A Quick A/N: Just as a forewarning, this is a little rough. If there are any spots that don't make sense, please let me know. I'm a tad delirious from sleeping a total of five hours for the last three days, so I'm really sorry if this is kind of a mess. Not edited extensively, per the usual. Hope you like it!

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Succulent energy still buzzes through my veins as I take the steps into the gymnasium. The song blasting from the speakers seems to latch onto my wave-length, speeding up to match the beat of my heart.

I toss my now-useless gloves into the trash bin and make my way into the middle of the dance floor. Eyes follow me, the lone girl with a wide smile, as I move to the rhythm by myself. Twenty minutes ago, I would have been paralyzed by the attention, but now, all I care to feel is this almost celestial high I never want to come down from.

For the first time since I stopped taking the Ironide, I feel free. I feel alive. At ease. Invincible, almost. Like the invisible box set in place to protect human me from the supernatural me has shattered and the two have finally merged.

The song from the DJ's booth switches but I keep my pace. Again, the beat seems to slow down or fasten to match my steps. I haven't heard the voice since I put the grimoire back on the shelf and re-cloaked it. I'm hoping this means she's agreed to give me the night I all but begged for.

I twist around, gently taking a cup full of punch from a passerby. He groans, but doesn't bother to actually confront me about it. So I continue on, just moving, swaying, and spinning.

I don't stop until a hand takes firm hold of my forearm where my burn used to be. I jolt, wincing from the phantom pain, and the sudden movement splashes bright red punch down the side of my mom's dress.

I'm pretty sure I let out a string of curses. Water fills my lash lines, slightly blurring my vision as Olivian comes into view. She pulls her hand back, confusion flashing across her face.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she says. "I did not mean for that to happen."

She sounds genuine, but her apology doesn't fix my dress. I swallow the hard lump in my throat, focusing on the ever-present buzz in my body. I hand off the empty cup to the same kid returning to the punch area, ignoring his gripes as I peel the wet material away from my thigh. I place my hand over the spreading stain and say, "iritum facio."

Immediately, the liquid stops spreading, but instead begins to dissolve, leaving the dress as silky and bright as if the spill never happened.

Olivian takes hold of my arm. "What the hell, Shelland? Are you serious right now?"

She yanks at my arm, ripping me away from the crowded dance floor toward an empty row of chairs against the wall. Once we stop, I tug my arm from her grip, already annoyed with her for breaking up my fun.

"What is wrong with you? You can't just cast a spell in public like that." Her words are hushed, but harsh in tone. She's clearly mad, but her stern frown doesn't affect me the way it normally would. Maybe it's the Umbra magic, or maybe I've learned to stop caring, since this time tomorrow, I'll be remembering an entirely different, non-magical version of this scenario.

"Hello, Conall? Are you even listening to me? God, your energy is all over the place."

"Not really," I say, brushing the crease out near my hip. I probably got it from lying on the library floor.

Olivian snorts, clearly offended at my lack of concern. She stands there staring at me, looking annoyingly beautiful in her two-piece burgundy gown, her angered expression amplified by the glowing blue lights. 

Finally, I say, unable to hide my annoyance, "What? Do you want me to apologize or something? No body saw it. And even if they did, I doubt they'd even know what it was they saw."

She crosses her arms, face falling into an expression I can't read. "You risk putting all of us in danger. A careless move like that—that you think is so insignificant because it's small to you—could cost someone their life. Do you get that?"

"Whatever." I shrug, turning to head back to the floor. If I'm going to have one night of normalcy, I'm sure as hell going to enjoy it.

Olivian takes hold of my arm again, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my own irritation in check. "Listen, Conall. This is your only courtesy call. I know we're not besties, but we are in this crazy mess of magic mayhem together. While I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, that is not my concern right now."

"Just back off, Olivian! I'm done with you!" I pull away. "I'm done with Beck. Even Pete. I'm done with all of it."

"I'm not here on their behalf." She snakes her arms together once more in her signature power stance. "I'm here on mine. Whatever belated teen angst meltdown you're spiraling into, just know, I will not let it stand in the way of my survival. The only thing I can guarantee you is that I'm sure as shit coming out of this alive."

That word forces me upright. "No-one is going to die."

Olivian scowls, as if she already regrets finding me in the first place. "You do realize that we're caught up in war, right? The Elite wolves...the coven...whatever the hell you are. We're all headed toward the front lines, and if you're not prepared, you're dead. You should shut your mouth and start paying attention. Now, what's going on."

"Nothing," I say, forcing my voice to harden.

