Crown of Cinders (Imdalind Series Book 7) (40 page)

R
ebecca Ethington is an internationally bestselling
author with almost 700,000 books sold. Her breakout debut, The Imdalind Series, has been featured on bestseller lists since its debut in 2012, reaching thousands of adoring fans worldwide and cited as “Interesting and Intense” by
USA Today’s Happily Ever After Blog
.

From writing horror to romance and creating every sort of magical creature in between, Rebecca’s imagination weaves vibrant worlds that transport readers into the pages of her books. Her writing has been described as fresh, original, and groundbreaking, with stories that bend genres and create fantastical worlds.

Born and raised under the lights of a stage, Rebecca has written stories by the ghost light, told them in whispers in dark corridors, and never stopped creating within the pages of a notebook.

Find me online

• @RebEthington
  
• rebeccaethington.author
  

T
he window
to my bedroom was thrown open, letting the warm summer breeze swirl into the room. It was supposed to keep me focused, but it was only distracting me as I partially attempted to finish my Trig homework. It was due tomorrow and I had already put it off too long. I didn’t want to admit that I had given up on school, but it was only a month before graduation and with every day it was getting harder and harder to focus. Not like the warm weather was helping much, either.

My eyes drifted in and out of focus as I stared at the block letters on the page, attempting to focus through numbers and cosines, but nothing was taking. They all blended together into jumbled squiggles. I didn’t really know why I was still trying. I had already secured my 4.0 and the last term didn’t matter. At least that’s what Cohen had always told me, but my mom had a different idea.

Either way, I already had my acceptance letter to The University of Cincinnati.

Right where I wanted to be.

Shifting my weight into an awkward squat, I perched myself on the old kitchen chair I used at my desk and let the numbers turn into a blur again. Maybe Trig wasn’t in the cards today; I did have my project on avian mythology I had to finish; but even that thought was washed away by the smell of spring lilacs that filled my room.

I breathed in the fresh scent and leaned against the back of the chair, my eyes closing as I absorbed the smell I loved so much.

We had planted the lilac bush right below my window when my grandmother had passed away, and every year it blossomed in the spring. This year, though, for some reason it had held off and waited to bloom until just a few days ago, even though summer was almost here. Not that I was complaining. It made the room smell like a salon and gave me even more of a reason to keep the window open.

I hated being indoors for too long. It made me feel like a trapped animal, which probably meant it was good that I lived in a warm climate. I would go mad being shut indoors for months on end. Plus, the cold. Ew. I didn’t know how some people did it. That only made it even more ridiculous that I would be trucking myself off to Ohio. I’d been told it snows there. Ugh.

“Alexis!”

I jumped at my name, practically falling off my chair as I turned toward my door, expecting to see my dad scowling at me for whatever reason. However, the door was closed.

“Alexis!”

The voice came again and I jumped even more; the action sending the chair sideways and me tumbling to the floor while someone else’s laughter filled my room.

Oh, no way.
I knew where the voice was coming from now; that menace. I jumped up as indignantly as I could with my long, red hair fanning around me. As I turned toward my window, I came face to face with the object of my unobstructed infatuation since fifth grade.

I hadn’t seen him in months, not since he came home for Christmas break bearing gifts not only for me, but all four of my younger brothers.

“Cohen! You’re back,” I tried to keep my voice calm, maybe a little bit attractive. But instead, I practically yelled at him, my excitement at seeing him making my words twice as loud as they needed to be.

“Took you long enough to figure out it was me, firecracker,” he teased, flashing me his bright white smile, the color a stark abstract from the ebony of his eyes. Embarrassed, I only scowled in return, the subtle reminder of my irritating hair color unwelcome. He, however, smiled more, obviously glad his jab had wound its way under my skin. My irritation instantly melted. It was hard to stay mad at him when he smiled like that.

Trying hard to keep a smile off my face, I stared at him, heart beating heavily at the dark growth that was now covering his jawline. It made him look like a younger version of that lumberjack who sells paper towels. I liked it. Everything about him was familiar and warming while at the same time different and older.

I tried not to focus on the super sexy attempt at a beard he had going on; or the way the short, patchy scruff perfectly matched his neatly trimmed hair, or the way scruff and hair and everything squished together when he smiled, or the way…

This was a lost cause.

“Got back a couple hours ago. Nan was making me do laundry or I would have stopped by to pester you sooner. I guess college kids smell.” He smiled again and moved to sit on the large desk in front of his window, the same way we had always done.

I moved to mirror him, fully aware I was wearing my fuzzy pink pajama pants, but not caring. Cohen and I had done this since the day he moved in with his grandparents after his parents died eleven years ago. We would sit for hours in our windows and “shoot the ten foot gap”, as my mom called it. I didn’t even have curtains in my room until I hit puberty and became aware that a
boy
was able to look in my window.

“They do smell. In fact, you should probably stay over there.” I smiled at him, but he only laughed.

“Not me, I’ve been scrubbed by the ultimate authority in clean. Nan pulled out the bleach and everything.”

“Well, if she has done to you what she does to her kitchen, then I will have to take your word for it.” I swung my legs over the window sill, letting them dangle over the fifteen or so feet to the unkempt lawn below. It was a good thing I had never developed any vertigo or that would make this whole thing much more uncomfortable.

