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He turns around to face me, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm. When his hazel eyes lock onto mine, the amber flecks in his irises are glowing with an amused heat that makes my stomach flip.

"You're staring, Vivienne."

"I am not staring," I snap defensively, snapping my gaze back to the grimoire. "I am reading."

"You haven't turned the page in ten minutes."

"It's very dense Latin, MacTavish. Translation is an art, not a science."

I shove my hand forward to turn the brittle vellum page, my fingers shaking just enough from mortification that my thumb catches on the sharp, jagged iron edge of the antique binding clasp.

"Ow—shit!" Fucking clumsy ass cold fingers.

Pain bites deep into the fleshy pad of my right thumb.

I hiss through my teeth, jerking my hand back, but it's too late. A bead of crimson wells to the surface instantly, spilling over before I can clamp my lips around it.

The drop of blood falls.

Across the courtyard, Lachlan’s smile vanishes in a fraction of a heartbeat. "Vivienne, don't⁠—"

The blood hits the vellum, and the paper doesn't soak it up.

It ignites.

A hiss cuts through the cold morning air. The single red droplet boils across the page, spreading outward in spidery veins of liquid fire that race through the faded black ink.

The black text doesn't dissolve. It writhes like living worms, twisting and rearing off the vellum, turning into red glyphs—runes that pulse in rapid, furious sync with the hammer of my own heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The hair the back of my neck stands straight up. A vibration thrums through the grimoire, rattling the teeth in my skull.

In my peripheral vision, I see Lachlan move faster than a man his size should ever be able to.

His broad hand slams down onto the top of the open book, forcing the burning pages away from my chest.

"Drop it!" he roars, his voice tearing out in a gravelly snarl.

"I can't—it's stuck—" I’m panting. I can’t breathe.

The smoke curling off the paper isn't drifting into the sky; it’s coiling around my wrists, sinking straight through the fabric of my hoodie, sinking into the pores of my skin.

A blinding, ice pick spike of agony drives straight through the base of my skull.

The magic of Midnight House wakes up behind my ribs, roaring to life. My head snaps back against the iron slats of the bench, my vision tunneling. The pressure behind my eyes builds so fast I can feel the capillaries in my temples throbbing to the point of bursting.

A warm, wet trickle spills from my right nostril.

"No, you don't!" Lachlan snarls.

He sweeps the grimoire off my lap with one violent shove, sending the heavy book skidding across the frosted flagstones where it snaps shut with a concussive bang.

Before I can double over, his hands clamp down on my upper arms, hauling me off the bench. He pulls me hard against him, kicking my fuzzy slippers out of the way as he drags me flush against the naked warmth of his chest.

"Hold onto me, Vivienne!" he roars, his voice right at my ear. "Take the earth. Ground it!"

I don't think. Instinct takes over.