Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
SERAFINA
“ M s. Jenkins, if I can have a word.” Xander’s low, sultry voice drags my attention away from Kian, where he sits slumped in Xander’s office chair.
Gage and Foster already left for class—though Foster was forced to borrow too-small clothes from the lost-and-found that made him look like a male stripper—and V is…somewhere. I think I heard some clunking going on in the air vents. Well, if he’s not maiming someone currently, I’ll take it as a win.
I turn to stare at my arresting teacher and mate before giving a nod and moving out from behind Xander’s huge oak desk. Kian slumps forward even more, his head thunking against the top of the table, his golden hair fanning out around him like a halo. My beautiful, angelic incubus.
My mate.
No, not mate.
Mates .
Plural.
A giddy thrill shoots through me at the reminder that these men…are mine. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that. They were quite literally made for me, crafted from the universe itself to be the missing pieces of my puzzle. My appreciation only grows when I take in Xander’s soft smile…and his delectable ass encased in dress pants when he briefly turns away from me to open a door.
As soon as I’m close enough, Xander wraps his fingers around my wrist and pulls me forward until we’re away from a still-sleeping Kian.
Xander’s office consists of two rooms—one is where his desk is and the other is a sort of sitting room, where two armchairs dominate the space. It’s there Xander leads me, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit.
Only when I’m comfortably situated does Xander perch opposite me, crossing his legs and clasping his hands together. Despite his feigned nonchalance, tension lines his shoulders and brackets the skin around his lips. A muscle in his jaw begins to twitch, even as his eyes remain utterly impassive.
Instantly, I’m on alert, my fingers moving to the bracelet on my wrist that can transform into a blade at the drop of a hat.
“What’s going on?” I ask warily. “Is this about what happened with Foster? I always heard he had a temper, but I guess I didn’t really believe it. He’s always so gentle with me?—”
“No,” Xander interrupts, his lips pressing together and pursing slightly. “This isn’t about Foster.”
“Is this about what happened with Kian?”
Because if it is, I wouldn’t have an explanation for him. I honestly don’t know what I did. I just knew Kian was terrified to use his powers, and I wanted to ease the burden for him, to gift him some of my strength. And…it worked. I think. Something happened.
Xander frowns. “No…but I do think we need to discuss that, after we gather more information. This is about something else.”
I rack my brain for what he could be referring to. Perhaps I could just ask him, but he doesn’t seem to be overly forthcoming with answers at the moment.
“Is this about…us?” The last word scorches my throat, burning like acid. “Because you’re my teacher and mate?”
Oh god. Does he not want to be my mate? Is that even a thing? Will he get in trouble for being with me? I’m technically eighteen, but I’m still in high school, and he’s still my teacher. Maybe I’m not worth the trouble. Maybe he has decided to…deny the mate bond or whatever. Maybe?—
Xander’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly. Before I can work myself into a panic, dark shadows whip forward and caress my skin, their touch feather-soft and eliciting goose bumps on both of my arms. A moan lodges in my throat when one of the whips inches underneath my skirt and brushes against my panties.
“I can assure you, Ms. Jenkins, that you being my student does not matter in the fae world.” Xander’s voice takes on a low and seductive purr that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck turn to spikes.
Another wave of goose pimples ripples across my skin, and I shiver, desperately rubbing my thighs against each other, trying to trap his shadow whip to me.
“You are a consenting adult. I am a consenting adult. And, more than any of that, you are my mate.”
Mate.
Squeal.
When will I ever get tired of hearing that one word?
It’s funny. I didn’t even know what a mate was a week ago. Sure, I heard about it in the objective sense, but I never expected to have one of my own, let alone multiple. Now, I’m surrounded by more cocks than I know how to deal with, and it’s the best fucking feeling in the world. An all-you-can-eat buffet.
My good mood takes a leaping nosedive off the nearest cliff when Xander pulls his shadows back into himself and heaves out a tired breath. His gaze tracks to the far wall, where a huge black curtain hangs, obscuring something from view.
