Chapter 49: A Devil’s Apology
{IRIS}
"I am merely saying: you may return. I will not frighten you again... and you cannot escape me anyway."
I didn’t catch his last words—his voice faded into the wind, or perhaps my mind refused to hear it.
My dress was soaked, my boots heavy with lake water, and my book looked worse than a drowned corpse.
My day was truly ruined.
"If that is your way of apologizing," I muttered tiredly, "you don’t need to bother. Honestly... I also made a mistake. We’re even. So please... just leave me alone."
His eyes widened—just a fraction—but enough to betray something raw. A flicker of hurt.
Then his expression shuttered, smoothing into a cold seriousness.
"Leave you... alone?" he repeated softly, as though tasting the words.
Something about the tone made my stomach twist.
Why did it sound like I had struck him?
It wasn’t as if we knew each other well enough to stir any sort of sentiment between us.
I made a mistake. He punished me—severely, but fairly—and life should have returned to normal.
Or perhaps he felt guilty?
Though I suspected guilt was a foreign concept to him.
Honestly, I no longer cared about any of it. I simply wanted to read my book in peace.
He hovered closer. "Then tell me," he said, voice low, "what must I do for you to forgive me?"
"Huh?" I blinked at him, distracted by my poor book’s soggy pages.
"Pay attention to me," he hissed.
Before I could react, he lifted a hand. Wind swirled around me—the grass rustled, my dress fluttered—and my drenched book rose from my grasp, caught in an unseen current.
Pages flipped furiously. Cold air swept around my body—my skirt lifting slightly with the force—and then—
In a blink, my book dropped gently back into my hands, perfectly dry.
My dress and shoes... were dry as well. Warm even.
"What...?" I stared, stunned.
Zephyros floated a step nearer, expression blank. "Now. Tell me," he said again. "What must I do to earn your forgiveness so we may start anew?"
I could hardly breathe.
What kind of arcane was that?
Did he command the wind itself? Or something else?
"Hey," he drawled, snapping his fingers before my face. "You are ignoring me again."
"S-sorry," I stammered. "It’s just... did you dry my book with your arcane?"
His expression reverted to its usual bored, half-sleepy composure. "Yes. Why are you so surprised? You are here, are you not? This academy does not accept the mundane. You must have a power that sets you apart as well."
I flicked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked away. "Well... I’m here because... I don’t actually know what my arcane is."
"What?" His voice sharpened. "You do not know?"
I shook my head.
"But you can control it... at least a little?"
Another shake of my head.
His eyes widened—not lazily, not faintly, but fully—shock rippling across his face. Then confusion. Panic. Fear.
Three emotions at once, passing over him like shadows.
He turned away for a moment, hand at his chin, thinking hard.
A full minute passed before he faced me again.
His face was calm once more. Too calm. "Without your arcane, you could be in danger here," he murmured. "But at least you have your wolf. You are a werewolf, right?"
"Everyone keeps knowing what I am even without my scent."
"It is no secret," he answered. "If I wished, I could access every scrap of information about you."
My breath stilled.
"Then you should know... I am wolfless."
I didn’t know how much he already discovered about me. But it was safer—far safer—not to speak beyond that.
I could never tell anyone my wolf was sealed. Only Lord Val, Sebastian, and I knew that truth.
Zephyros’ brows drew together. "A werewolf without a wolf... rare, but not unheard of."
I quietly released a breath. He didn’t know.
Good.
"That is not good," he muttered, voice dipping lower. "Without wolf, without arcane... you have nothing to defend yourself. You are vulnerable here."
"Huh?" I frowned, but he shook his head.
"Nothing," he said. "But now I know how I shall make amends."
"You don’t need to—"
Before I could finish, he caught my hand—cold, shockingly gentle—and pressed something into my palm.
A necklace.
A delicate silver chain, gleaming like moonlight trapped in metal. At its center hung a crystal pendant shaped like a falling tear, glowing faintly blue as if filled with living water.
"This is...?" I breathed.
"Do not leave your room without it," he said, voice low and strangely earnest.
I lifted my eyes. He stood close—too close—his face inches from mine, expression grave with intent.
"This will protect you," he whispered. "If ever you are in danger... call my name. I will come. Without fail."
Heat flushed up my neck. "Uhm... you don’t have to—"
"If you refuse it," he said, voice suddenly dropping into a dark velvet threat, "I will haunt you. Forever."
My lips tightened into a rigid line. "I—I will wear it. Without fail."
Why in the heavens was this ghost doing this?
Was this truly an apology?
Or... was this a prank as well? A trap in the making in the future for his amusement?
His expression softened—slowly, unnervingly—until a gentle smile curved his lips. A smile that transformed him from hauntingly beautiful to almost divine.
For a moment, I could have mistaken him for an angel.
But I knew better.
He was a devil draped in that innocent lethargic face of his.
And I would not—could not—allow myself to trust him.
I did not want to wear the necklace.
Who knew what sort of enchantment clung to it?
But... he might truly haunt me if I refused.
What was I supposed to do?
"Aren’t you going to wear it now?" he asked, staring directly at me—waiting.
This ghost was such a menace.
Before I could think up an excuse, he seized the necklace again, sighing as though his patience frayed thin, and stepped closer. Then—without asking—he slipped the cool chain around my neck.
I inhaled sharply.
His fingers brushed my skin, barely there—cold and bony.
A shiver rippled down my spine, but I did not dislike the feeling.
