Chapter 48 Faust
FORTY-EIGHT
FAUST
The game is canceled.
Apparently four murders on campus is one too many to continue as if everything is fine. We had morning skate instead, and Coach Wynon told me to keep an ear out and my eyes peeled as I walked through campus. He said, direct quote, “Just stay in your fucking castle, Darling.”
If I get murdered, it weakens the team.
Message received loud and clear.
Mom was much more dramatic. She told me to come home, and Rachel joined her in the background of the call saying exactly the same. At the very least, they want me to pour liquor outside for the “spirits of the house” to protect me.
I might do that but I’m not going anywhere, except to Neve’s.
For the first time in far too long, I have a free Saturday and I’m not wasting it.
I snatch up my phone from my bed after I’ve showered and dressed, then bring up her number, but Sylvan’s name pops up at the top of my screen as if he’s watching me.
I grit my teeth, then open the text. We barely spoke this morning; don’t really need to when you’re in sync like we are on the rink, and last night, I called him off from waiting outside the private room at the lounge.
But I know about the altercation outside of Castle Morack.
How he had his arm around one girl but he looked like he might snap the neck of some other guy for touching Neve.
And now that man is dead.
Sylvan
We should be with her.
I stare at his words and feel something twist in my chest because yeah, it’s true, we should, but I don’t want him to be the one to say that and I don’t know if I think he’s fully innocent.
The more I consider it, the less certain I am he didn’t have time to kill Jackson the first night we met Neve.
Or was it only the first night for me? Because the way he’s so attached to her—and it’s not like she’s been spending the night in his bed—I’m not sure he didn’t know who she was. But don’t I feel the same?
Did you see Ace after the castle last night?
He’s too smart to confess anything through a text, sure, but I’ve started to study him, I’ve been his teammate for months now, and maybe I can figure out where his lies bleed into reality.
Sylvan
I know you’re braver than that. Tell me what you’re really asking.
I take a breath as I read his text twice.
He doesn’t want to do this with me.
Not where she’s concerned. Because the truth is, I don’t care that bodies are dropping. I’m not even that mad our game was canceled today, so long as it doesn’t become a regular thing. I’m not upset about a single man who has been murdered at Drayton.
What I am worried about?
If Sylvan Connor is a serial killer, what stops him from coming after her next, and making me into a murderer?
He wants us to be with her tonight, and I agree she shouldn’t be alone, but should she be with him?
Another text comes through.
Ryles
Should we be worried?
I’ve gotten similar texts from Lynsky and our second string left winger, Talon. What they’re really asking isn’t about the murder. I don’t think any of the boys are afraid, even if we should be.
They’re asking about the season. Our future. The playoffs next year.
Some of them don’t have any dreams of going pro. Others, it’s the only thing they’ve ever wanted.
Come to think of it, as much as Sylvan Connor is one of the best freshmen in the division, I have no idea what he actually wants for his future.
I ignore Ryles, making a mental note to text him and all the others back before it gets too late because like it or not, I’m the captain. Then I focus on my texts with Connor.
Come to my place. We’ll ride together.
He sits at the round table in my study, his posture ramrod straight in the airy room cast in black and gray.
Silver marble floors, black oak wooden table and chairs, built-in bookshelves lined with fantasy novels I used to have time for when I was a kid.
There’s a black banker’s lamp on the table, and I imagine Neve sitting there, despite the fact she’s never stepped foot in this room.
It’s upstairs, past my bedroom, and we never got that far.
I lean against the closed door, and Sylvan’s icy eyes flicker to the floor-to-ceiling window dead ahead, sunrise throwing shadows along the sharp panes on his face.
Over the scar on his hand. The one he must consistently try to hide, but that’s just caught my attention. I missed it entirely practicing over the summer.
I assume it’s from hockey, but as I think over the murders of the past couple of weeks, I’m not so sure.
Jackson.
Will.
Mitchell.
Now, allegedly, Ace. The latter hasn’t been confirmed but the rumors are growing louder. I don’t check social media, but Ryles texted me to ask me if I knew the man.
I didn’t.
But one of the last people to speak to him alive sits in front of me now, in the quiet of my study.
“Your place is stunning.” Sylvan savors the words as he turns to face me, one ankle over one knee. He’s in a long, black wool coat, a gray cashmere sweater, and he’s absolutely beautiful.
I know what Neve sees in him.
But she’s afraid of him, too, isn’t she?
He places one hand on each knee and smiles up at me. The picture of politeness. But I’ve seen him nearly slice a player’s neck on the ice. In a tape from last year, before he came here.
It’s not a clip you can find just anywhere.
Wynon showed it to me, asked me if I thought Sylvan “meant it.”
I didn’t then. What player would want to be responsible for murder? No one wants to kill someone else on the ice. Just bang them up a little bit or get some mild revenge.
But now, I think I gave Coach bad advice when I told him to let it go.
