Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 186

Chapter 186

Kael

This fucking guy. I mean… seriously? I always assumed I was the lean, mean, war-bred hottie of our little disaster polycule. The one with the scars and the feral charm and the ability to tear out a throat while complimenting someone’s hair. But no. Apparently, Thornhill Academy’s very own Professor Hill-Mr. Tidy-Ass-Suits and I-Grade-On-Precision-Not-Potential-has been hiding an entire carved-from-warrior-marble body under all that tweed. Of course, he has. Of course, Trouble’s newest obsession has to look like that while elbow-deep in a fresh kill, sleeves rolled to his goddamn shoulders, forearms slicked with blood like the forest personally crowned him its king of murder and meal prep. I want to be jealous. I want to look away. I want to tell him to put his clothes back on properly because this is simply unfair competition. But honestly? I’m impressed. And basking. Basking in the way Trouble’s scent sweetens with slow-building arousal as she watches him work, her breath getting softer, her pupils dilating, her thighs pressing just a little closer together against mine. Yeah. Yeah, that’s definitely arousal. Too bad for Professor War Crimes over there that he can’t smell it. Someone should really tell him how hot and bothered he’s getting our girl right now. But not me. Nope. I’m not doing that. I’m still not certain whether he’ll give me detention or assign me a five- kilometre run for speaking out of line. The man radiates “do not test me” energy… and “I could ruin your entire life with one well-timed sentence” energy…

and “I survived the war and will survive you” energy. It’s confusing. It’s hot. I hate it. I love it.

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“Kael,” Evander murmurs beside me, reading my spiralling thoughts with brotherly disappointment. “Stop ogling him.”

“I am not ogling,” I say, ogling. “I’m assessing the enemy.”

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Evander snorts. “He’s not the enemy.”

“No,” I say, watching Cassian slice through hide and sinew with surgical precision. “He’s worse. He’s competition.”

Evander gives me a flat look. “He’s part of us now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I said competition, not enemy. Calm down before your dragon bites me.”

Evander’s dragon loves me. He won’t admit it. Meanwhile, Commander Hill over there finishes gutting the stag like he’s cleaning a chalkboard after class- methodical, focused, zero hesitation. He wipes the blade on his already ruined shirt, stands, disappears, and then somehow comes back carrying enough wood to build a miniature fortress. All without breathing loudly. All without making the floorboards creak. All without looking even mildly fatigued. Show-

off.

He drops the wood in a neat stack beside the old metal tub in the corner-the same tub I assumed was for bathing, but apparently it’s for indoor war- approved fire safety. He arranges stones inside it like he’s played campfire Tetris in every trench this kingdom has ever fought in. Then he kneels, strikes a spark, and brings the fire to life with a small, low smoke and a hot, focused flame. Trouble inhales sharply next to me. Yeah, she likes this. A lot. Evander shifts beside her, eyes brightening with something like respect, or awe, or the first stages of “fuck, we really did recruit a secret boss-level character.”

Cassian places strips of meat over the flame, turning them with gentle, precise flicks of his wrist.

“Of course he can cook,” I mutter under my breath. “Of course he can. Why wouldn’t he?”

Allison’s lips twitch. “Jealous?”

“Jealous? No. Me? Jealous?” I gesture vaguely at my face. “This is not the face of a jealous man. This is the face of a man contemplating whether it’s too soon to ask him to take his shirt off.” (2

Evander coughs violently. Allison turns red. Cassian-because his hearing is an affront to privacy-glances over his shoulder with a look that could either flay my mind or grade my essay, I can’t tell which. I smile sweetly. He looks away first. Ha, Win for Kael. Sort of. Maybe. Look, I’ll take what I can get. Trouble leans into me then, soft and warm, her cheek brushing my shoulder. The firelight turns her skin golden, her shadows flickering like sleepy pets curling around her ankles. My heartbeat softens. Evander gently brushes a knuckle down her arm. Cassian sees it. I know he does. He tracks us with tiny

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Chapter 186

CHA

flicks of his gaze, confirming we’re still breathing, still healing, still… his. He doesn’t say it. But the air around him hums with it.

“You okay?” I murmur to her.

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She nods, but it’s a lie wrapped in exhaustion.

Evander strokes her thigh. I brush my fingers through her hair. She melts, just a little, enough that my hound preens while Evander’s dragon rumbles

approval.

Then Cassian brings us food. Like some war-forged forest husband who knows how to feed his wounded lovers after a long day of running from certain

death. He hands Trouble her portion first.

Because that is what healthy competition would do, and she looks up at him, eyes soft, lips parted. His hand pauses-briefly, barely-but gods, I see it.

Something is clicking in place. Something helpless and inevitable. Well. Shit. He’s really in this.

Evander hands me my food before I forget how to move my hands. “Kael,” he says quietly, “breathe.”

“I am breathing. I’m breathing perfectly. Normal. Healthy. Athletic breathing.”

Trouble snorts and nudges her temple against my arm. Okay, fine, yes, I’m spiralling. But in my defence-Commander Hill over there looks like the universe designed him specifically to make us question everything. He settles across from us, back against the wall, firelight painting sharp shadows over the lines of his face. His posture is relaxed but alert, battle-ready even at rest. He watches us eat, catalogues our pain levels and calculates the night’s safety. All without

losing that quiet, intense focus he always turns on Trouble. We are so fucked. We are so blessed.

I clear my throat, stare blatantly at Cassian’s arms, then lean toward Allison and whisper loud enough for Evander to choke on air again: “So, Trouble…

permission to call him Commander?”

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She sputters. Evander groans. Cassian looks up slowly, eyes narrowing the exact way they do when he’s about to assign someone a 3,000-word essay on

responsibility. I grin. Yeah. I think I’m gonna like having him around. He can’t say no o if Trouble gives me permission, because at the end of the day, he’s just

as fucking whipped as the rest of us now.

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