5. Felicity
CHAPTER FIVE
felicity
My heart still hasn’t eased back into a normal rhythm by the time I’m safely back in my dorm room, my back pressed up against the closed door.
What the hell just happened?
I feel like there are thousands of insects crawling over my body, every inch of skin tingling and itching with need.
I can still feel the phantom touch—frost and ice—tracing over my skin.
Under my clothing, my nipples throb in remembrance of his ruthless caress, a low thrum pulsing between my legs.
My fingers twitch with the urge to delve under the waistband of my pants and shove myself off the edge of the cliff he left me hanging onto, but I clench my hands into fists, pressing them forcefully into the muscles of my thighs.
Each breath hitches in my throat, a low, keening sound of need escaping me, sweat dampening my skin as I try to bury the ache.
I won’t give in.
This feeling he’s left me with, this desire, is just a figment of my imagination. It’s part of his power, tricking my mind into thinking I want him when I don’t.
I don’t want either of them.
The only reason I’m reacting like this is because of how long it’s been since anyone’s touched me.
Dizzy gave me a taste of physical pleasure—of what it was like to have someone touch me with desire and affection—and now my tolerance for the cold, isolated world my family has built around me is compromised.
That’s all this is.
Leaning back against the door, I press my thighs together, trying to get the pressure right where I need it. But it doesn’t feel right, and I don’t let myself dwell on why.
I slowly sink down to the floor, curling my knees into my chest, trying to pick through everything that happened, replaying every word and touch, analyzing what it could all mean.
When no answers are forthcoming, my eyes roam around the spartan room. My bed is on the left, perfectly made, the walls barren and lifeless. On my right, Dizzy’s bed is still there, just a bare mattress on a box frame—a constant reminder that she no longer exists in this space.
I was surprised that the housing director hadn’t moved me into a single room—especially if they weren’t planning on putting someone else in here with me—but it was probably my family name at work again.
It was still mind-boggling that I could be punished for fucking someone in my private dorm after another student broke in just because of who I am. Just because of who Connor is.
Connor and Vaelor.
Shifter and warlock.
The two of them together doesn’t make any kind of sense, but it’s obvious they are familiar with each other. Comfortable.
I rub a hand over my arm, right where vicious nails had dug into my skin, a sneering voice filling my head. It’s only been a week since my mother left her mark, but I can still smell her cloying perfume as if she’s lingering just out of sight.
Something doesn’t feel right about any of this. It’s like there’s something going on, and everyone knows about it except me. But there’s no way it’s a coincidence that she’d push me at the Thornton boy, and then, suddenly, Connor and his warlock buddy are casually ambushing me in a hallway.
I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but one minute, I was trying to get away from Connor, and the next, my panties were drenched, and it felt like I was about to come out of my skin if Vaelor didn’t keep touching me.
I don’t know how long I sit here, trying to regain control over my body, trying to forget what the warlock did to me.
When I do finally stand, my knees ache from the position they’ve been locked in. I stumble to the window, shoving it open and letting the chilly breeze rush against my too-hot face.
When that’s still not quite enough, I half hang my head out the window, gasping as bitterly cold air fills my lungs. It feels like I’m swallowing needles, but it’s enough to shock me back into some semblance of sanity.
I don’t understand what’s going on or what they want, but today can’t happen again. They’re not part of my plan, which is to just get out. I have no problem with paranormal species—shifters, demons, vampires, whatever. But I’ve never been part of that world, and never wanted to be.
All I’ve ever wanted, and the one thing I’ve never gotten, is normalcy.
A droplet of water hits my cheek, and I tilt my head back, catching the next one on my tongue. The drizzle of rain grows harder, pattering gently against my skin, but it only takes minutes until my hair is dripping against the sides of my face, and the shoulders of my shirt are soaked through.
It’s refreshing, like the rain is cleansing me, pulling me back into myself. The edge of tension that was writhing in my belly, that unsatisfied lust, cools and dissipates, leaving me able to reason through everything. But just as I fill my chest with air, there’s a dragging sensation over my neck.
For a heartbeat, a breath, it feels familiar—comforting.
But then realization hits like a punch, settling low in my body like a rock.
I shove myself backward, slamming into the window with so much force the glass rattles ominously within the frame.