Curiosity propels me off the seat.
“What’s this?” I ask, tugging at the bottom of the curtain.
I glance over my shoulder at Xander, one eyebrow arched. He blows out another breath but nods, wordlessly encouraging me to continue my exploration.
I pull.
The curtain flutters to the ground, revealing a board with numerous pictures and newspaper articles taped to it. Strings of yarn connect one to another. I didn’t think anyone actually did this in real life, only in movies and television shows.
“Someone’s been busy,” I murmur, venturing closer.
I’m not surprised to see that everything on the board has to do with the recent attacks—both from the old murderer and the new one.
It appears to be a timeline. The first few photos depict the girls who were murdered for some sort of unknown ritual. At first, I wonder where Xander got these from, but then I realize he probably stole or borrowed them from Devyn. Newspaper articles are clipped beside them.
“Huh. I had no idea the fae had newspapers,” I muse, scanning the articles.
Most of them are what I already know—young girls around my age were murdered in a strange, ritualistic way. Nothing new or eye-opening here.
The next photo shows the killer face-down in my bedroom. Dead. The writing on the wall, painted in blood, has never looked more ominous, even as tiny as it is in the six-by-six-inch photo.
From there, Xander has pinned photographs of the bodies we found in Tristan’s backyard. All of them were killed by a virus. The same virus that ravaged and destroyed Faerie? Scientists aren’t certain.
There are even pictures of me on the board—from when I first arrived and my hair was white-blonde, to only a few days ago, now that my tresses have turned pink. Photocopied pages from old books are taped directly underneath me, detailing everything there is to know about skinwalkers.
There isn’t a lot, despite V breaking into the royal library.
“You’re trying to figure out how everything is connected,” I say.
It’s not a question.
Because there has to be a connection. I refuse to believe all of these attacks were just random coincidences.
Were the two killers partners who got into an argument? Is there a reason why the murders changed from ritualistic to mass? Is it about quality or quantity? I hate to use those terms in regard to murders, but…it’s a valid question.
What are we missing?
If we can just find one more piece to complete the puzzle…
“I am.” Xander calmly crosses his arms over his chest and props one hip against the armchair. He must’ve stood at some point, but I have no idea when. “But this isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about either.”
With great reluctance, I pull my gaze away from the board and focus on my mate.
“Is this about my stalker? The murderer? My powers? The virus? The?—”
Xander waves off my incessant questioning and finally says, “It’s about Tristan.”
“Oh.”
Just hearing his name is enough to have my stomach weave itself into a tight knot.
Just over a week ago, Tristan and Kian were in a car accident. Soon after, Tristan was kidnapped by none other than Ms. Summers—Kian’s old succubus mentor and the stinkiest piece of trash that ever walked this earth. During Tristan’s stay with Ms. Summers, he was tortured, both physically and mentally, the bitch’s powers leading him to believe that he loved the pain.
When he was finally released from the hospital, he…changed. Really, I can’t think of any other word to describe it.
Not only has he set up camp in Xander’s apartment and refused to leave, but he’s also labeled himself the unofficial caretaker of the group. He won’t shower, but he’ll spend hours ironing all of Xander’s suits. He won’t eat, but he’ll cook our makeshift family a three-course dinner. He won’t sleep, but he’ll clean the entire fucking apartment in the middle of the night, despite the fact it’s already spotless.
I don’t know what he’s trying to prove—if this is just a coping mechanism for him or if it’s an intricate need of his species to take care of his pack after what transpired—but it’s not healthy. It’s almost as if he needs to prove to us that he’s okay, that he’s fine, that he’s not broken.
But he’s not okay.
Not at all.
It breaks my fucking heart to see him like that. I want to murder Ms. Summers all over again, but this time make it last longer.
“I’ll talk to him,” I assure Xander, swallowing convulsively around the lump that has formed in my throat.
Xander forks his fingers through his dark hair. I notice dark circles beneath both of his eyes and shadows gracing his jawline. Has he been sleeping?
