with me. Like he knows it could take forever, and there’s no way either of us could make it that long. “I won’t be able to hold back forever, Faye. You-you’re so damn perfect. So damn tempting. I’m just… you deserve the best. You should be taken out and properly wooed. You should have the perfect night to give yourself to me, and I intend to make that happen. Very soon.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. My insides don’t care about a proper night, but my heart is flattered. My mind understands. I take his hand and squeeze, trying to be glad that I fell for a perfect gentleman. Striving not to be ashamed of my blatant want for this man who drives every inch of me deliciously insane.
“You never cease to surprise me,” I say, the side of my mouth lifting up.
He chuckles. “I surprise myself,” he admits, “because it’s sure as hell taking every last bit of my self-control to keep from exploring every inch of you right now.” He ruffles a hand in the back of his hair. Tries to keep his eyes on anything but me.
My heart swells. “I uh-maybe we should talk about something else then,” I say, my voice strained and shaky.
“Yeah,” he agrees, taking a seat on my bed. He moves back against the wall, takes in a breath, and then shifts subjects. “I can’t believe Clara got us out.”
“I know, right? I never thought for a second it would be her face I saw when we were released. She’s just always been so… so mean and hateful.” Thoughts of being back at the Academy race through my mind. Clara’s open distaste of me. Mack’s mistrust of her. Her thirst for power. It just doesn’t make sense that she would want to help us… at least not from the kindness of her shriveled-up heart.
“Clara’s ruthless,” he says, the bitterness in his tone leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
I look to him, wishing for once the answer would come easy for me.
“But maybe,” he says, searching my eyes, “maybe we should go along with it for the time being. See what she wants.” He grabs my hand. “I mean, really, what choice do we have? We’re running out of allies. And choices. Mack isn’t here, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get in touch with him. She’s basically the only person we have on our side in this city—the only one who’s connected to home.”
“I don’t know about her being on our side, but yeah, I think you’re right. We should at least play along for the time being. At least until the Priesthood reveals what they want next from us,” I say.
He leans his head back and closes his eyes. Drags in a breath. “As much as I hate to admit this. Hell, as much as I hate to go along with this, all we can really do is let go, jump in feet first, and hope for the best,” he says on an exhale. “We just have to keep a keen eye out, and we need to be prepared for whatever they throw at us because, really, we’re all we’ve got, and we have to make that work.”
The sad part is he’s exactly right.
W E AREN’T GRANTED CIVILIAN CLOTHING.
That’s what the lady on the small screen in my room said when she went over the list of rules set for us. As Elites in training, we’re required to wear our uniform when out in public, be it in Ethryeal City or out in the real world. We’re to be freshly pressed. Properly pinned. Relevantly divided from all the rest. We’re to represent the face of this Coven as the best of the best.
I’m still trying to figure out why they thought to include me in that mix.
I haven’t moved from my spot on the bed since Jaxen left to get situated in his room. I’ve been staring up at my uniform from across the room, unsure of how I feel. Proud? Scared? Used? Or maybe a little of each. My heart is like a closet filled with a multitude of emotions, and I’m standing in the middle, sorting through every one, trying to find the right outfit for the moment.
But none seems to fit.
Or maybe… maybe I don’t want to feel, because to acknowledge