Ch 6 - Cora

A Dangerous Bargain

By morning, the headache had dulled, though it didn't vanish entirely. The crack in my pendant was a reminder that I didn't have time to waste. Whatever my parents had known about this curse, whatever secrets they'd hinted at in that fragmented letter, it was tied to this place—and I needed answers.

I wanted to seek out Easton Young, the graduate student I'd overheard students discussing yesterday. They'd mentioned his research on curse breaking—exactly what I needed. After discreetly checking the campus directory, I headed to where I was most likely to find him: the Old Library.

The building loomed over the quad like a cathedral to forgotten knowledge, its gothic spires piercing the morning mist. Stone gargoyles perched along the roof edges, their unseeing eyes following my approach. Whether they were decorative or something else entirely, I couldn't tell, but something about them made me uneasy.

Inside, the scent of aged paper and something else—something sharp and electric—hit me like a wave. The air seemed to vibrate around me, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. Tall shelves stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, filled with books that seemed to watch me as I passed. Some were chained to the shelves, as if they might try to escape if left unbound.

The librarian at the central desk—a woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that seemed to look through me rather than at me—barely glanced up from her ancient tome when I approached.

"I'm looking for Easton Young," I said, my voice softer than I intended.

Her fingers paused mid-page-turn. "Restricted section. Back study room." She resumed reading as if I'd already left.

I wandered deeper into the library, my footsteps muffled by thick crimson carpet worn thin in places by generations of students. Ornate brass lamps cast pools of warm light between the shadows, barely penetrating the gloom between the towering shelves.

As I approached the restricted section, the air grew noticeably heavier. Strange symbols glowed faintly on the archway, flickering as I passed beneath them. The books here were different—older, more dangerous. Some bound in materials I couldn't identify, others making quiet noises like sighs or whispers.

At the far end of the restricted stacks, an arched doorway led to a smaller study area. It was quiet save for the soft scratching of a pen.

That's when I saw him.

I froze in the doorway.

The rumors hadn’t mentioned how dangerously good looking he was.

Not in the way Knox was—all muscle and raw, untamed energy—but something more refined, more deliberate.

Easton Young didn’t just exist in the space. He commanded it. Every line of him was precise, from the sharp set of his jaw to the controlled flick of his fingers as he traced invisible sigils in the air. Effortless, calculated power.

His features had an almost aristocratic beauty to them, though his expression remained cold and distant. Dark auburn hair fell loose from his tie, framing high cheekbones and lips pressed into a perpetual frown. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting.

My stomach tightened—not from fear, but something harder to ignore.

I forced myself to breathe. Why did everyone here have to look like sin wrapped in trouble? First Knox with his smirk and molten-gold eyes, now Easton and his slow, coiled precision. It wasn’t fair—and worse, it wasn’t convenient. I couldn’t afford distractions, let alone two of them..

Books floated open around him, pages turning occasionally without him touching them. His pen moved across the parchment by itself while his fingers traced strange patterns in the air.

Whatever spark of attraction I felt was quickly overshadowed by the clinical coldness in his eyes when he finally looked up. This wasn't someone who helped others out of kindness—this was someone who saw people as experiments, as problems to solve.

I cleared my throat. "Hi. Easton, right?"

His eyes—deep green—barely flickered in my direction. With a subtle motion, he froze the books in mid-air and the pen hovering over his notes. "Depends who's asking."

"I'm Cora Dixon. I was hoping you could help me with... something."

Finally, he set the pen down with a deliberate motion. The books closed themselves one by one, settling into neat stacks on the table. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. The movement caused the sleeves of his shirt to pull back slightly, revealing intricate markings etched into his skin—patterns too precise to be ordinary tattoos.

"Help you? Do I look like the campus guidance counselor?"

I forced myself not to flinch at his tone. "No, but I've heard you know about curses. About how to break them."

That got his attention. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the air shift subtly around us. The nearest lamp dimmed slightly as he focused on me.

"Curses? Now that's a dangerous word to be throwing around." His tone was cool, but I detected a hint of genuine interest beneath the practiced indifference.

"Trust me, I know," I said, pulling the pendant out from under my shirt. The crack along its surface glinted in the dim light. Strange symbols etched into the metal pulsed faintly. "This is the only thing keeping mine under control. And it's failing."

Easton's eyes flicked to the amulet, and for a moment, something flashed across his face. Recognition. He leaned forward slightly, his cold demeanor cracking just enough to reveal genuine interest. Then he made a subtle gesture with his hand, and suddenly—I felt him.

Not his fingers, not his body—but his magic.

It wasn’t like ley line energy, chaotic and untamed. This was controlled, threading through the air like a whisper. It brushed against the pendant, skimming my skin as if testing my reaction.

A sharp shiver ran down my spine.

I jerked back, more rattled than I wanted to admit. ‘What the hell was that?’

Easton didn’t move, but his lips curved—just slightly, just enough to make my pulse trip.

‘Relax,’ he murmured. ‘I wasn’t touching you.’

But it felt like he had.

"I wasn't trying to interfere with it."

He stood and walked toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. When he stopped a few feet away, the air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"What kind of curse are we talking about?" he asked quietly.

