Chapter 23 #2
He sets his elbow on the desk, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, looking up under his dark lashes. “I suppose you can help Callum with the music selection.”
I glance over at Callum sitting by themself, scrolling on their phone.
Komarov continues, “To stand in for your grade on this assignment, you can write an essay on the damaging effects of the Sun Wars and the dangers of unrightful challengers to the thrones.”
Of course I can.
He calls Callum over to his desk. “Miss Solis is without a committee assignment. Since you’re a committee of one, do you have any work you can give her?”
“At this point, there isn’t much to do. I’ve been planning for Ariki’s Challenge events since I was nineteen.” Callum blushes at the admission.
“Cool, walk me through it. Maybe I can help.” I smile brightly, even though I’m still struggling with the idea that I’ve been uninvited. “I did work in luxury events before all this.” I gesture around the room.
“Right, you were a bartender.” Callum smirks, turning to Komarov. “I believe we have Lena to thank for Ariki’s newfound interest in cocktails. It might be worth it to put her on the Drinks Committee?” Callum raises an impeccably shaped eyebrow at our professor.
“Alright. Anything for Teariki.” Komarov leans back in his seat. “Pull up a chair, Miss Solis. I’m the Drinks Committee.”
Fucking great, really loving this journey for me.
I grab a chair, and Callum settles themself on Komarov’s desk so that the three of us are all leaning over Komarov’s tablet displaying a drinks list.
“His taste in drinks tends to be a little bit more on the hoppy side.” Komarov chuckles as he scrolls down the long list of beers that will be provided on tap.
“However, he doesn’t really care what wine and cocktails are offered.
Well, except, he sent me a strangely out of character email about making sure that we had, and I quote, ‘artichoke liqueur’ available at all events for his Challenge and coronation.
” Komarov furrows his brow. “Though, I really don’t know what he’s talking about. ”
A small smile pulls at my lips. I guess that drink I made left quite an impression. “He means Cynar.” I chuckle. “I made him a sin cyn when he visited my bar. I didn’t really think he liked it that much, though.” I bite my lip to prevent my smile from deepening.
“Well, I’m impressed by anyone who can get Ariki to drink something other than beer.” Komarov meets my eyes, handing me the tablet. “Look over the order sheet, see if you think it’s the right amount for twelve hundred guests.”
I review the list while Komarov and Callum chat about the fifteen-seat orchestra and the DJ they hired.
A prickling sensation ghosts over the side of my face.
I catch Komarov staring at me. The heat of his gaze sends a burning rush through my body.
I match his stare, refusing to look away first. Something about this strikes me as a challenge in its own right, like the first one to back down will lose.
It’s a primal competition for dominance.
It feels like he’s trying to stare into my soul, locate the heart of it, shred it to pieces, and leave my mind broken.
A headache forms in the center of my forehead.
Still, I refuse to avert my eyes. My vision tunnels, blurring out the rest of the room.
It’s only me and him locked in a dance of eye contact and a battle of wills.
Sticky sweat forms on my brow, my leaded limbs cramp.
My breath catches and then slows and then stops.
A wave of dizziness overtakes me, and then I’m falling.
Falling through a void—no longer firmly in my body.
I know my corporeal form is in a classroom.
But I’m floating in a well of darkness. My fears skitter along my skin with their sharp stone edges and fangs and claws.
Taking me back to that damp cool night. The ravine.
Screaming Dmitri’s name as I plummet rapidly to my impending death.
“Lena,” a warm honeyed voice whispers in my ear. “Lena, come back to me.”
“Dmitri?” I mumble in between gasps of breath. I’m coming to you. Hang on, you promised.
“Lena, open your eyes.” The stern sultry demand scorches through my hallucination. My eyes fly open; my lungs gasp for air. I’m on the ground, Callum on one side of me clutching my hand, an arm around my shoulders.
Komarov is on my other side, concern flickering across his face as he almost tenderly brushes hair from my eyes. “Are you alright?” he asks softly.
I squint in confusion.
“You passed out. You were…” His lips pinch. “Screaming.”
“Yeah, I…I think I’m fine,” I say, my voice shaky. “The physician at the clinic thinks I’m not used to refueling as a Convalescere.”