She shakes her head, loose black curls bouncing as she does. "Right, that's the only fifth lie you've told me tonight." She exhales. "Well, I'm surprised you're even here. Last last time we saw you, you weren't in the best shape. And then with the thing this morning, we weren't sure what to expect."

We?

"Yeah, well. I'm better now," I say. I refuse to let her know she's affecting me. I refuse.

"Shell! You're here!" That familiar, friendly voice calls out. Just as I turn my head, Pete walks up in a black tuxedo, his bowtie the same burgundy color as Olivian's dress. "Raif said you weren't coming...being sick and all."

His pause on the word 'sick' throws me off.

"I'm fine now, Pete," I reply. Yeah, it only took me stealing a grimoire and syphoning energy from an invisible witch living in my head. "But you'd know that if you ever answered your phone."

His smile drops for a second as if he's unsure what I'm referring to, before a light switches on behind his eyes. He reaches into the inside of his jacket and pulls out his phone. The entire front screen is shattered, pieces of it lighting up white with strips of red and blue.

"Olivian was showing me how to float an object—I mean, we were studying the laws of gravity," he corrects himself as a group of seniors swerve around us to get to the photo booth. Pete leans in and lowers his voice. "I lost concentration and dropped a rock on it."

I raise my eyebrows once, as if the motion is enough of an exchange to warrant leaving. But Pete being Pete, doesn't pick up on my mood, and continues on.

"Well, I'm glad you came. I know how much you were looking forward to this. I mean, you practically threatened to light yourself on fire before missing it."

Olivian shoots him a look and Pete immediately tries to recover. "Bad joke. You know what I mean."

His blonde hair is styled back. For once it's out of his eyes. I find myself fixating on his burgundy bowtie again. "So is that why you guys are here together? Ollie opted to be your back-up date incase I didn't show?"

Pete's smile flips to a frown right as Olivian's eyes squeeze into a glare. "Well, I mean...I wasn't sure if you were going to make it and even if you were going, we weren't sure exactly what shape you'd be in."

"Why does everyone keep saying that? What shape am I supposed to be in?"

Pete steps in a little further. "We thought you might have decided to...forget everything that happened. I mean, I can't blame you if you wanted to, Shell. You've had it pretty rough. First finding out about your parents. Not to mention all the fires with the guy and the wolves, and then again, today."

"You heard about that?" My heart stops for a second.

"Everyone did,"Olivian states.

Great. I let out a groan. That explains the weird looks on the dance floor. The whole school must think I'm some pyro-loving lunatic. I guess the only thing wrong about that assumption is the love part.

The song shifts again and couples change throughout the floor. Some switch partners. Some take a much needed break. The guy with the punch takes a quick look around the room from his station, surveying until he locks eyes on me, and quickly breaks for it toward the opposite side of the room.

"Olivian's teaching me to cast," Pete says, breaking the minute-long silence that befalls us. "I wanted to tell you before, but you know...shattered phone."

I nod. I can still feel the rhythm like before, but it's a bit muted. Like a brief, wispy cloud covering the sun on an otherwise blistering day. I want to cast again. Something small, indiscernible to another's eyes, just to get that little cloud to dissipate. Once it's gone, I hope to catch my second wind.

"So far, we're just going through the basics, but it's pretty cool. You'd be surprised to learn about all of the different plants and how mixing certain elements can create all these crazy combinations." Pete grins. "Damien was showing me how to crush charcoal with lavender and pink salt. If you do that while you're casting, it makes for a pretty wild anesthetic."

"Damien figured that out in primary school," Olivian adds. "He used to it as a smoke bomb on the other kids, that way they would fall asleep so he could read uninterrupted."

"That is ruthless!" Pete laughs. "Is it possible to want to be Damien when I grow up, because I do."

Olivian tries to suppress her own laugh, bumping Pete's side with her elbow before looking away from my face. I'm trying to listen, focus on their more light-hearted conversation, but there's a list growing in the back of my mind of all the spells I could use right now. Since coming into contact with the grimoire, this list has seemed to grow tenfold. Like I syphoned more information than I intended to when we cast the spell.

My fingers twitch. I want to feel that buzz again. For just a little bit longer.

"Hey, do you guys want to move closer to the stage? We're at a dance, so we should...well, dance." I don't want tonight ruined by anything else, even if I won't necessarily remember it come morning.

After a shared moment of contemplation, they both finally nod at me. Olivian uncrosses her arms and takes one step forward. As she does, I'm slammed with an energy so intense it catches my breath in my throat.

Olivian stops, her brows quizzical.

