CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ZADE
I step out of the infirmary, pulling the door shut behind me, and the first thing I see is Nate
. He's pacing the length of the sterile corridor, his footsteps uneven, his shoulders hunched under a weight that is far too heavy for him.
"Is Ellie alright?" I ask, walking toward him.
I force my voice into a flat, steady register, trying to keep my own fraying composure from showing.
"Zade!" He snaps his head up, his eyes wide and bloodshot. The panic is written across every line of his face.
"You're here. What the hell happened in that bathroom? And... how's Alice?"
"The Witch is fine," I say, brushing past him as we start to walk out of the quiet corridor and toward the main hallway.
"And I don't know what the fuck happened in there either. By the time Ellie called me, Alice was already completely out cold."
Nate stops dead in his tracks. He stares at me, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Ellie called you?"
"Yes." I turn on him, my voice dropping into a dangerous, harsh whisper. The anger I've been harboring all morning finally finds a target.
"And I want to know why the fuck you left her alone in this godforsaken university today of all days. For fuck's sake, Nate, she's carrying your kid."
Nate flinches at the raw truth of the words, but then his expression shifts.
He looks down at his hands, a sudden, uncharacteristic vulnerability breaking through his athletic frame.
"I was... at the jewelry store," he murmurs. His cheeks turn a distinct, dusty pink, his gaze shifting away from mine.
"I wanted to find a ring. I'm planning to propose to her at the end-of-the-season party... you know, before she starts to show."
I stare at him. The great, reckless Nathaniel is standing in a university hallway, looking completely shy.
The fuck?
"You're blushing?"
I let out a dry, disbelieving huff.
"Jesus. I think I need to replace this motherfucker immediately."
Nate looks back up, a sly, familiar smile breaking through his anxiety.
"You're not getting me replaced this early, Zade. You're stuck with me."
We take a few more steps toward the courtyard, the tension between us finally settling, when the air suddenly turns freezing cold. I freeze.
Marcus is striding down the hall, his eyes locked onto the infirmary doors. He looks determined. Focused.
"You won't go near her," I growl, moving before my brain can even process the action.
I plant myself directly in his path, cutting off his route to the clinic.
"Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?"
Marcus stops, stepping up until we are standing chest-to-chest.
I have always hated this motherfucker.
From the moment we were kids, he has been a source of nothing but trouble.
Once upon a time, years ago, we used to be friends.
We used to run these same halls together. Not that it matters anymore; time has fled, the bridges are burnt, and here we are on opposite sides of a war.
"I am the one who got her here," I hiss, my jaw gritted so tightly my teeth ache.
"And she's currently resting. So fuck off, Marcus."
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the crowd forming. Students are slowing their pace, lingering near the lockers, pulling out their phones.
They are vultures. They have always gathered like this, waiting to watch the two of us make each other bleed.
But as I stare into Marcus's grey eyes, a sudden, jarring thought slams into my chest like a physical blow.
This isn't like before.
Wait. Not like before? Why the hell am I standing here? Why am I actively blocking him from seeing her? Who is she to me? I barely know the girl.
She's a scholarship student, a nuisance, a "Witch" who has done nothing but challenge my authority since the day she arrived.
So why does the thought of him stepping into that room make my blood feel like liquid fire?
Fuck. Why...
"What is happening here?"
A deep, chilling voice cuts through the mental battlefield, shattering the standoff.
I turn my head toward the sound, and my posture automatically straightens.
Sure enough, my father is standing a few steps away.
He's dressed in a flawless charcoal suit, surrounded by two of the university's deans who look terrified to even breathe near him.
He stands there looking exactly like what he is—a man who owns the world and everyone in it.
My jaw sets so tight I think the bone might actually snap under the pressure.
The ghosts of our family mansion seem to follow him into the corridor, suffocating the warmth right out of the air.
"Zade, I'd like to talk to you," he says.
His tone isn't an invitation; it's a final
binding command.
I nod, stepping away from Marcus.
I have no choice but to follow the man who holds my future in his palms, but as I walk past Marcus, I lean in, throwing one last, venomous glare his way.
Alice Miller is a Witch and she's mine...when she speaks the spells of not....