Perhaps Tristan isn’t the only mate I need to check up on.
“Tristan didn’t eat today,” Xander rasps. “I was hoping?—”
I’m already standing before he can even finish speaking.
“I’ll head to your place right now.” It’s something I’ve been finding myself doing every day after school—heading to Xander’s apartment and coaxing Tristan to eat, sleep, and wash. Tristan will probably say he’s fine…but I’ll see the truth in his eyes. “Is he still not sleeping?”
Xander nods tiredly. “Every damn night. Most of the time, he’ll wake up screaming your name, though sometimes he’ll cry out for Kian.”
That fissure in my heart widens at the news. I know Tristan blames himself for what happened to Kian in the past, but I thought the two of them were working through it. I think seeing what Kian had to deal with firsthand has fractured something in Tristan’s mind.
God, what more can I do to help him?
I once suggested calling the local wolf pack and having them visit Tristan. Wolf shifters thrive when they’re around pack members, and I hoped that being around other wolves would help pull Tristan out of his funk.
However, when I suggested this, Tristan just waved away my words and then proceeded to rewash all of the dishes until his fingers were shriveled prunes. I knew then that being around virtual strangers was not what Tristan needed.
They’re not his pack.
We are.
I don’t know if we need to perform a wolfy ceremony or something to make it official, but we’re his family. He knows, and we know it.
So day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second, I’ve been coaxing Tristan to take care of himself. I’m not sure if he’ll ever return to the jovial, exuberant boy from before, but I’m praying he’ll begin to heal.
“Ms. Jenkins…” Xander’s tone turns reprimanding. “You have a quiz this afternoon.”
“Tristan’s more important,” I say firmly.
“You only have a couple more classes,” Xander reminds me, his eyes softening. “But I promise after school ends, I’ll drive you to my apartment. Kian, Gage, Foster, and Devyn are coming too.”
I’m not surprised. The four of them show up every day and attempt to coax Tristan to hang out with them. One time, Foster even offered to cook for Tristan, and I swear my wolf shifter just about took his head off. Tristan needs to take care of us, even when it risks his own health and safety.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “I hate this,” I whisper hoarsely. “I fucking hate this. I wish I could revive Ms. Summers just so I can kill her all over again. But I’ll make her suffer before I allow her to pass into the afterlife this time around.” I angrily scrub at my cheeks, my fingernails embedding into the skin there. “It’s because of me he was tortured to begin with. This fucker—whoever he or she is—is obsessed with me. If I hadn’t come into your life?—”
A shadow presses to my mouth, cutting me off in mid-rant.
“If you hadn’t come into our lives, Kian and Tristan would still hate each other,” Xander says firmly, his eyes fierce, his expression grim. “Foster would’ve lost himself to his rage by now and probably ended up in trouble with the FIB. Gage would’ve isolated himself from everyone—including his best friends—because of what he is. Devyn would’ve become so consumed by his job that he forgot about everything and everyone, including me and Tristan. And me? I would’ve been a soulless politician with questionable morals.”
A timid smile touches the corners of my lips. “You can’t know that. You haven’t even known me that long.”
“I know you well enough to know that you’ve changed all of our lives for the better,” Xander says decisively.
His eyes ensnare my own, stapling my feet to the ground, rooting me in place, siphoning the breath from my lungs. There’s a promise in his gaze—a warning for me to heed. He won’t allow me to talk badly about myself, not on his watch.
Warmth suffuses me, flooding my veins like magma.
I can’t help but think he’s wrong, but…it feels good to be wanted. Cherished.
Loved.
“What about V?” I jest softly. “You never said what he would be like if I weren’t here.”
Xander smirks. “He would probably be the exact same—a damn psychopath who likes killing a little too much to be healthy.”
From the air vent above, an echoing voice calls down, “I heard that!”
Both Xander and I whip our heads up.
“Is he…?” Xander’s brows furrow.
I shake my head minutely. “Don’t ask. Seriously…just don’t ask.”