I hesitated, years of secrecy making the words stick in my throat. "The kind that's been killing people around me since I was fifteen," I finally whispered. "It drains them. And now that I'm here... it's getting worse. The energy in this place is making it harder to control."

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes widened slightly. He turned and gestured for me to follow him back to the table. "Sit."

I did as he asked, watching as he closed one of the books in front of him with a careful touch. The volume shuddered slightly, as if alive. "You're dealing with something old," he said. "The amulet's design is unlike anything taught in standard classes here." He paused, studying the crack. "And if it's already failing, you're running out of time."

"Thanks for the reminder," I muttered. "That's why I'm here. I need to know how to stop it."

Easton shook his head slowly. "You don't just 'stop' something like this. At best, you manage it. At worst, you..." He trailed off, his gaze drifting to the pendant again.

"At worst, I hurt more people," I finished for him. The words hung heavy between us.

The silence stretched, broken only by the distant whispering of books. Finally, he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture unexpectedly human from someone who'd seemed so detached. "Look, I'm not exactly in the business of fixing other people's problems. You're a liability, and getting involved with something like this could—"

"Could get you hurt?" I snapped, then immediately regretted it. I wasn't in a position to push away help, however reluctant it might be. I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I understand the risk. But I can't do this alone. Not anymore."

For a long moment, Easton just stared at me. Then, to my surprise, he let out a soft chuckle. One of the books from the shelf behind him flew into his hand, making me jump. The pages flipped rapidly before settling on an illustration that looked uncomfortably similar to my pendant.

"You've got guts. I'll give you that," he said. His eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw something like respect in them. "But guts only get you so far."

"Then tell me what else I need," I said, holding his gaze despite the way it made my skin prickle. "Please."

He studied me for another moment, then finally sat back down. "Fine. I'll help you—on one condition. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions, no arguments. Got it?"

I hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of giving anyone that kind of control over me. Seven foster homes had taught me that kind of blind trust was dangerous. But what choice did I have? I nodded. "Got it."

"Good," he said, his tone clipped. He traced a strange shape in the air, and something shimmered around our table like a heat mirage. "First, you need to understand something important. That amulet? It's a temporary solution at best. It was never meant to hold back something like this for so long."

"What do you mean?" I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.

Easton leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "I mean that breaking the curse may require you to confront whatever's causing it. And from the energy signature I'm sensing, it's not going to be easy. If you're not ready, it will overwhelm you."

The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of his words settling over me like a shroud. Whatever was causing my curse... did he mean the Shadow? The thing that had haunted my dreams for years? I'd never spoken of it to anyone except Jude. The thought of facing it directly made my blood run cold.

"Confront it how?" I whispered.

"That depends on what we're dealing with," he said. "But if you're lucky, we'll buy you enough time to prepare properly." He glanced down at his notes, then back at me. "The amulet's design is interesting. The way it works with your energy rather than simply blocking it... whoever made it knew what they were doing."

I studied him carefully, noting how his expression had grown more guarded. There was something he wasn't telling me—something about my curse that had caught his interest beyond academic curiosity. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, and the shadows between the shelves grew deeper.

"Have you seen something like this before?" I asked. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Let's just say I've learned it's best not to get involved in things that can't be controlled." He gathered his books with precise movements, each gesture deliberate and contained. With a wave of his hand, most of the volumes returned to their shelves, but two remained—one bound in midnight blue leather, the other in what looked like silver cloth that shimmered in the dim light. He handed them to me.

"Take these. They might help you understand what you're dealing with." He passed the books to me, and our fingers met—just barely, just enough.

A shock of something sharp and electric flickered up my arm.

Not magic. Something else.

I sucked in a quiet breath. So did he.

Easton’s fingers hesitated against mine for a fraction of a second too long. His green eyes flicked to the contact—and then to my face.

Something unreadable passed over his expression, something cold and restrained—and then, just as quickly, he let go.

The books felt heavier in my hands than they should have.

‘Be careful with those,’ he said, his voice back to clipped and indifferent. "Don't let anyone else see them. They're not meant for... beginners."

But I didn’t miss the tension in his jaw.

I looked down at the books, running my fingers over the strange covers. I couldn't begin to guess what knowledge they contained, but if there was any chance they could help me understand my curse, I had to try. "Thank you."

He scribbled something on a piece of parchment. "Tomorrow. Sunset. Meet me at the eastern edge of the Greenwoods. And Dixon?" His eyes met mine again, and I was startled by the intensity in them. "Don't be late."

He stood abruptly, breaking whatever spell had held us both. With another gesture, the shimmering barrier around our table vanished, and he walked away, his steps silent on the thick carpet.

I sat there among the ancient books, clutching the volumes he'd given me. The library seemed colder without his presence, though I couldn't tell if that was relief or something else entirely. I couldn't shake the feeling I'd just made a deal without understanding the terms.

I also couldn't ignore the way my heart had raced when he'd looked at me—not entirely from fear. There was something magnetic about him, dangerous and compelling all at once.

What was wrong with me? One moment I was feeling heat rise with a wolf who said he could handle my chaos. The next, I was jolted breathless by a bloodless academic who looked like temptation incarnate. Was this place screwing with my brain—or had I always been this... susceptible?