"Please tell me you feel that, too." I take a deep breath. The energy feels amazing, but it's different than anything I've felt before. It's encompassing, but somehow steadier and far stronger than what I was riding on before. With each passing moment, the energy intensifies, spreading across my body like a second-skin until it swallows me whole.

"Conall, what is going on with you? You've been so weird all ni—" Her eyes quickly slide past mine and her glossy mouth drops open. "Oh, my god."

I pivot, following Olivian's line of sight toward the gym entrance. Standing between the frame of white faux trees is Beck. He pauses on the steps, seemingly unaware of us watching him as he takes in the auditorium spectacle.

My heart palpitates. Even without a tuxedo on, Beck is the most gorgeous guy in the room. He's dressed simply in grey sweater and has layered with a crisp button-down, the blue collar of which protruding out the neckline. Even the way his fitted pants hang off his hips sends of a flurry of heat to my cheeks.

Without command, my feet push me forward as if some invisible lasso is reeling me toward him.

When his eyes find mine, he grins, then takes the stairs in a quick stride. Easily gliding through coupled dancers, Beck makes his way toward us, stopping only when he's closest to me.

With the sudden movement, his body heat melts into my own and that overwhelming musk infused with sandalwood annihilates my senses.

A coy little grin smudges across his lips as he swipes a hand through his unruly hair.

My heart flutters. His hair. He cut his hair.

"Hey," he says, and a gust of warm breath sweeps across my shoulder. Slowly, I peel my eyes from his smooth, visibly sharp jawline and shift them up. Those familiar, icicle eyes latch onto mine and set my nerves ablaze.

I feel myself inch in a little closer, desperately trying to bury myself in his intoxicating aura. Aura or energy or whatever it is, it's exhilarating. As if our hands are grazing from six inches away. Why couldn't I feel him like this before?

I whisper his name, taken back by his appearance. Without thinking, I reach up to brush the newly chopped ends of his hair with my fingertips.

Instead of pulling away, he smiles and the change highlights a faint, diagonal scar between his bottom lip and jaw. I move my hand down, this time hesitating to touch his face. "How have I never noticed this before?"

He reaches up to touch it, again bringing my attention to that squared jaw.

Did he do this for me? My breath hitches and I try to clear my throat to disguise it. "What are you doing here, Beck?"

"I was in the neighborhood." There's an inexplicable gleam in his eye that is equally intoxicating as it is unusual.

I pull my hand away from his face and grip the small clutch between my fingers. Last time I that we stood this close to each other, he had told me to forget about him. To take my Ironide pill and let it erase everything from the last few weeks.

I swallow the nervous lump forming in my throat. "Did it ever occur to you that I might still be mad at you?"

"Oh, it did."

"So, are you saying you don't care?" I shake my head, staring off toward the stage. Mr. Moreno is at the edge of the fountain placed in the middle, dumping a bucket of dry ice into the pool of water. Within seconds, a thick fog billows over the stone edge and down the stage, spilling onto the dance floor.

"Conall," Beck begins to say, but I don't let him talk.

Still watching the fog, I say, "You can't just show up here, with a sleek new haircut and fancy pants and think that it's somehow going to make it up to me."

"Shelland." He steps closer as he breathes my name, that woodsy scent overcoming me again.

When I finally look at Beck, his sight locks on mine, bright eyes like chemical fire under the pulsing blue light.

"You're beautiful," he says after a moment, and immediately the heat blooms across my face.

Before I can respond, Beck takes hold of my hand and then starts toward the dance floor. We blend seamlessly into a spot near the middle, perfectly secluded by a wall of swaying couples. I'm not even sure what song is playing or if it's even slow enough, but Beck and I come together as if it's meant to be a slow one. Without hesitation, his hand slides toward the small of my back while the other keeps my hand in his. I rest my arm along his shoulder, letting my fingers tousle at the base of his short locks again.

We remain silent for awhile, letting the music carry us through several rotations. When the third song changes, I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around his torso, leaning my head into the crook of his neck. I take in his invigorating scent again, feeding off of the energy buzzing between us.

Beck follows suit and pulls me tight against him, his fingers lacing across the bare skin of my back.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper. At first, I'm not sure if he hears it, but then he lets out a long breath that gusts over my shoulder.

"Don't be. You were right." His voice rumbles against my ear. "I wasn't being entirely honest with you."

I lift my head up to look him in the eyes.

"That night at the lake...that wasn't the first time we've met."

I can feel the heat start to flow into my fingers, my nerves coming alive with the anticipation of what he might say next. I can't take another heartbreaking confession. Not tonight.

