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)
“Hey.” A guy sidles up to me—low voice, bright blond hair, a pencil tucked behind his ear like a weapon he’s not afraid to use. Endir sweatshirt, arms crossed, staring me down like I owe him my number followed by an aggressive text followed by a heart emoji.
“Hey.” I look back at my textbook.
“Aren’t you a freshman?”
I clench my teeth. “Yup.”
“This is an advanced-level class,” he points out. “You must be beautiful and brilliant.”
“Yeah, okay.” He’s either trying to flirt or just doesn’t know how to talk to girls. I stand. “Listen—” I pause, waiting for his name. I have manners; they’re just buried under my zero tolerance for bullshit and guys who think the world owes them something.
“Zane,” he says proudly.
“Great, Zane, I’m going to save you the trouble. I’m one nervous breakdown away from turning into a serial killer, and my dad knows how to bury bodies very well. I wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
“So true,” Reeve says under his breath from behind me. Okay, I may have been hoping for someone on my team, but this was not what I meant. Thanks, universe.
I keep talking. “I know I look fun, but I’m not some shiny trophy you pull out and polish when it suits you. I’m more the type who waits under your bed with a knife—”
“Or the closet,” Reeve says behind me helpfully. “Or the living room with the candlestick, the kitchen with the rope—honestly, dude, it doesn’t matter what objects she has, the end is always death. I’d run, don’t walk.”
Zane slowly backs away from me and whispers “bitch” under his breath.
“Nice to meet you!” I say cheerfully and take my seat again.
“Your first class and you already made someone cry. I had my bets on a professor, not a transfer for the football team,” Reeve grumbles. “Do you even know how to smile or talk in any way that isn’t dripping with sarcasm?”
“Sarcasm is supposed to be a semi-intelligent deterrent from idiots, and yet it never repels you. I can never figure out why.”
Reeve elbows Aric. “We’re drawn to danger.”
Aric snorts out a laugh. Okay, so he does still have a pulse. “I must admit, I’m curious about one thing.”
“Ah, he speaks.” I cross my arms. Finally. “Yes?”
“You were homeschooled the last two years, and even with AP classes, you still wouldn’t have the credits or prerequisites for Dr. Tyrson’s course. I call bullshit. It kinda feels like stalking at this point. Hate to break it to you, but the answer was no two years ago, and it’s still no now.”
Indignation scorches my throat. “Check your info again. I aced all my AP exams to be here. Sadly for you, that means you’re stuck with me all semester. May your eyes bleed from the torment.”
“I’m sitting behind you. Trust me, they already are.” His dark eyes flash white briefly before turning back to normal, and suddenly I’m very aware that I have my back to a dangerous enemy, one who has no clue how powerful he really is and who I really shouldn’t piss off right now. I calmly reach for a pen so I have something I can use as a weapon and wait.
A loud voice breaks the tension in the room. “If you haven’t already, open the app you were instructed to download along with your packets, locate your partner, and please sit next to them. Hurry up now; we don’t have all day.”
Dread washes over me.
This is a good thing, and yet…
I count the heavy steps moving in my direction.
I almost wince when the notebook drops, followed by the bag, then a pen that slowly rolls until it hits my hand. I look up into bright mahogany and extremely angry eyes. “Move over.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Rey
“Grab your partners and get comfortable.” Dr. Tyrson’s voice booms across the room, low and commanding. He isn’t loud, but it doesn’t feel like he needs to be. I imagine every word that comes out of that man’s mouth is deliberate and carries weight. I hadn’t even heard him walk in.
He stands at the center of the room, tall with broad shoulders and deep brown skin. His close-cropped black hair has silver at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard sharpens his already strong jawline. He’s wearing a simple black Endir sweatshirt that makes him look approachable—almost. Maybe that’s a theme here with the professors, what with Sigurd’s garish gold outfit setting the tone.
I steal a glance at Aric and freeze.
There’s not even a dip in the temperature. But the vision hits me like an avalanche all the same.
My hand’s on his neck, his on mine. His eyes move from my mouth, lower, lower. We lean in, breaths heavy, puffs of frost appearing before our mouths, mingling, tempting. His full lips whisper my name as his hand comes up to my throat—