Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
But the justification lands hollow in my chest.
Ten minutes later, I’ve searched everywhere and, other than the mystery medication, know absolutely nothing useful.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me yet again I still haven’t eaten.
I glance at the closed window but dismiss it. I never really planned to climb back out that way. Not when the dorm room door will lock behind me just fine.
After hustling back into my room and trading my black leggings for joggers, I head to the dining hall, taking my time to avoid any more unwanted run-ins.
It’s crowded and noisy, and I’m bombarded with smells—cheap cologne, tikka masala, chocolate chip cookies, and all things greasy. I grab a tray and follow the line along the buffet, piling on fries, a sad-looking turkey sandwich, and a salad I don’t plan to eat. Then I find a table tucked near the corner—out of reach, just how I like it.
The first fry is glorious. I’m halfway to forgetting the day thus far when Aric walks in, and I nearly choke. They should have already been here and left by now.
He’s alone. Not with Reeve. And he’s scanning the room.
Don’t sit here…
Don’t sit here…
I’m not ready.
The place is packed, but the two empty chairs beside me haven’t been touched—thanks to my Aethercall. I’ve been pushing out waves of silent threat since I walked in, but only so I can plot. Apparently, it’s working.
Usually, I like that.
But I can only assume the Eriksons are immune to my gift. Otherwise, all those years ago, Aric would have reacted to it in some way. He would have felt it, right? The way I couldn’t hide the rejection or my heart dropping in my chest? And the way they’ve behaved today confirms it. Needling me. Approaching me, leaving too abruptly. Getting under my skin.
I glance around, debating whether to reverse the effect and pull someone into the open seat. But the students nearby are too busy filming themselves or scrolling mindlessly to notice an invitation.
I lower my gaze and keep eating—slow, mechanical, like that might somehow make me disappear.
A chair scrapes beside me.
Be anyone but him.
Seriously.
Anyone.
Chapter Thirteen
Rey
“Rough morning?” he asks, not even pretending to hide his focus on the small nation of fries occupying most of my tray.
I glare at him. He just got done saying I needed to stay away from him and, while there are only a few empty seats, I figured he’d rather sit on the ground than across from me. So what’s his deal? Does he suspect that I was in his room? Or is he playing at his own game now?
I dip a fry into my ketchup. “Just trying to get adjusted.”
His eyes—sharp, dark, deliberate—drag over me, from my ballet flats to the edge of my hoodie. When they finally lift to land on mine, the weight of his gaze scorches.
And he hasn’t even sat down yet.
No, he’s choosing to tower over me like a complete jackass.
Everything Aric does is calculated, even the way he watches me. This is a ploy to exert dominance. “From the looks of it,” he murmurs, his lips tipping up in a sexy smirk I itch to smack right off his face, “that might take some time.”
I force my fingers to unclench and casually drop my fry onto the tray, despite the fact that my heart’s ready to hammer out of my chest. It’s almost cruel, how pretty he is.
I shrug, masking my nerves and increasingly rapid heartbeat. I blurt out the first thing I can think of from my perusal of his closet. “I like to hike. Makes me hungry.”
“Hmm,” he says, assessing me with a slight cock of his head. “Same. There are a lot of trails around here, but”—he sets his tray down next to mine as he takes the empty seat—“you don’t seem like the hiking type.”
“That’s borderline insulting.” I grab another fry and shove it into my mouth. “Though not as insulting as what you said earlier.”
He shrugs. “If the hiking shoe fits…”
“So why are you here, Aric?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Didn’t you just tell me to stay the hell away from you?”
He shrugs. “Know thy enemy.”
“Ah,” I say. “Okay, then. So how is your day going, enemy?” I lean in. “Eventful?”
His eyes narrow, and then he completely shuts down. “No. I’ve been reading.”
Liar.
“What’re you reading?” I prod.
“‘The Epic of Gilgamesh.’”
I try to look unimpressed, but admittedly, that’s not what I expected. Although a poem about immortality and doomed gods—an echo of their world—tracks as something he’d be drawn to. “Is that required reading? I haven’t had a chance to look at my syllabus yet, with all the hiking I’ve been doing.”
“Reading should never be required.” He leans back, the fabric of his black T-shirt pulling tight across his chest. His voice drops, and yet again I’m reminded that the sound of it can be as hypnotic as a siren’s call. “It should be for pleasure. Don’t you think?”