Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lena
Ayear from now when I’m at my arraignment for assault and the judge asks, “Why did you do it?” I’m going to look him dead in the eye and say, “Because Katri Astor is a major cun—”
“Lena?”
My thoughts are interrupted by Callum’s voice ringing out in the dark.
“Where are you?! Are you alright?”
6 hours earlier
“This is for you.” Naomi hands me a headband with fox ears secured to the top. “They’ll go perfectly with your hair. Just don’t get too close to any fox shifters. They might take offense.”
I thank her, putting them on and smoothing my curls. Naomi, the fucking incredible friend she is, brought a myriad of products for textured hair. Gemma lent me a cute dress to complete my fox look. With their help, I actually feel a little like myself.
Since I have a private bathroom, I invited Naomi, Gemma, and Aki over to get ready and pregame.
I’m giving this friend thing a try. I don’t half-ass anything (with the exception of running and combat, my opinions there haven’t changed), so I’m going all in on friendship.
It’s out of my comfort zone for sure, but it feels…
nice. At first, I was embarrassed about my less than stellar accommodations, but everyone seemed more than happy to have the extra space.
After all, my room is significantly bigger than the other dorm rooms. Even if it is drafty and frigid and smells musty.
Aki brought a bottle of Japanese fire fae whisky that isn’t available in the human world, and I’m in love.
I need this: a night out without all the worries and drama that have taken up my everyday life.
My body zings with nervous excited energy.
I’m apprehensive about interacting with the rest of my classmates in an uncontrolled setting, but not enough to prevent me from having a wicked good time.
“Damn, girl, you look hot!” I compliment Gemma, who’s usually dressed rather conservatively in cardigans and A-line skirts. Tonight she’s going as a dove in a pretty gray-and-white dress covered in feathers. Her hair’s curled, and she’s planning to wear her wings out.
She blushes. “Thank you, I’m committed to the theme.” She giggles. “And me? Where did these knockers come from?” She gestures to my cleavage.
“Oh these old things?” I push my chest out. “Katri’s done everything she can to make my life here difficult, and apparently that includes providing me with clothing that really downplays my best assets.” I scrunch my face in irritation in the mirror while I blend out my deep red eyeshadow.
“We all look incredible!” Aki smirks, fixing his shiny black hair in the mirror.
“For social outcasts.” Naomi giggles, smoothing her red nightgown. She’s going for a Little Red Riding Wolf look. Genius!
“But hot, sexy, irresistible social outcasts.” I wink with a wide smile. “Who will not end up soaked in lake water.” I place my hands on my hips defiantly.
“Not in lake water anyway,” Naomi teases back at me.
“I think this occasion calls for shots!” Aki exclaims loudly, and pours a finger’s worth of whisky into the random assortment of cups I’ve collected.
“To hot social outcasts!” he cheers, as we raise our glasses.
“To a much-deserved night out!” Naomi sings.
“To having a fucking drink!” I chime in.
“To getting wet!” Gemma squeals louder than the rest of us, and we double over laughing, unable to take our shots.
To be fair, this whisky is probably too good to take as a shot, especially out of plastic cups, but when a fire fae demands shots, you take them.
After a full minute, our laughter dies down enough for us to righten ourselves.
“Who’s getting wet tonight?” Naomi gives an accusatory look around the room and pouts. “Because it’s not me.”
“We’ll see. This curfew is really not conducive to my sex life.” So with my curfew lifted for the party, I have every intention of making the most of tonight and finally getting a little action. I purse my lips before glancing at the others suspiciously. “Aki?”
“There may or may not be a river nymph I’m planning on making some steam with.” He wiggles his hips suggestively. Naomi and I laugh, Gemma turns beet red.
“Gemma?” Naomi presses. I didn’t think someone could go from scarlet to maroon so quickly, but somehow Gemma manages it.
“Cheers!” Gemma shouts in a valiant attempt to redirect our attention.
Shots raised in the air, I offer a final cheer. “Poyekhali!” We clink cups and down our whisky.
The others leave for the clearing in the woods where the party’s taking place.
I arranged to meet Michi on the walking trail bridge, since he’s coming from practice.
The bridge marks the halfway point between Havard Hall and the gym.
I’m the only one on the trail, and damn if it isn’t good being out on my own; I didn’t realize how used to my Boden-shaped shadow I’ve become.