“I smell all lemony, Lex; you should come take a whiff.” Cohen lifted his arms and took an over-exaggerated inhale from each pit. I was torn between laughing and making gagging sounds.

What resulted was a sort of dying bird squawk that reduced to coughs as I choked on my own spit.

How attractive.

“You okay?” Cohen asked, his dark eyes crinkling as he laughed.

“Yeah, I guess I forgot how to breathe there,” I said weakly, still trying to figure out how to use my lungs.

“I hear I have that effect on girls,” he said it flippantly, the smile obvious on his face. However, my body had a completely different reaction.

I froze, I knew he meant it as a joke—an offhand comment—but I couldn’t stop the painful, seven piece band my heart was now participating in. Stomach twisted in a knot, I fixed him with my normal glare, pretty sure my jaw was hanging open a bit more than what would normally be deemed natural.

A small laugh escaped him and my glare melted into a cringe. The seven piece band ceasing automatically and letting my heartbeat regulate.

I really wished I would have gotten over this ridiculous infatuation by now, but no, I had to be tormented.

I wasn’t lying when I said I had a crush on him. I simply knew he didn’t have a crush on me. If you ever need to be put in your place, ask your best friend to a dance in front of all of his friends. I think I hit the “friend zone” faster than any girl in history.

“So, how is college?” I asked before he could say anything relating to the friendship he hoped to continue with me.

I just hoped my hit-by-a-truck expression wasn’t too obvious.

“Great,” he said. My nerves loosened in the hope that he really hadn’t noticed. “Except for the core stuff. If I could sit in art class all day, I would. Have you decided where you are going yet?”

“Not yet,” I lied, knowing full well my mom had framed my acceptance letter to The University of Cincinnati and hung it in my room.

I just couldn’t tell him where I was going. It wasn’t a logical choice for a middle class girl from Texas. Cohen had chosen the University of Cincinnati because of their advanced School of the Arts. I chose Cincinnati because of Cohen.

I knew it, my mom knew it, my other best friend, Sarah, knew it. I simply didn’t need Cohen knowing it.

“There is always The University of Cincinnati,” he said and I almost fell out the window. My stomach swam uncomfortably at his words. I wanted to say he was just kidding, but the look in his eyes made me re-think that thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” I said softly, trying to fight the tomato red blush that was creeping its way up my face.

Luckily, Cohen didn’t seem to notice my new coloring, instead he leaned out the window until it looked like he was going to fall out and smiled.

“Think hard about it, Lex.”

It was probably a miracle that I hadn’t tumbled out of the window with the look he gave me. My fingers clenched the wooden frame in a mad attempt to steady myself. The smile that was now lining my face was probably a bit bigger than would be considered normal.

“Oh, I will, but I’m thinking of staying close to home,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “You know, where it’s warm.”

“It’s warm in Ohio,” Cohen countered, one side of his lips pulling up.

I tried not to smile too much at the way his scruff crinkled with the smile. Instead I chose to look at his charcoal stained fingers as they tapped against the window frame.

“I’m sure it is,” I said, my focus still on his fingers. “Tell me, Cohen, did it snow this winter?”

“It did, Alexis. Big, beautiful white flakes that clung to everything, but don’t worry about that; I’ll keep you warm.” He smiled and I couldn’t help it, I laughed even though my nerves had gone back to their gymnastics meet.

I laughed, big loud and unattractive, and only a few seconds later he joined in. I wanted to believe that he was being cute and flirty, but I knew better. Besides, Cohen had never said anything like that ever. The mere fact that it had come out of his mouth was more humorous than anything.

“Don’t laugh, firecracker.” He fought the chuckle that was still sneaking its way into his voice. “I have a very effective space heater…”

The rest of his words died in my ears as my laughter and my mom’s call for dinner over-powered them. He was only talking about a space heater, not some form of uncomfortable (while still desirable) blanket sharing. Which was probably best, I might be begging for use of his space heater in six months’ time.

“Lex…” he growled and I looked at him, stabilizing myself against the window frame in an attempt to keep my laughter in. “I’m serious.”

“Uh-huh, and I have the plague.” I smiled brightly and he rolled his eyes just as my mom’s voice sounded again; she was louder and decidedly angrier this time.

I sighed and swung my legs back onto my desk just as the sound of my mom’s footsteps sounded on the staircase. That was one big downfall of living in such an old house; not only was it small, but every noise echoed around the rooms like it was happening right next to you.

“I gotta go,” I sighed, sure my voice sounded much more dejected than I wanted it to. Cohen’s face went from smiling to pensive dejection so fast it made my heart clench.

“Dinner,” I provided as if that made it all better.

“Well, you better come right back. I have a job for you.” His bright smile shone from across the ten foot gap.

“A job?” I asked as I slid off the desk to face him.

My mom yelled again, her voice loud at the top of the stairs. I wanted to turn toward her—to be the obedient child I always was—but I couldn’t make myself move. Not yet.

“Yeah, so don’t be too long. My slave laborers normally don’t get dinner breaks.” He smiled again as my jaw dropped, the odd, spluttering sounds coming from my mouth again.

“Slave laborer!” I tried to regain control, but nothing seemed to be cooperating and my fire-hot temper bubbled uncomfortably.

“Smile, firecracker,” he said, his smile leaving me sputtering as he waved to my mom, who I was sure was right behind me. Then, he left his room.

How did he always get under my skin? And for the stupidest things, too. Ugh.