Can you come to our session early? he’d written. We’ve got lots to talk about.

He had a gift for understatement.

I took the direct route to his dorm room, through the commons. The rain had finally stopped, but the air remained damp and chilly. The wet surfaces of slanting roofs, archways, and parapets of the dark stone buildings that comprised Arkwell’s medieval-esque campus glistened in the pale sliver of moon overhead.

By the time I reached Flint Hall my shoes were sodden and my hair twice as poufy from frizz. I climbed the stairs to Eli’s floor trying not to squeak with each step. When I walked in, the living area of the dorm Eli shared with Lance was empty. I glanced around, surprised by Eli’s absence.

I cleared my throat. “Anybody here?”

Eli stepped through the doorway of the thin divider that separated the sleeping quarters from the living area. He was shirtless. I stared, openmouthed, unable to help myself. He wasn’t just shirtless, he was wet. Droplets of water glistened on his chest that was hard with muscle and absolutely perfect, even with the three scars that ran diagonally from his shoulder to his rib cage. The scars, like the one on Selene’s face, were still pink with newness, the wounds suffered in our fight with Marrow. On the left side of his chest perched a black scorpion tattoo.

I forced my gaze up, a warmth that had nothing to do with my brisk walk across campus heating my body. Eli’s black hair stuck up at odd angles, wet and sexy as hell. I wanted to brush it out with my fingers.

Finally, I dropped my gaze to his face. Eli had frozen, too, and was looking at me looking at him. Something vibrated in the air between us. The sweet, tingly memory of that one kiss overwhelmed my senses as if it had happened a moment ago instead of weeks.

A slow, mischievous grin stretched across Eli’s lips and the intense feeling broke. I let out the breath I’d been holding and felt my body relax. I could handle the playful Eli a lot better than the smoldering, serious one of a moment before—that version of Eli scared me. In all the right ways.

“Sorry,” he said. “But I had to squeeze in a quick shower. I was smelling a little funky.”

At the word smell, I took a deep inhale and immediately regretted it as my thoughts went fuzzy from the impact of his soapy, masculine scent. Nobody should smell that good.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, forcing my mind to focus. “Why’d you wait so long to take one?” I said, once I felt marginally in control again. I opened my eyes and dared another look at him. It proved to be bad timing as he was in the process of threading his arms through a T-shirt and pulling it over his head. The muscles in his arms and chest moved in alarming ways, all sinewy and popping.

He caught me staring again as his head emerged from the top of the shirt. I dropped my gaze from his bright, knowing eyes, my skin reddening from head to toe.

“I didn’t mean to wait so long,” said Eli. “But I had a dozen things come up when I got back and just now had a chance.” He turned and sat down on the nearby sofa. “Anyway. It’s no big deal, right? I mean, you don’t seem worried about it.”

Even though I knew he was only teasing, my temper flared. It had been a long couple of months of suggestive looks and tentative touches as we danced around what had happened and what this thing was between us. “No, what I’m worried about,” I said as I shoved my hand into my front pocket and withdrew Britney’s note, “is this.”

I stepped toward the sofa and chucked it at him. The action didn’t work as well as I planned, the lightweight paper floating toward him rather than dive-bombing. Irritated even more at my failure for good dramatic effect, I gave the note a hard shove with my mind magic. It smacked Eli in the face.

Whoops.

“Ouch.” He grabbed the note and shot me a glare. “You really need to work on your aim.”

“You need to work on your reflexes.”

He stared at me, his expression turning toward the dangerous side, like a panther contemplating a good chase. Then he shrugged and examined the note, pulling it open. “What is this?” His eyes moved across the message, then he flipped it over and read the Dream Team addressee. He raised his gaze to mine, his mouth open in confusion. “Where did you get this?”

I cringed at his choice of words. What I wanted was a clear, absolute denial, not an ambiguous response. “I don’t know. You tell me?”

To my dismay, Eli smiled. “Why are you pissed at me? Don’t get me wrong, I kind of like it, but…”

I flushed again, hating how easily he knocked me off-kilter. “I’m not pissed. I’m concerned. I’m pretty sure Britney wrote that note. Lance gave it to me at lunch, says he found it here in your dorm. Only he can’t remember when. His memory is all messed up because somebody cursed him last night. But the last person he remembers seeing is you.”

The playfulness vanished from Eli’s face. “What are you implying?”

I folded my arms over my chest and backed up, leaning against the desk that sat across from the sofa. I had to know for sure, paranoid or no. “Where were you last night between ten and eleven forty-five?”

Eli’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding, right?”

I shook my head.

He stood and took two steps toward me, close enough that I had to lean my head back to keep my eyes fixed on his face. “I was right here. In this dorm. And why the hell are you treating me like I’m Pa—”

He broke off, but I heard the rest of what he was about to say anyway. Like I’m Paul.