I stare at it, sure it’s about to shatter, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
That’s the moment I see them.
It’s not bright outside, the stormy clouds overhead completely blocking out the sun. But I catch the movement on the edge of the woods lining Bartholomew’s grounds—a dark shape that looks distinctly like a person, just standing in the shadows.
They’re too far away to make out any details, but they’re focused on me.
I’m uncertain how I know, but their attention is sharp and burning, searing along my flesh even through the window.
A cold sweat trickles down my back, all the anxiety from my earlier encounter with them rushing back in.
There’s a bitter taste of fear in my mouth, even though there’s no way for me to know who’s out there, watching me.
I stumble a step further away, needing the distance from them, just as their head tips back, a dark hood falling away and showing me a flash of gold.
I’m sitting in the dining hall the next day, staring down at the hot lunch I picked up—some kind of tomato pasta dish that might as well be sawdust. I’m sitting alone, everyone around me still intent on keeping their distance just in case I breathe on them.
My eyes are burning from lack of sleep, and no matter how much concealer I used this morning, there was no covering the bruises under my eyes. Every time the building creaked or groaned as the wind buffeted against the walls, I’d jerk upright, sure that someone—Vaelor—was breaking into my room.
He’s dangerous. It’s easy enough to tell that much.
But where does Connor fit in, and what the fuck do either of them want with me?
They’re both older, seniors to my sophomore, but we’ve never really crossed paths before.
I mean, I knew of Connor, but only because of the connections his family could provide for my grandfather—the same way I know about the Del le Fleur family.
Well, they’re also pretty infamous because it isn’t often that the King of the Fae hooks up with a human, let alone marries and has triplets with one.
Most of the people who move in my family’s social circles don’t care about me. I don’t hold any power in the Hamilton family, so everyone follows my grandfather’s lead, treating me like a bargaining chip—one who’s expected to be silent and obedient.
A snide voice cuts through my self-pity.
“...basically a pariah now.” The words are pitched low, like they’re sharing a secret, but still loud enough that it carries over to me.
“Look at her! She thinks she’s high and mighty because of her family, but she’s just a human.
And not even a pretty one. She’s nothing. ”
I don’t look, keeping my shoulders low and focusing on my food, even as irritation bubbles under my skin. I don’t recognize the voice, but the narrative they’re pushing has become commonplace since I returned. Which is fucking hilarious when I didn’t do anything wrong.
Last year, some psychic medium, Triston, was caught fucking one of the librarians—a married one—in the back corner of the library, and the entire student body had basically high-fived the asshole, cheering him on.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d given him a trophy.
And then there’s me. I get caught fucking another woman in my own bed, and hellfire rains down on me. Dizzy and I didn’t hurt anybody else. We were just seeking physical comfort in each other, in a release. But everybody is treating me like I’m a whore standing out on the streets.
“Did you hear about yesterday?” The whispers continue.
“Shut up, Tanya! If you-know-who knows you’re talking about—”
There’s a loud scoff. “He doesn’t scare me. He dabbled in forbidden magic once, and now he follows after Connor like a dog on a leash. Maybe if he claims that slut, Connor will be a free man.”
There’s a bark of laughter before someone—a guy—says, “And you think he’d pick you, Tanya? He probably wants someone who’s had fewer bike rides, if you get my drift.”
“Fuck you, Terry!”
The idea of eating another bite has my stomach churning, so I stand abruptly, the metal legs of my chair scraping loudly against the floor and cutting the conversation at the table behind me off.
I gather my belongings and tray, briefly considering turning around and confronting them, but there’s no point.
And too much to lose.
Instead, I walk away, dumping my tray and heading out of the dining hall, wishing I’d swallowed some painkillers before leaving my dorm this morning. I still have one more class before I can return and climb into my bed.
I’m halfway to the east wing of the castle when a clawed hand reaches out and snags my arms, nails digging in viciously and slicing through skin. I’m pulled into an empty classroom—one of the smaller ones with tables lined up in a semi-circle around the center podium.
That’s all I see before I’m thrown back against the stone wall, my head connecting with a vicious thud that makes my vision swim with black spots. “What the…” I moan out, reaching up to clutch my head.
“Shut the fuck up,” a voice snarls back.