"We haven't gone through this repetitive cycle of first meetings and forgetting," he says, as if reading my mind. He then clears his throat. "We did meet before, but it was a little over ten years ago. There was a fire at this school—"

"In the auditorium," I cut him off.

He pauses, the outer corner of his eyes tighten as his brows collide, like they're forming an invisible question mark to match whatever he's thinking.

"You remember?"

I nod, filtering through the flashes of rising smoke and falling ash. "Why were you there?"

"I had a feeling." His expression softens. "It's hard to explain in a way that makes sense. But, all day I had this nagging feeling that I couldn't place. I tried ignoring it, but the more I pushed it aside, the stronger it grew. Finally, I followed it and it lead me to you."

The way he says those words pulls the heat from my fingers to my face again. I knew it. The moment Mom had told me I came running from the woods, I just knew it had to do with Beck. Somehow everything in my life has been tied with his. An infinite rope weaving us together. Is it fate? Is it magic? Or is it something else entirely?

"You were the one who pulled me into the woods, away from the fire. Everyone thought I had died, but then I came running from the forest with barely a scratch. That was all because of you?"

He looks to the ground. For the first time since we've been together, Beck actually seems embarrassed. As if he's not sure how to handle the accolades.

I slide my hand from his and raise both to hook my arms around his neck. He pulls me in closer, his hands lower on my back again.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again after that. I thought I had stored your scent, but after the fire, it was like you were wiped off the map."

"The Ironide," I realize. Because of that stupid pill, I basically was erased. Completely hidden from supernatural detection. "That's why you couldn't find me."

He nods. "Not until a few weeks ago. Even then, I didn't know it was you at the house. I had no idea Raif Conall even had a daughter. The only one who kept tabs on him after he left the pack was Boyd."

Beck's jaw clenches at the mention of his missing brother. "But, he probably left you alone once he realized you weren't like him."

"Like him? You mean Elite?"

"Or a witch. Had you showed either signs, he probably would have taken you as payment for Raif's freedom."

I shiver at the thought.

Beck continues, "Honestly, your dad got away easy for being a deserter. I've seen Boyd lash out for far worse."

"How so? I guess I don't understand why it was so wrong for him to leave."

"In the pack, even if you're not blood-related, you're bound to it. If you leave, you die. But Raif made a deal with my father. He could leave, yeah, but he had to give up the location of the coven."

"The coven? How would my dad know anything about witches?"

Beck breaks eye contact with me. Just when I think he's going to ignore the question like he usually does, he says, "Your mom, Shelland. She was a part of the coven."

"My mom?" My wine-loving, four-twelve-hour-shift-working mom was in a witch coven?

"She was. Along with Evelyn Lucke and Sarah Kemp." When I don't respond, he adds, "Look, I know it's a lot to take in, and I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you before tonight, but we haven't exactly been on speaking terms the last few days."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the irritation boiling beneath my skin. Just get through tonight, I repeat to myself.

"So, my Dad had to out my mom to the Elite in order for him to leave the pack with his life?" I ask, mulling each word over. "They gave him no choice, then? It was either his life or my mom's?"

Is that why Dad has always been so distant? My entire being carried with it Boyd's underlying threat. Every time he looked at me, it must have been a reminder of everything he had given up.

"Raif refused. He said he'd rather die." Beck sighs. "Like I said. Once you're in, you're bound. But, Raif got lucky."

The look on my face must ask the question for me, because Beck then says, "My parents died before his sentence could get carried out. And it was enough to put Raif's abandonment on the back burner, cause then Boyd had to focus on becoming a pack leader instead of fulfilling some bloody tradition." He adds, "I guess Raif was pardoned not long after that. Val said there were rumors that he had a kid with a coven witch, but there was no way to prove it until the kid showed signs of magic."

Everything that never made sense about my parents clicks into place. Dad leaving so suddenly and Mom being inexplicably hung up on him despite how many years have passed. The time frame suddenly makes sense. Dad left when I was seven...not too long after the school fire. I wonder if it was strong enough to catch Boyd's attention?

"I'm sorry...about your parents, I mean."

His arms tighten around me. "I was barely a year old. I don't really remember them."

His heartbeat thuds against my ear, slightly picking up in pace. "I promise that I wanted to tell you, right after Olivian told you about Raif being Elite, but then she told you about Cruxley and it just...it didn't feel right piling anything else on you. Especially with everything being so unpredictable."

My temper being unpredictable, he means. Without having control over my emotions, I don't have any control of my power. Why walk through a field of landmines if there's a path around it?

"It's fine, Beck. It doesn't matter anymore. I don't want to think about my parents or the Elite or the coven right now. I just want to be here." I slide my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest again.

