CHAPTER 177: UNMISTAKABLE

"No? I don’t even keep apples in the house."

Her honesty was unmistakable, her face open, innocent.

Nellie had nothing to do with it.

The realization hit like a stone, heavy and cold.

He forced another smile, waving it off. "Never mind. Must’ve been my imagination. I’ll, uh, wash my face. Shake off the grogginess. Then we’ll get started with the guidance."

Nellie nodded, turning back to her notes, accepting his words without question, her pen scratching softly against the parchment.

Lor stepped into the washroom, the cool marble a shock against his bare feet.

He splashed cold water over his face, the chill biting his skin, and stared at his reflection in the polished silver mirror.

He grinned at it, a practiced mask of composure, but inside, a fire simmered, sharp and restless.

This wasn’t random.

These weren’t just dreams.

That spirit—pink glow, wet mouth, endless hunger—had first appeared after Kiara, after their time together, sex, after her whispered words and strange ritual which led them into a strange bond he was yet to understand.

Witch blood. Curses. Secrets. Bonds.

He’d laughed it off once, called it coincidence, convinced himself he was too clever to be haunted.

But it came back, again and again, drinking deeper each time, leaving him drained yet shamefully sated.

He clenched his jaw, water dripping from his chin, his reflection staring back with eyes that hid the storm inside.

The memory of her tongue, the way she’d swallowed him whole, made his cock stiffen again, even as he scowled at himself.

Gods, it had been one of the most intense sensations he’d ever felt, and he hated how much he craved it, hated the pull it still had on him.

"Fuck," he muttered, splashing water harder against his face, as if it could drown the thought, the shame, the need.

He dried off, his movements sharp, and set his mask back in place—Lor the guest, Lor the classmate, Lor the Guiding Light’s chosen.

He walked out, his smile easy, his steps steady, but inside, he was burning.

Kiara’s fingerprints were all over this, and he’d corner her, demand answers.

What had she done to him?

What was this spirit that haunted his dreams, draining him with every visit?

Why did it leave him both hollow and aching for more?

He’d find her.

He’d make her talk.

Because this wasn’t just about pleasure anymore—it was about control, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

_________

Lor stepped back into Nellie’s room, droplets clinging to his damp hair, his face fresh and his grin carefully crafted to hide the storm still simmering beneath.

Nellie sat at her table, her books arranged in neat stacks, her handwriting drying in precise rows across the parchment.

She looked up, adjusting her glasses with that familiar, careful gesture, her gray eyes bright with expectation, though a faint flush lingered on her freckled cheeks from their earlier intimacy.

He lowered himself to the rug across from her, sitting straight-backed, drawing a deep breath to center himself.

The air still carried the faint scent of lavender and rose oil, a reminder of the tub, her skin, their shared heat.

He exhaled, and as he did, his eyes flickered, then glowed—a soft silver at first, then brighter, like lanterns catching a spark.

His voice shifted, deepening into that resonant, otherworldly cadence that seemed to echo from the walls themselves, as if another presence lingered in the room’s quiet corners.

"The Guiding Light will speak," he intoned, the words heavy, filling the space with a weight that made the air hum.

Nellie’s lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as her cheeks flushed deeper.

She bowed her head, her ash-brown braids spilling forward, her posture reverent, as if she were kneeling before an altar.

The trust in her eyes, the way she leaned into the moment, sent a quiet thrill through Lor, though he kept his face serene, his glowing gaze fixed on her.

He let the ritualistic cadence carry him, though beneath the performance, he was weaving something simpler—numbers and theory spun into a show of divine guidance.

His voice rolled out, clear and commanding, breaking down mathematics into clean, vivid images: addition as stones laid in a steady row, subtraction as breaking them apart, multiplication blooming like branches from a tree, division trimming them into neat patterns.

He scrawled examples on her parchment, his hand steady, shifting seamlessly from the possessed guide’s rhythm to the patient explanations of a tutor, each concept landing with a clarity that made her eyes light up.

Spell theory followed, his voice weaving through the structure of gluphs—how a single line could double an energy flow, how intent shaped raw mana into predictable results.

He drew diagrams, his glowing eyes dimming slightly as he hunched over the parchment, the silver sheen fading but never fully leaving.

Nellie scribbled furiously, her glasses slipping down her nose, her cheeks smudged with graphite as she worked through his exercises.

With each correct answer, each glyph placed just right, her shy gray eyes grew brighter, more confident, her fingers moving with a sureness that hadn’t been there before.

Hours slipped by, the afternoon light softening through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the rug.

Lor let the glow fade at last, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the Light had pressed him down.

He rubbed his temples, a faint sigh escaping, his voice returning to its familiar, boyish warmth.

"How was it, Nellie?" he asked, leaning back, his hazel eyes meeting hers with a tired but genuine smile.

Her face lit up, freckles shifting as a rare, earnest smile broke across her lips.

"It was wonderful, Lor. Truly." Her voice trembled with excitement, her hands clutching her notes to her chest.

"I can’t thank you enough. You explained everything so clearly—addition, subtraction, even multiplication and division! And spell theory... I actually understand it now. I feel like I can do this. I’m going to ace the inter-class academic tournament, I just know it!"