Besides, the player is still alive. Word is he left hockey after that, and no one really seems to know where he went, but he had nothing except a minor cut, a little red on the ice.
The four men who’ve died on Drayton’s campus, though, they’re not walking away.
“Did you do it?” I ask it directly. “Ace?” I slip my hands inside the pockets of my joggers and I don’t take my eyes off him. I stare directly into his, unblinking. Right now, I don’t give a damn what the rules of eye contact are. This isn’t a typical human interaction. This is an interrogation.
“You think I murdered him?” His mouth ticks up at the corners, making his dimples deepen.
I push my tongue against my front teeth, at the back, so I don’t fall for any of his charm. Despite what I think he did, or had a hand in, I see what it is Neve wants in him. What Tasia wants too, for that matter.
He draws you in with just a look. An angel with shredded wings.
He’s tall, strong, lean, poised, intelligent, charming.
I feel my cock grow hard, but I don’t move and I don’t look away from him. I’ve only slept with a few people, none of them men, but I’ve kissed more than one.
Kissing is not what I want to do to my teammate.
I want to fucking devour him.
“Seriously, Faust.” His smile falls away. He realizes I’m not playing, and now he’s shifting into a different role. A perfect chameleon, ready for any mood.
Any person.
It must be hell, trying to mold yourself to perfection depending on who you’re talking to. Who taught him that?
Neve might be the psych major, but I watched my mother navigate my father’s moods every time he walked through the door, trying to please and pacify him so he never turned his anger and annoyance toward me.
She was glad he cheated. Thrilled he left her.
It meant she could stop being so fucking exhausted trying to be the puppet he needed.
Who is Sylvan Connor on a string for?
“You actually think I hurt any of those—”
“Stop,” I say, my voice low, but it’s enough. He stops talking, leaning back slightly like I struck him despite the fact there’s many feet between us.
I take a breath in through my nose, out the same, then I stalk toward him after I push off from the door.
When I’m standing directly in front of him, to the point he has to look up at me, I tilt my head and smile at him.
“Stop playing this role.” I keep my voice low. “No one is asking you to perform, Sylvan.” My heart races as his eyes search mine, his full lips parted. “What we both want is to keep her safe, don’t we?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
“Then tell me.” I cup his face in my hand, my thumb tracing his beautiful mouth. “Confess.”
At that, the monster returns.
His eyes narrow, and I feel a bone in his jaw move as he glares at me. “Confess?” He asks the question with a sickly sweet tone.
I pull down his bottom lip. “You don’t like that? Is it church?” My heart races as I put the puzzle together, or try to. “Your parents. Are they religious?”
He says nothing.
Seconds tick by.
I don’t speak again.
Then, showing just how fast he is, his fingers circle my wrist bones and he jerks my hand away but he doesn’t let go.
This is the part of him I want to see.
This is the version of Sylvan Connor that might have murdered four people.
Right winger. Young star. Charming player. Serial killer.
“If you want my lips around your cock, Captain, just ask. I’ll gladly get on my knees for you.”
My stomach blooms with heat and I don’t look away from him.
“But if you want to talk about my past life, you’re going to need to hurt me first.”
I glance at his bare fingers and wonder over the black leather gloves he usually wears and I feel something unexpected. Anger, and it isn’t toward him.
“Who made you hide?” I snarl.
His chest rises and falls hard beneath his sweater, and that vein in his throat pulses.
But he says nothing.
I want to push. I want to know. Both of them feel like mine to protect. But I know how it feels to be on the edge, one breath away from snapping.
“Tell me,” I say quietly, working to keep my tone even, “you won’t hurt her.”
His fingers tighten around my wrist. His grip is strong, and although I have more muscle between us, I know our fight would be brutal.
His nostrils flare from that thin nose, and he says, staring right up at me, “She’s never been in danger.”
My heart races.
I keep myself in check, but only just.
“What do you mean by that?”
A small smile forms on those beautiful lips. “I’ll never hurt you either, Darling.” His words are practically a purr, and my cock grows harder at his tone. As if he knows, he releases my wrist, then drags his palm along my erection, over my pants.
I suck in a breath and groan, dropping my head back and giving in to the sensation. I want so much more, but I only run my fingers through his hair and pull, letting his hand be enough.
Surprising me, I feel something hot along my cock and when my gaze snaps open, his mouth runs along the outline of me, his gorgeous eyes staring up into mine as he grips my thigh in one hand.
“Never,” he says against my erection. “I’ll never hurt either of you. So don’t ask me any more questions, baby.”
Baby.
Fuck.
I realize I’m pulling his hair but he doesn’t seem to mind and when he finally leans back, his lips red, I reluctantly release him.
He glances at my dick, then his big eyes find mine again. “Let’s find her?” The words are whispered. “I promise we’ll only do what she wants. But she needs us today.”