The Devil's Archivist

Chapter 2

Christopher POV:

The heavy oak doors of the Archives clicked shut behind August, leaving me alone in the vault’s stifling silence.

The moment her footsteps faded up the stone stairwell, the calm, icy demeanor I wore like armor shattered.

I slammed my fist into the mahogany table. The blow echoed off the damp stone walls like a gunshot, sending a cascade of loose papers fluttering to the floor.

"Damn it," I spat, my voice echoing in the gloom.

I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the letter she’d handed me. The cream paper felt heavy, tainted. I smoothed it out on the table under the dim glow of my brass desk lamp, reading the sharp, sweeping calligraphy I knew all too well.

Every year, Blackwood takes a price. October 31st. Midnight.

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. My eyes drifted down to the wax seal stamped into the corner—the crow entwined in brambles.

The Order of the Bramble.

Seven years ago, that exact same seal was stamped onto an envelope delivered to my sister’s dorm room. Seven years ago, Clara vanished off this godforsaken campus without a trace, leaving behind only a room smelled of sweet, suffocating rose oil. It took me three years of digging, blackmailing, and selling my soul to Blackwood’s board to secure this archivist position—to get inside the belly of the beast that consumed her.

I didn't come back to Blackwood to curate old books. I came to burn the Order to the ground and slaughter every single legacy family tied to it.

And now, those arrogant bastard bloodlines had chosen August.

I brought the note closer to my face and inhaled softly. Beneath the smell of crisp parchment, I caught it—the faint, lingering scent of vanilla, rain, and the natural heat of her skin.

August Vance.

She was never supposed to be part of the equation. She was supposed to be just another scholarship student I ignored, another ghost passing through these corridors. But the moment she walked into my archive tonight—defiant, eyes blazing with a dangerous mixture of fear and stubborn bravery—something inside my cold, dead chest clicked violently into place.

She didn't cower when I stepped into her space. She looked me dead in the eye and demanded answers.

I looked down at my right hand. My thumb still remembered the electric softness of her inner wrist, the erratic flutter of her pulse against my palm when I grabbed her. I had treated her like a threat, growled at her like a beast, forced myself to play the ruthless monster everyone at Blackwood believed I was.

Because if I showed her even a fraction of the truth—if I let her see the suffocating, terrifying need to protect her that was currently raging inside me—she’d be pulled directly into the crosshairs of my war.

To keep her safe, she has to hate me, I reminded myself, pulling out a silver lighter.

I clicked the flame to life and held the corner of the Order’s letter to the blue light. The paper caught fire, curling into black ash that drifted over my desk.

"You think you can take her?" I whispered into the quiet darkness, watching the embers burn out. "You'll have to tear me apart first."

Thirty minutes later, the midnight air was crisp as I stood in the shadow of the tall pine trees lining the perimeter of August’s dormitory.

Rain slicked my dark hair back, the cold drops soaking through my jacket, but I didn't care. I kept my eyes locked on the third-floor window.

A light flickered on inside her room.

Through the sheer curtains, I saw her silhouette moving back and forth. She was pacing, running a hand through her long hair, hyperventilating from the terror of tonight's events. I watched as she checked the lock on her door twice, pulled down the window shade, and finally collapsed onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands.

A dark, possessive twist tightened in my gut.

She was terrified. And the worst part was, she thought I was the monster she needed to run from.

Let her think it, a dark voice whispered in the back of my mind. Let her fear you. Fear will keep her locked in her room. Fear will keep her away from them.

I reached inside my coat, my fingers wrapping around the hilt of a thin, custom-crafted steel blade tucked against my ribs.

I wasn't going to let them touch a single hair on her head. I couldn't save Clara, but I would burn this entire university to ash before I let them take August.

Above me, the light in her bedroom finally clicked off, plunging her window into darkness.

I leaned back against the wet bark of the pine tree, pulling my coat tighter against the wind. I wasn't going back to my quarters tonight. I was going to stay right here, bleeding in the cold rain, watching over her until the sun broke through the clouds.

"Sleep tight, little bird," I murmured under my breath, my golden eyes fixed on her dark window. "The monster is keeping watch."