Chapter 66

The library’s dim, amber light barely reached the farthest corners where I had tucked myself away. Shadows danced at the edges of my vision, blending with the weight that pressed against my skull, sharp and unrelenting. The stack of books in front of me felt like an anchor, pages full of cryptic diagrams and handwritten notes I could barely comprehend with the thrum of exhaustion drumming in my head. My fingers rubbed at my temples, trying and failing to soothe the migraine that had taken root.

Silas had begged me to rest, his eyes dark with worry, the crease between his brows deepening every time he found me pouring over yet another tome. But he understood the stakes, the way they loomed over me, pressing me to keep pushing, keep fighting. He was there when he could be, his touch grounding, his whispered reassurances a balm against the storm inside me. But even Silas couldn’t be here all the time; classes demanded his attention, and I couldn’t ask him to sacrifice everything. Not when he had already given me so much.

The ache in my chest matched the pounding in my head as I slumped forward, my vision blurring. Just a moment to breathe, I told myself. Just a moment.

A shadow moved in my periphery, sharp and deliberate. I didn’t bother looking up until I felt the presence loom over me, a familiar tension prickling across my skin.

“Mara,” a voice drawled, a note of frustration wrapped in concern. I blinked, lifting my gaze to meet Xavier’s steely eyes, narrowed and sharp as they took me in, then flickered down to the books sprawled across the table.

I could see the realization settle into his expression, the flash of anger that darkened his gaze. Before I could gather the energy to say anything, his jaw tightened. “What the hell are you doing to yourself?” He reached forward, slamming one of the books shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

My exhaustion flared into irritation, but it was dulled, lost under the throbbing in my temples. “None of your business, Xavier,” I muttered, reaching out to reopen the book, but he snatched it away before I could touch it.

He scoffed, shoving the other books into my bag with a roughness that sent a jolt of annoyance through me. “If Silas is letting you run yourself into the ground like this, then he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”

My blood simmered, a spark of anger cutting through the haze. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snapped, but the words were slurred, weakened by the exhaustion clawing at me. I reached for my bag, intent on shoving him away, but before I could blink, his hands were on me.

The world spun as he hauled me up and over his shoulder in one fluid motion, my stomach lurching at the sudden movement. “Put me down, Xavier!” I shouted, the command harsh and ragged in my ears.

He ignored me, his grip like iron as he strode out of the library, each step jarring against the dull throb in my head. The few students who dared to look our way quickly averted their gazes, whispers following us down the hallway.

“Stop struggling,” he warned, voice low and dangerous.

“Let me go!” I twisted, trying to wriggle free, but his arm tightened, and before I could prepare for it, a sharp, stinging smack landed on my ass. The sound echoed down the hall, and heat flared across my skin, half in shock, half in mortification.

My breath caught, anger surging. “You bastard!” I spat, but the next attempt at freeing myself earned me another slap, harder this time. The sting seared through the thin fabric, sending a shiver of something unnameable racing down my spine. I went still, breath shuddering as I fought to reign in the riot of emotions twisting inside me.

“Much better,” Xavier muttered, shifting my weight as he reached my quarters. With a flick of his wrist, the air around us shifted, and my key floated from my pocket to the lock, turning it with a soft click. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, kicking it shut behind him.

He finally set me down, his hands lingering at my waist, eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. I pushed away from him, stumbling back a step. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, the exhaustion mixing with a cocktail of rage and something else, something dangerous.

“What’s wrong with me?” His eyes were stormy, searching my face for answers I wasn’t willing to give. “What’s wrong with you, Mara? You’re killing yourself over these damn books, and Silas is letting it happen. I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but I won’t stand by and watch it.”

Xavier’s eyes burned into mine, fierce and searching, as if trying to peel back the layers I’d wrapped myself in. The silence between us thickened until it was almost suffocating.

A bitter laugh slipped past my lips, sharp and unbidden. “Now you care about me?” The question hung in the air, laced with sarcasm and hurt. It carried the weight of every mocking glance, every cutting word, and, most recently, the memory of him pressing me against the wall with accusations and fury when he learned about Silas and Gideon.

His jaw tensed, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing his face before it was gone, replaced by the stormy determination I was so used to. “I should have cared sooner,” he said, voice low and raw. “But I’m here now, and I won’t let you tear yourself apart.”

The confession, so unlike him, knocked the breath from my chest. I opened my mouth to retort, to lash out and remind him of the times he hadn’t been there, but the words caught in my throat. The exhaustion, the pounding in my head, the confusion—it all tangled together, leaving me silent.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming but grounding. “I’m not letting this go, Mara,” he said, softer this time, almost a whisper. “You can hate me, you can push me away, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze dropping to the floor as the fight left me, leaving only the ache that had settled deep in my bones.

He watched me, jaw clenched, the battle between anger and concern warring on his face. But he didn’t push, didn’t press me for answers I wasn’t ready to give. Instead, he knelt in front of me, his hands reaching for my bag. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then I will.”

Before I could protest, he pulled the bag away, setting it aside with a gentleness that belied the storm still simmering between us.