Dorian was avoiding her.
It had been two days since the witches arrived, and Selene had seen him exactly three times once at a distance in the training yard, once when he’d walked past her in the corridor without making eye contact, and once at dinner where he’d sat at the opposite end of the table and left before dessert.
Through the bond, she could feel him constantly. His frustration, his fear, the way his wolf prowled restlessly beneath his skin. But feeling him and talking to him were apparently two very different things.
“He’s being a coward,” Kira announced, sprawling across Selene’s bed while Selene tried to focus on translating another section of Moira’s grimoire. “Like, I love my cousin, but he’s the worst at processing emotions.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Selene said dryly.
“Whe
