Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lena
The crisp autumn air greets me as I step out of Havard Hall, my golden Boden-shadow on my heels.
Each day this last week, the weather has grown colder.
The pace of the seasons in New England feels both new and familiar to me, like relearning the touch of a past lover.
Campus is a symphony of autumnal colors, with leaves in vibrant shades of red, orange, and yellow carpeting the ground and still desperately clinging to branches.
Each step I take sends a satisfying crunch beneath my boots, the sound of the season’s progression.
The sunlight filters through archways and overhangs, blanketing campus in a patterned quilt of shadows and golden glow.
Naomi and I are meeting for a much-needed Friday happy hour at the pub in the Komarov Center. This will be our only chance for some girl time now that my weekends are starting to fill with study time and every other Friday is taken by dinner at Kian’s estate.
I descend the narrow staircase to the basement level.
Last time I was here, I was so overwhelmed and focused on my oddly inappropriate Independent Study that I didn’t have a chance to fully appreciate the underground Irish pub.
It has the aura of a hidden gem beneath our bustling campus.
The low ceiling, supported by stout wooden beams, creates an intimate atmosphere while soft amber lighting casts a cozy glow on the exposed stone walls.
The air grows cooler, and the sounds of the center above fade, replaced by the warm hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses.
Seated at wooden tables and leather-clad sofas are groups of students and faculty.
The polished mahogany bar gleams under the warm lights.
Behind it, shelves are lined with an impressive array of whiskeys and magica liquors I’ve yet to try.
It’s at the bar that I find Naomi ordering us drinks. She turns and catches my eye with a wink, pointing to a sofa and low table in the corner—her favorite leather jacket has been slung over the cushions. I give her a wave and cozy up on the worn leather.
She brings us both a pint and perches on the sofa. “Dude, I have so much tea!”
“Give it to me!” I laugh. Naomi’s the first real girlfriend I’ve had.
It’s nice to just sit and talk and laugh with someone.
She had a date with a panther shifter on the Sciathán team last weekend.
We spend the entirety of our first pint discussing the play-by-play.
We spend our second pint gossiping about the upcoming Samhain and Ariki’s Challenge Epoch ceremony, who’s sleeping with who, rumors she’s heard about the Sciathán players, Naomi trying out for the team, and even some faculty gossip that has made its way into student circles.
On our third pint, she points to the bar. “Everyone’s favorite professor-prince is here.” Sure enough, Komarov is sitting next to a busty redhead. My stomach sours. “Speaking of princes, what’s going on with you and Callum?”
I give Naomi a questioning head tilt.
“You two are spending an awful lot of time together.”
She’s right, of course. Cal seems to find me at some point every day with a smile on their face and two iced coffees in hand, a lavender for them and cinnamon for me.
In nearly every class period of Gardening and Herbology, Callum kneels down next to me and assists with my plot.
They spend the whole class murmuring softly about different planting techniques and uses of magical herbs.
“Nothing’s going on. I think we’re friends?” I throw the thought out to Naomi like a question.
“It seems a little bit more than friendly.” She smirks.
“I mean, they’re beautiful. And I’d be lying if I denied that there was some type of spark between us.
” Cal just has such a soothing presence, they’re like a walking, talking bottle of Xanax.
“But I’m fairly certain it’s only platonic.
” At least on their side. If I am completely honest with myself, I recognize that when I look at them, the winged things in my stomach start to stir and dance.
Weirdly, that seems to be happening more and more when I interact with most of the prince pals.
I know Kian is technically a king but “various members of royalty pals” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Thinking of, I can feel Komarov’s eyes on my profile. I glance at the professor-prince at the bar. The redhead is now standing, leaning between his legs while he whispers in her ear. Gross. His eyes, however, are locked on me.
“Does he have to do his weird blood procurement thing on campus?”
Naomi raises her eyebrows at my judgmental tone.
“There really isn’t anywhere else around here.
Campus is warded to the nines, the safest place for magicae in the world.
” I give her a little side-eye, and she adds, “But also, ew, get a life and stop bringing your tasty ass around campus, hot professor.”
At that, we both burst out laughing. Naomi has either gotten even funnier or the beer’s working its magic. The best thing about Naomi? She’s on my side, always. We both know I’m being a judgmental brat, but she’s going with it and not going to lecture me about it.
