Exuberant.
Whole.
I sighed, the plant life around the Academy prickling at my instincts. The trees weren’t dead at all, just a different species. A burning thwomp, the roots told me, giving me a proper name to work from.
Nice to meet you, I murmured, rolling my neck and memorizing the heart of the species in my mind. You’ll do very well.
With a twirl of power, I began to reconstruct the base of the charred tree, rooting it in the guest room.
Kolstov didn’t want to give me a lock? Then I’d make one.
And I’d rip his suite apart in the process.
“Do you feel that?” Zephyrus asked, interrupting whatever Kolstov had just been saying.
Must work faster, I thought, directing my nurturing waves from the gap in the web to the new creation.
“What are you doing?” Kolstov demanded.
I ignored him.
His palm was suddenly on my neck, his hard body pressed along mine. “Aflora.”
I didn’t open my eyes.
I just continued to unweave and weave, unweave and weave. Grow, little tree. Grow.
The earthy force pulsed inside me, breaking through the final binds and flourishing to life. I sighed in content, my powers finally free.
Flowery scents perfumed the air, vines of my own making climbing over the walls to protect me from the snakes outside. Because I could feel them slithering in agitation, their intent to break down the threshold palpable.
Oh, but the gargoyle held them at bay.
Why?
Ah, because I’m part of this suite now. It protects everyone inside. The knowledge slammed into my mind from an unknown source, but I felt the veracity of it deep inside my bones.
“Aflora!” Kolstov yelled.
My lips curled, power rippling through me in energizing waves. What was it he said to me earlier? Oh, right. “I’m ready to dance now, Midnight Prince,” I told him, shoving him away with a pulse of energy that put him on his ass.
He coughed, then cursed as roots grew from the ground, trapping him.
I smiled. “Those burning thwomps sure are sturdy.” The one in my guest room was almost complete, the branches reaching the ceiling above. Content with the design, I told it to grow outward. I’d left the door open, giving it the opportunity to inch thick black roots down the hallway toward us.
An explosion sent me sideways into the wall, my focus temporarily disrupted as Kolstov launched to his feet. He’d lost his cape and jacket, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t know how or when he’d made the wardrobe change, but I caught the writhing lines twisting along his skin.
The dark source, I realized.
It thrived inside him.
And he was about to use it against me.
I ducked the oncoming blow, a shield of petals building along my skin in an instant.
“This is ridiculous, Aflora,” Kolstov snapped. “Stop.”
I tripped him with one of the roots, then stirred a myriad of pollen mites into the air around him, eliciting a sneeze.