacing power, more just a quizzical nature, so I relaxed a little.

“Yes … ma’am. It was unlocked.”

She winced. “Do I look old enough to be called ma’am?”

I grinned and shook my head. “Sorry. Miss?”

She nodded, dropping my hand. “That’s better. Now, who are you?”

I swallowed hard. “Nai, of Crescent Clan.”

Her gaze narrowed and seemed to run the length of my hair. “Crescent Clan?” A strange look of shock? Surprise?—something I couldn’t quite place—flickered across her face, and then it was gone. “You really shouldn’t be in here—”

Someone cleared their throat, farther down the hall, and a book snapped shut.

I frowned. “What is this place?”

She chewed her lip as if mentally wrestling with something.

With a snap of her fingers, a little table appeared with a chair on either side. The quality of the stained wood was excellent, the surface completely unmarred of graffiti or even nicks or pen marks.

Several books sat on the top, and my eyes widened when I realized they were a stack of yearbooks, the six missing ones from the shelf.

But how did they get in here? And why? Did she know I’d been looking for these only minutes ago?

She looked down at the book and then toward the door. “You must go now.”

Okay … was that code for “Take the books with you?”

“So … can I borrow these?”

Another sound like the flapping of wings came from deeper down the hall, and her gaze sharpened. “Go!”

I grabbed the six books, spun, and pulled open the door, praying to every deity in all of history that the king and high mage would be gone.

Stepping into the Alpha Academy library, I sagged in relief to find I was completely alone.

Thank the mage.

My mind reeled with the conversation Kian and the king had had but mostly with the secret library and the silver-haired mage I’d met. This school held more secrets than a beach had sand.

Pushing all of that from my mind, I sank to the ground between the aisles with an overwhelming need to see pictures of my father. I missed him so much it hurt.

Thumbing through the top book, I found that it was my uncle’s graduation year. My father was two years younger and would have been a second year.

I flipped through it until I spotted my uncle smiling in his cap and gown, and a lump of emotion filled my throat. My father stood right next to him, holding bunny ears over his cap. He had his other arm around my Uncle Mackay. Mackay had the same lithe build and the same wide-set, pale blue eyes that both Dad and I had. What would he say if he were here now?

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I stared, and my throat tightened.

“Miss you, Dad,” I whispered, running my fingers over the page. My uncle and father were the best of friends. They did everything together growing up and never had the typical alpha sibling rivalry. I flipped through the pages, stopping when a group photo caught my eye.

My stomach dropped.

I knew it! I knew my father would never lie to me.

There was Dad, in a suit, at some party, grinning ear to ear. But my uncle was grinning like a lunatic, his golden-blond hair tousled and messy. Uncle Mackay leaned to the side, off-balance, pulled by another young man on his left. I stared, jaw gaping, at the young man … the spitting image of Rage, except this version of him was laughing, arm around my uncle like they were the best of friends. Dark black hair, green eyes, and swoon-worthy smile. It wasn’t Rage though; it was his dad.

I flipped through the other yearbooks, looking for pictures of my uncle Mackay. In every single group picture I found Mackay, Rage’s dad was there too—playing volleyball on the beach, studying in this very same library, both of them with arms around girls, one of whom looked a lot like Rage’s mom. Picture after picture told a story.

A bell sounded, jarring me from my trance, and I swore. Late for lunch service meant I got to march through a line of shame.

I shoved the six yearbooks into my bag and zipped it up. I mean, it wasn’t stealing, right? The mage lady gave them to me, and they were technically staying on school property. Totally legit. Now I had the proof of what I’d told Rage. I might be wrong about a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them.

My uncle and Rage’s dad were friends. Best friends from the looks of it.

Somehow, holding the proof in my hand wasn’t nearly as gratifying as I’d hoped. In fact, the idea of going to Rage to shove this in his face made my stomach turn.

I ducked out of the aisle and then the library, racing through the building toward my lunchroom servitude, mulling over why I didn’t want to march over to Rage and show him the pictures in my bag.

It was like the ultimate I-told-you-so, and while there would be some sense of vindication for me … I spent most of my time on rocky ground with Rage, and this might push us past our breaking point.

I needed to wait for the right time, and even though I wanted it to be today… it wasn’t.

Chapter 15

The next month passed by in a blur of activity. The leaves on the trees started to turn golden yellow and burnt orange with the promise of fall and sweet pumpkin coffee. I went through the motions with Master Carn, letting him spoon-feed me while I studied by myself in the evenings. After weeks hunched over the advanced fire textbook, one night, at 1 a.m., I finally made a fireball!

The next day, I grinned like a lunatic when Rage made one and I stepped up next to him with one in my own palm. Master Carn nearly passed out and then fled the room—off to report to the king most likely.

I stood in Fire Studies with Rage watching me with his inscrutable gaze.

“How are your lessons with Honor?” His gaze traveled the length of my body as if he could see evidence of my progress on my exposed skin. Of course, he knew I couldn’t shift. They all probably talked about it at dinner. How embarrassing.

The fireball I’d been building fizzled out in my palm, but I puffed my chest out and muttered, “Fine.”

“So you can shift on demand if danger appears?” Rage asked, stepping in front of me.

I took a step back and bumped into a table.

Rage inched forward. The weight of his attention made me aware of our proximity, and a thrill of excitement shot through me.

Gah! Why did I care about him or his attention? Worse, why did my body react every single time he drew near? Like my brain short-circuited.

Because he was a freaking hottie, that’s why. All the Midnight boys were.

Keep it together, Nai!

“Why does it matter to you?” I raised my gaze to meet his, but all my irritation fled at the heat I saw in his eyes.

His lips parted as his breath grew shallow. He placed his hands on either side of the table, boxing me in. His gaze dipped to my mouth, and for one irrational moment, I thought he might kiss me.

I licked my lips, feeling heat pooling low in my belly. Without thinking through my next words, I spoke in a low breathy whisper: “It’s not like you care.”

Oh, but I wanted him to. I wanted to close the distance and see if he tasted like my mate. I wanted to kiss him—feel him. This energy between us … could he feel it too?