Our laughter catches more of Komarov’s attention—the look he gives me is intense. His eyes are sharp, like they’ll carve into my skin and pry the secrets from my flesh. Even in class, I can feel their weight pressing in on me, examining me.
The creature newly housed in my diaphragm answers his challenge, stretching its dark coils toward him. One of the vine-like limbs brushes his face, just barely. His eyes widen—head tilting in an almost predatory manner. Maybe in acknowledgement?
My breath catches. I hastily snatch them back into myself. Could he feel my slithering vines?
“Well, that’s my cue to go.” I let out an exasperated sigh and check the time. “Curfew. I have to meet Boden outside.”
Naomi and I say our goodbyes. As I scamper past Komarov, who has his attention on the redhead, something caresses the back of my mind.
It’s different from the penetrating air I usually feel in his presence.
The invisible touch is a knowing, a salutation, an embrace.
It sends an involuntary shiver down my spine—each vertebra tremoring and realigning.
I refuse to look any closer at my body’s reaction; instead, I hurry outside.
“If it isn’t everyone’s least favorite human scum.” Crystal’s shrill voice draws my eyes to her and her friends as they walk toward the center. Fuck, just what I need: Katri, Crystal, Hally, and Camilla.
If I was smart, I’d duck into the shadows while I wait for Boden to come pick me up to escort me to Havard Hall. “Ah, if it isn’t the Stepford Sanderson Sisterwives, lovely to see you again.” I smile. Never said I was smart.
“What the hell does that mean?” Hally asks Camilla.
“Who cares? At least we aren’t some traitor half-human bitch,” Camilla taunts, her dark hair blowing in the breeze.
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” I wave off my over-their-heads insult—I’ve got to get a better handle on magica culture references. “Out of curiosity and my own lack of self-preservation, why are you talking to me? I thought we all quietly agreed to ignore me.”
“Ignoring? No.” Katri giggles. “Biding my time, however…” She lets the threat hang in the air, which smells of sulfur and one too many shots of tequila.
“Why not call a truce? What can I do to maintain my invisibility?” I propose hopefully but not optimistically.
“I’d never align myself with a Solis.” Katri looks down her nose at me as she steps into my space. “I’ll never forget that you’re all just a bunch of cowardly, spineless, double-crossing snakes!”
The creature inside me stretches its dark limbs, like a cluster of the coiled snakes Katri claims me to be.
“Your life will be miserable as long as you live in our world,” she says snidely. “Even after you leave campus, if you show your face anywhere of respect in this entire realm, I’ll hunt you down.”
Oh, my beast does not like that. I’m not hunted, I hunt. I know I shouldn’t engage. It will only lead to trouble. I turn to walk away, giving her my back, ensuring she knows she’s no threat to me. My creature begs me to lash out. I hold it back, but damnit if I can’t help being a little petty.
I look over my shoulder at her. “Whatever you say, sis.” I throw her a cheeky little wink.
A shrill scream the likes of which I’ve never heard leaves Katri’s throat. Something tugs my hair so hard my neck snaps back, and I stumble. Did she just pull my hair?
“I’m not your sister!” Katri shrieks worse than any banshee.
Katri balls up her fist and attempts to slam it in my stomach. I dodge, and she throws another punch. Her left fist lands on my jaw, and a flash of white-hot pain explodes behind my eyes. My vision blurs. I stagger back, trying to regain my footing.
I blink rapidly, attempting to clear my head, but she’s already on me.
I lunge forward, throwing a wild punch that she easily dodges.
I don’t want to fight. I’m no fucking good at it.
I just want to get out of this mess that my bulldozer of a mouth has gotten me into.
She lands a barrage of brutal strikes. I try to defend, to block, but my movements are slow, sluggish in comparison.
A crowd has formed around us, their voices a chaotic blur of jeers. She hits me—something stronger than her fist landing on my ribs. I feel a crack, a scream tears from my throat.
My head snaps, hitting the rough brick walkway as I crumple to the ground. Each breath I take ragged, my lungs burning hot like seraphim flames. Oh, that’s because Katri has literally thrown her magic at me. I taste blood, feel it trickle down my cheeks.
My vision swims. I’m probably going to lose consciousness. Will Katri kill me? God, that would be so embarrassing.
Fuck, please don’t let me die in these clothes!