I feel his chest rumble as he exhales. "I also didn't say anything because of Cruxley."

I pull back again, lifting my head up to see his face.

"After the night of the accident, when I pulled you off the lake. That same feeling rushed back in when I caught your scent. But this time it hit me harder. More effective than I ever expected. That's why I followed you home. I had to know if it was more than some adrenaline rush."

We stop dancing, standing still in the middle of a swaying room. Though the music beats on, it's easy to push away. All I see is Beck in front of me, watching the way his eyes glint under the light, engulfed in the way his intoxicating aura melds with mine.

"I think I had convinced myself that that gut feeling meant she was reaching out to me, but that never really made sense. I think I always knew it was something else. Something bigger and it was pulling me to you." He raises a hand to my shoulder, thumb gently grazing the edge of my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire on my skin. "I swear never set out to get you mixed in with all of this. But when I walked into that coffee shop and you turned around, I couldn't think. All I knew is that I had to be near you. It was too dangerous to keep my distance."

That same hand slowly glides upward, the coolness of his touch enough to spark a wildfire along my nerves. A shiver ripples through my body as his fingers brush against my neck before sliding into the base of my braid. And then Beck draws me closer, destroying any residual space between us before pressing his lips to mine.

This first kiss is soft...gentle, the way I imagine a first kiss should be.

It's the second kiss takes my breath away.

His hands dig further into my hair, locking us in place. I try to catch my breath but the tip of his tongue skims across mine, a shower of sparks burst from my senses. I'm drowning between the flames of his touch, submerging deeper into the dark with each stroke.

Beck is the first to pull back, forcing me to resurface. "Can you taste that?"

At first, I'm not sure what he means, but when I suck in a breath, a cold, chalk-like residue touches my tongue.

"Damn, they sure went wild with the smoke machines." Beck straightens up, his eyes finally breaking from mine to survey the room.

I turn toward the main stage where the dry ice pool sits. The air is suddenly so thick that I can barely make out the shape of the fountain, but clearly the fog is still pouring out of it. Instead of keeping low to the ground, the entire gym is now brimming from floor to ceiling with a cloud of faux smoke.

Each body near us is just a shadow, their silhouettes changing colors with the lights from the stage. It's only in this eerie smoke that I realize the silence that has fallen.

"Beck." I lean forward, lowering my voice. "The music has stopped."

Beck grips of my hand, firmly lacing his fingers between mine. "We need to find Ollie."

I nod, staying close as he leads us through the heavy fog. The fire once sparkling in my veins blooms to panic as we pass a dancing couple now motionless mid spin. We pass another, their arms outstretched as if frozen in an argument.

No one but us is moving.

"This way," Beck says, tugging my hand around a group of friends. They're paused in the middle of a picture. The flash on the phone illuminates enough of a path for us to find the staircase out of the gym.

We shove open the doors and spill into the hallway with a gust of fog at our feet. Though still dim from the blue lights above, the air is clear in the hall. It's enough for us to catch our breath without choking on dry ice.

"Are you alright?" Beck asks, scanning me over for any discernible issues.

I shake my head, mentally scanning for an unusual pain or feeling. The only thing worth noting is that he still hasn't let go of my hand.

"Yes, I'm fine. You?"

He gives me a curt nod as he glances back at the gym door. Fog is bursting from the seams, pooling at the bottom of the metal doors as it tries to stretch into the hall.

A distant set of metal doors creak open and then bang together as they slam shut. Hurried footsteps clack against the tile, matching the wild beat thudding against my chest.

The white trees lining the walls sporadically flicker, as if they're struggling to latch onto the electricity.

The frenzied steps then halt and the power surges, lighting every tree with blinding brilliance.

In the middle of the hallway, coated in the stark light, stands a girl seemingly no older than Beck or me. My stomach pangs as his fingers slip through mine.

"Beck?" She calls out, her hands trembling at her sides. "Are you really here?"

No. It can't be.

"You're supposed to be dead," Beck steps forward, his voice taut. "Boyd killed you."

Cruxley. My heart shrivels, watching helplessly as Beck takes another cautious step. Each amount of distance he puts between us only adds to the ache pulling my throat into my gut.

I try to call out his name, but the word blows out like dust. I stretch out my hands, trying to extinguish the fire rushing from my torso to my fingers.

"Oh, Beck." Cruxley starts into a run, pushing through the hallway until she catapults herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she does.

The fire dies in my hands as his encompass her.

Just as quickly as she runs to him, she breaks their embrace, her face slathered with fear. "Beck, we have to go. Now."