I’m not going to thank Kian for cutting me some slack on the leash he put me on, but damn if it doesn’t feel satisfying to stretch my legs.
Tonight the air’s finally turned frigid; gone is the summer breeze, replaced with the cold bite of the changing season.
Hazy mist swirls around the gnarled trunks of ancient trees and weaves through the underbrush and over the small river.
The pale sliver of moon struggles to penetrate the fog, casting an eerie glowing silver penumbra over campus.
The wind whispers through the branches, carrying with it the crisp earthy scent of decaying foliage.
As I approach the bridge, I’m startled by a dark figure standing at its center. Why must it always be a dark figure?
“Michi?” I call out, squinting through the thick fog.
The figure chuckles. “No, Miss Solis. I’m sorry to disappoint.” The tenor of that low voice vibrates at a frequency I’ve come to recognize as Professor Komarov’s.
What’s he doing out here skulking in the dark, and how can he recognize me through all this fog?
“Professor.” I come to a stop in front of him. Pretty sure I once had a sex dream that started like this. Komarov may have even starred in it.
“Well, aren’t you looking”—he drags his teeth slowly over his bottom lip—“foxy.”
I swallow a gasp as I feel a sharp sting of a phantom bite on my own lips. Surely it’s just the moon and the whisky and my own lascivious needs playing tricks on my mind.
“Well, I love a theme.” I offer a forced nonchalant wave of my hand. “You chaperoning the party? What are you supposed to be, a grumpy bat?” He’s dressed in his usual black suit and tie.
“Oh, a bat joke, how original.” He gives me a dry, deadpan stare.
“What happened to your hands?” He grabs my wrists, lifting my palms closer to his face to inspect.
His warm breath brushes against the sensitive, irritated skin.
This close, I have a clear vantage of the small crease between his brows, which are pushed together in concern.
Startled by his touch, I clear my throat.
“Oh, um…Gardening and Herbology,” I lie.
My palms have been taking the brunt of my frustration in the form of half-moon cuts from my nails every time I try and fail to access my magic.
I meet his eyes—his pupils are blown wide, severely feline in the lack of light.
“I had a reaction to something.” I breathe in a stuttered breath.
His woody vanilla and leather scent is heady, decadent in the fall air.
He hums in acknowledgement, tilting his head slightly. “I believe that course requires gloves, and you’re warned to be careful,” he scolds sternly.
“Meh.” I shrug. “I rarely do what I’m told.”
“As I’m coming to learn.” One side of his mouth turns up just slightly.
An emotion I can’t identify flashes behind his eyes.
Something formidable but not exactly terrifying, not quite sensual but still full of predatory hunger.
He glances back to my palms still in his hands.
“You would benefit from some discipline,” he murmurs, almost too quietly for me to pick up.
“So I’ve been told,” I whisper. Our eyes meet, and I refuse once again to glance away. This feels similar to our other battles of wills, yet somehow distinct. His eyes dilate further, until only the blacks are showing. I wonder for a moment if they mirror my own.
“By whom?” he croons. His voice is velvety, every syllable flowing through his lips like fingertips dragging across silk. “Mr. Gatti?”
“That Sciathán ball of sunshine?” I let out a strained laugh. “No.”
“I don’t think he would know a firm hand if it hit him in the face,” Komarov mocks in a dry voice that sounds like a threat and sets my pulse roaring.
I’m 99.9% sure he’s flirting with me. This man who has been cruel and yet somehow has remained attractive.
Maybe I’m not understanding what’s going on here?
But this feels sexual? And not like hookups in the bar bathroom sexual or even 3:00 a.m. booty call sexual.
This feels dangerously sensual, like playing a high-stakes game without knowing the rules.
“Speaking of.” Komarov looks past me before shaking his head up at the inky sky.
I glance over my shoulder to see Michi jogging up the path.
I break away quickly, but Komarov gives my wrists a light squeeze, like he’s debating letting go.
Eventually, he drops my hands, taking a step back. “Some calendula salve, perhaps.”
“What?” I scrunch my nose.
“For your palms.” He tilts his chin toward where my hands are resting along the bottom of my dress.
“Hey, Prof.” Michi—who’s dressed like a mountain lion—shines his sunny smile at us, too bright for this autumn evening.
“Thanks for keeping my girl company.” He slings an arm around me, pulling me into his side.
His skin presses against mine, warming me.
I didn’t even realize I was cold or that I was his girl.