“Has this been happening a lot?” Callum asks, as they help me sit.
“I…I don’t know,” I whisper. “Maybe that day you found me in the woods. I didn’t remember lying down. Maybe a few other times, too.”
“Let’s get you to the clinic,” Callum says in a quiet soothing voice. I look over their shoulder to see the rest of the class staring at me. Great, just what I need, another video posted online. “I’ll walk you. Come on.” They help me stand.
As Callum escorts me out, I think I hear Komarov demand that students hand over their phones before the end of class. Weird.
The physician-slash-love of my life hooked me up with a potion that tasted like grass but made me feel a little better.
Then she sent me to the spa for the afternoon.
I texted Naomi and Gemma, and they joined me in the hot springs, where we devoured an incredible lunch of spring rolls and pho and enjoyed some girl time.
I’ve never had friends like this. I just had Dmitri, and work friends, and sexual partners.
But never girlfriends that I could hang out with, gossip with, and pine after crushes with.
By the time my independent study rolls around, I’m feeling refreshed and more like myself. I suppose two spa trips in a day will do that to a girl. I drastically underestimated the level of relaxation that seraphims need in order to replenish their energy.
I’m about to knock on Komarov’s office when I hear loud voices flowing through the cracked door. One is clearly Professor-Pissy-Prince. The other sounds unexpectedly familiar.
“She’s been passing out. She seemed to experience a full-blown hallucination in class today. I worry about pushing her too far.” Komarov’s voice is heavy with exasperation. He’s talking about me? I stand still, my curiosity raises her head to eavesdrop.
“You worry about her now?” the other deep voice asks.
“Please,” the grumpy professor says sarcastically, “not more than I would any other student obviously. Don’t insinuate I have an attachment.
” He lets out a sigh and divulges, “I worked on breaking in for twenty full minutes. It’s never taken me that long.
Just when I was almost through, she forcefully pushed me out.
I’ve been getting nosebleeds all afternoon. ”
What could they be talking about? I get the impression that I should understand, yet the full meaning of his words escapes me. Maybe it’s not about me. I could just be self-aggrandizing. I pride myself on my main character energy.
“Look, I don’t want to cause anyone unnecessary pain,” the other voice remonstrates. “But better you than the alternative. I can’t hold the Council back much longer. Just last week, they flipped two votes. Put your reservations aside.”
“I’ve never been comfortable with the stance of by any means necessary. This isn’t war,” Komarov interjects.
“Not yet,” the other voice cuts in angrily. “But it could still come to that. There is also the chance it could come down to either her or Boden in the Challenge. We have to protect him. You need to dig further. Push as hard as you need to.”
Is Boden in trouble? I don’t particularly like the asshole, but I wouldn’t want something to happen to him. Who would be working against Boden? Everyone loves him. It’s mildly irritating.
Komarov sighs quietly. “I’ll take care of it.”
I hear shuffling. The door is thrown open, and Kian storms through and stops just in front of me.
“Miss Solis, what are you doing sneaking around after curfew?” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Independent Study.” I meet his gaze, pointing into Komarov’s office. “Boden dropped me at the building’s entrance. I didn’t walk here alone.”
“Very well. Carry on.” He nods back at the professor before briskly strutting down the hall.
I shuffle into Komarov’s office and perch on the seat across from his massive oak desk, covered in papers, books, and various academic odds and ends. Behind it, towering bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and manuscripts stretch up toward the high ceiling.
The walls are adorned with rich, dark wood paneling.
It’s inviting, punctuated by the soft golden glow of iron sconces mounted along the walls.
Dominating one side of the office is a majestic stone fireplace, its mantel decorated with a collection of antique large-scale chess pieces and academic awards.
Komarov arches an eyebrow at my perusal of the office but allows me to continue my examination of his space.
On one side of the room, beneath high arched windows resides a mahogany table displaying a chessboard between two maroon leather armchairs.
The scent of old leather books, vanilla, and oud fills the air.
I imagine this room has witnessed countless evenings of scholarly debate and solitary contemplation.
A small smile dusts my lips—this space is cozy and quiet, warm and comforting.
All adjectives I would not associate with Professor Grumpy Fangs.