Chapter 9
Nine
IZZY
The next class is a riveting lecture on early witchcraft literature. And nooo, I’m not being sarcastic in the slightest.
Cue—eye roll.
We sit in an amphitheater overlooking a single podium where a tall, gangly-looking woman speaks. Unlike the first professor, who at least attempted to make his lesson interesting with illusions, this one feels the need to speak in a monotone voice.
“…and she founded what is now known as gothic literature, though of course, she chose not to take the credit…”
Yes, because witches and warlocks are so humble.
Cue—second eye roll.
Ansel sits on one side of me, and in the darkness, I can almost pretend we’re alone. I can feel heat emitting from his body, and I want nothing more than to lean into him. Rest my head on his shoulder. Take his hand in mine.
But despite everything we’ve been through together, I’m not sure if we’re there yet in our relationship. He doesn’t know about the mate bonds with the other guys and has only just learned about the supernatural world.
God, there’s so much I want to talk to him about, but we never have a minute alone. Our shadows are always with us—Celeste chatting away a mile a minute and Dyson smirking like he knows something none of us do. I want to put duct tape over the former’s mouth and punch the latter in the face.
By the time class is dismissed, I have a pounding headache, my ass hurts from sitting for too long, and my right leg has fallen asleep, tiny prickles radiating up the length of it.
“We have lunch next!” Celeste says cheerfully, flashing me a smile. “Do you remember where the cafeteria is? Of course, it doesn’t matter. I’m heading down there anyway and can show you—”
“Thanks, Celeste, but I’m good.” I force a smile as I slowly rise to my feet, stretching my arms above my head.
The majority of students have already left the classroom. Even the teacher is gone, having grabbed her suitcase and marched out the back door as soon as she dismissed us.
Celeste’s smile falters at the edges. “It’s no big deal. I’m heading down there anyway.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, placing my hand on Ansel’s bicep and giving it a tiny squeeze.
“Yeah, I’m not either.” He offers Dyson a tight smile. “You two can go on ahead. We’ll catch up when it’s time for our next class.”
Dyson, who’s still sitting with his feet propped up on the chair in front of him, smirks and folds his arms over his chest.
“No can do.” He tsks his tongue disapprovingly. “As your mentors, we’re required to remain by your sides twenty-four seven.”
Celeste laughs nervously and begins to fiddle with the ends of her orange hair. “More like twelve seven. It’s not like we’re sleeping in your rooms or anything.”
“Unless you want us to.” Dyson winks at me, and I curl my lip.
“I’d rather sleep next to dog shit.”
“You wound me.” Dyson gasps dramatically and grabs at his chest, sinking farther into the seat.
I roll my eyes.
“So tell me, Celeste,” I say and turn towards the nervous girl, “is it normal for the Trinity to assign a stalker for all new witches?”
“Stalker?” Her voice goes high-pitched.
“Wouldn’t a stalker imply that we’re watching you without your knowledge or consent?” Dyson muses, canting his head to the side as he considers it. “And you definitely are aware of our presence…just like I’m aware of yours.”
Once again, he winks at me, and Ansel takes a nearly imperceptible step closer to my side, his pinkie brushing mine.
He narrows his eyes at the obnoxious warlock. “What about when we go to the bathroom? Are you going to be in there as well, holding my dick?”
I almost choke on my own spit. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ansel speak like that before.
And yeah, this may be twisted, but hearing him say the word “dick” has a strange type of heat careening through me, migrating in my lower stomach.
Dyson blinks at Ansel, finally pulling his gaze away from me. “I don’t swing that way, but I’m always up to experiment if you are.”
“For the love of…” Ansel pinches the bridge of his nose and turns his eyes heavenward, as if praying for patience.
Dyson’s chuckle seriously makes me contemplate murder. I’m, like, ninety-nine percent positive I could get away with it.
“Come on. Let’s just go,” I say to Ansel, capturing his hand with mine and interlocking our fingers together.
His head whips in my direction, shock splayed across his face, before a tiny smile unfurls on his lips. The sight causes the butterflies in my stomach to go absolutely feral.
Dyson rolls his eyes, apparently annoyed he didn't get a rise out of us, before jumping to his feet and swinging his bag over his shoulder. Celeste moves to stand at my side, animatedly chatting about the next few classes.
As we reach the staircase leading to the floor below, I pause, pulling Ansel to a stop with me.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, spotting the sign.
Celeste’s brows furrow, and Dyson’s grin notches up.
“Need me to hold your dick?” he asks Ansel.
I’m already dragging Ansel in that direction, but I call over my shoulder, “No thanks. I can do that for him.”
Ansel’s hand flexes around mine.
“That’s the women’s bathroom!” Celeste protests as I pull Ansel through the door.
But before she can come closer, I flick the lock and lean against the wood, letting out a breath.
Ansel is already moving forward, checking underneath all the stalls and ensuring they’re empty. Thank fuck they are.
We seem to realize at the exact same time that we’re alone. Really, truly, finally alone. I know it won’t last for long—Dyson and Celeste are witches, for fuck’s sake, and can snap their fingers and open the door—but at least for now, it’s just the two of us.
The skeletal hand gripping my throat releases, and it feels like I can breathe again.
Ansel rushes for me at the same time I hurry towards him.
We meet in the middle, our lips inches apart…
and then we both pause, uncertainty saturating the air.
My heart batters my rib cage as I stare up at his striking face, all sharp angles and porcelain skin.
A tiny furrow rests between his brows as he studies me just as intently.
I want him to kiss me.
I want it more than anything.
It’s like I’m suffocating, and he’s the oxygen I need to breathe.
Ansel is so handsome that I sometimes find it hard to stare directly at him.
He exudes a type of ethereal, flawless beauty that both intimidates and enthralls me.
His light-brown hair is tousled just enough to look effortlessly charming, like a fairy-tale prince plucked straight out of a storybook.
The brown strands of his hair catch the light, adding depth to the rich, earthy hue.
His face is strong and angular, with high cheekbones and a square jawline. His features come together in a way that is undeniably handsome, not just because of his looks, but because of the energy he carries—a blend of confidence, warmth, and something intriguing just beneath the surface.
Kiss me, Ansel. Kiss me.
But just when I think he’s going to breach the final distance between us, going to place his lips against mine, he steps away, clearing his throat.
My heart sinks, but I force my expression to remain placid.
“I…I missed you,” he confesses, his cheeks turning pink, the color migrating to the tips of his ears.
“What are you doing here? What happened?” I flick my eyes towards the door, but it remains shut.
But god, why do I feel so paranoid?
Oh yeah, maybe it’s because I have no fucking idea what these witches and warlocks are capable of. For all I know, there’s a spell to amplify voices, and the two of them are listening to our conversation right now.
Ansel takes a step closer and lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. “Dyson showed up at my house. Drugged me. Took me here.” He licks his lips. “I had a meeting with the Trinity. The Mother…”
“Looks exactly like me but is older and crabbier?”
“And that’s your aunt?” Ansel frowns. “She’s not exactly the friendliest woman in the world, is she?”
“I think a porcupine crawled up her butt,” I confess, and Ansel snorts, the tiniest hint of a smile appearing on his face.
“That would explain why she always looks like she’s in pain,” he says. Then his smile fades. “But that’s not all.” When he speaks next, his voice is so soft I have to lean in to hear it. “I wasn’t adopted as a baby.”
“What do you mean?” I gauge his expression carefully.
This close, I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the pale, barely noticeable freckles on his cheeks. Strain is evident in the lines around his mouth, which is currently curled downwards.
Ansel swallows. “I wasn’t adopted… I was kidnapped.”
“WHAT?” When I realize my voice has risen in volume, I work to lower it to a more acceptable level. “What the fuck?”
“Right?” He takes a step away from me and rakes his fingers through his brown hair. “And that’s not all. Apparently, my mom and dad were Hunters, and they kidnapped me from my birth parents.”
I stare at him, stunned, struggling to wrap my head around all of this information. Dozens of questions flood my mind, each one more confusing than the last.
“God, Ansel. I don’t even know what to say.” I shake my head ruefully. “Are you okay?”
Ansel chuckles mirthlessly. “I just discovered that my entire life is a lie and that I have parents out there who actually wanted me. So no, I’m not okay.” His eyes soften as he stares at me. “But I will be.”
Unable to help myself, I breach the distance between us and wrap my arms around his waist. He tenses automatically, his muscles going rigid, before he sighs and holds me back, resting his cheek in my hair.
For a long moment, we simply hold each other, and I take comfort in the rhythmic thumping of his heart.
“I don’t know what to do, Iz,” he whispers, the words stirring the hairs on my head. “I don’t think I can go back home, but…she’s my mother. I love her, and I don’t think I should.”
“You’re allowed to love her and be horrified of her past at the same time,” I assure him, rubbing his back. “I would understand one hundred percent if you want to hear your mother out. But I would also understand if you choose to never speak to her again.”
“She hurt so many people…” Ansel’s mournful voice punctures my heart.
All I can do is hold him.
It takes him a minute, but he finally regains control of his emotions. He releases me, though the reluctance on his face no doubt matches what’s on my own. I could stay in his arms forever.
“Enough about me.” Ansel offers me a shaky smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “How did you end up here?”
At the reminder of all that transpired, an icy chill careens down my spine. Fear coagulates in my chest.
Quickly, knowing that our time together is almost over, I recount everything that happened at the party.
The attack.
Christian.
The discovery that the gunmen were vampires not humans.
The witches’ arrival.
The mention of someone named Travan.
“Travan?” Ansel arches an eyebrow. “Who the hell is that?”
“No idea.” I shake my head. “But whoever it is, the witches seem to think I can lure him out of hiding.”
“This is all so fucked up.” Ansel begins to pace in agitation, his hands on his hips and his head lowered.
“Tell me about it. At least I can leave this hellhole on the weekends.”
Ansel whirls on me. “You get to leave on the weekends?”
“Yeah. A deal I made with—”
“You have ten seconds to get dressed!” a familiar masculine voice calls from just outside the door. “One, two, three, four, five, six…ten.”
The door is flung open, and Dyson dominates the entryway, that irritating smirk pasted firmly in place.
“What happened to seven, eight, and nine?” I quip.
Dyson waggles his eyebrows. “Haven’t you heard? Seven ate nine.”
He begins to chuckle at his own joke.
“What’s the punishment for murder, do you think?” I whisper to Ansel out of the corner of my mouth.
“Nothing if you don’t get caught,” he responds, the two of us squeezing by the annoying warlock to exit the bathroom.
“Excellent point.” I nod. “But fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—I’m not in the mood to bury a body today. I don’t want to get dirt under my nails.”
I stop walking when I almost plow into a figure waiting in the hallway.
But it’s not Celeste.
I recognize this woman instantly—inky-black hair, almond-shaped eyes, olive skin. She’s beauty personified, even if her personality is about as enticing as a nose hair.
“Forget everything I just said,” I tell Ansel, not tearing my gaze from the new arrival. “I actually do feel like burying a body now.”
“There’s no need for that.” Michelle waves a hand in the air, a tiny smile on her lips. “After all, you’re one of us now.” Something dark and insidious slithers over her expression, narrowing her eyes and straightening out her lips. “And we take care of our own.”