Chapter 8
Days trickled by, blurring together with the same miserable fog clinging to the shadows.
A gray veil worn over campus as if even the school mourned the end of summer.
The weather only got worse as we trudged through the second week, with vicious sheets of rain pummeling the stone walls, muddied tracks scouring the tile floors, and an incessant drip drip drip echoing somewhere within the walls of the History Hall that no one could find the source of.
Lights in the older buildings flickered during classes, blinking in tandem with a hair-raising electrical hum.
The worst of the maelstrom barreled in on the following Thursday morning.
A day when nightmares rolled in on the wings of the storm, yowling outside my windows and rattling the glass with the tenacity of a devil fighting for entrance into a holy sanctum.
And I woke in the gloom-drenched, moonlit dark with a nauseating panic clawing up the back of my throat.
The particles of the atmosphere vibrated, rousing goosebumps down my arms. Lightning struck outside, too close for comfort, casting the room in an electric glow and highlighting the sharp angles of the furniture lurking in the corners.
A dark figure loomed at the foot of my bed.
Thunder boomed, shaking the very foundation of the house and dampening the raw scream ripping up my throat.
Vaulted out of the comfort of sleep and into the waiting claws of terror, I scrambled across the bed, legs tangled in the sheets and failing to drag myself to safety.
Heart hammering in my chest, whooping gasps punching through my lips, I slithered free of the twisted blankets until I fell from the bed and landed with a rough thud.
Shivering, cold and clammy, my back pressed to the wall as my drowsy eyes struggled to find the threat in the darkness.
Another crack of lightning brightened the room. The hair rose on my arms.
There was nothing there.
No one in my room, or at the edge of the bed. No one but me, myself and I.
Alone. Shivering. Silently sobbing into my hands.
An overabundance of black coffee might not have been the best cure for a night terror hangover, but it was necessary fuel to carry me through classes for the day.
The rich, earthy brew and bitter tang lingered on my tongue.
It was the only thing I’d had for breakfast alongside the searing steam from my shower.
I was already on my third cup by the time I got in my car, leaving far earlier in the day than intended.
My hands trembled on the steering wheel, gripping it until my knuckles turned white.
Ghostly mist shrouded the road, and only the headlights cutting through the gloom paved the way to the university.
The sun had barely risen, casting the dew-kissed quad in a dazzling, gem-like dream. A perfume of petrichor wafted through the air and eased a fraction of the tension in my chest. I didn’t have a class this early, but a change of scenery revitalized my unsettled nerves.
Seniors prowled the quad like lone wolves, hunched over to avoid the worst of the morning drizzle and sporting deep bruises under their eyes.
They moved with the careless compulsion of the undead, roaming in search of something imperative to survival but out of reach.
Freshmen huddled together, still bright-eyed as the weight of academia had not yet dimmed their boundless energy.
But they moved as a unit across the grass, instinctively traveling like a herd watching each other’s backs.
They didn’t seem to know what they were afraid of yet.
Neither did I.
Book in hand, I claimed the empty table where I first met Moth, Talon, and Niffy, then began to read where I’d left off the night before.
I had seen the group throughout the past week.
They seemed to appear out of thin air and vanish when a conversation fizzled out.
We exchanged small talk in those brief interactions, but they were friendly enough, and I needed some semblance of cordial human interaction to remain sane.
They had invited me out more than once, but I didn’t feel ready to push my coursework to the sidelines so early in the semester.
But soon. Maybe.
Classes dragged by in a familiar monotony.
The cloying sensation of fear in the back of my throat went down with another cup of coffee purchased at the campus cafe in the breath between classes.
By the last course of the day, I existed as a jittery, anxious bundle of nerves wrapped in cashmere.
I didn’t think I’d ever felt so nervous for a history lesson in all my life.
By some horrible twist of fate, I was the first one to arrive at the lecture hall. Even before the professor. I scurried into my chosen front-row seat, almost dizzy with the rate my mind spun. Where was he? Did he even remember last week? We hadn’t communicated once since then.
As though summoned, the temperature fluctuated, and Professor Quinn strode into the hall, long legs carrying him swiftly to the podium. I began to think he hadn’t seen me until he hesitated before passing my desk.
My breath lodged in my throat.
He rubbed a hand over his face before turning behind the stand.
I blew out a breath, watching him unload his materials for the class.
I didn’t intend to ogle him, but my greedy gaze traveled across his wide shoulders and the navy suit jacket perfectly tailored to his tall frame.
To my detriment, he removed the jacket and draped it across the back of the chair behind his desk and proceeded to roll up his shirtsleeves.
His forearms tensed and flexed with the movement, and sitting in the front row gave me a perfect vantage point of the veins running along his arms.
My tongue watered, and my thighs pressed together.
Deep, sea eyes caught the moment. His dark stare snapped up, and the air turned brittle and unmoving. A flare of tension skittered down my spine and lit me up.
Only the subtle movement of his chest, rising and falling with each disciplined breath, told me he was alive.
My heart skipped a beat.
Then a flood of students swept in, and the moment shattered. Professor Quinn turned away, preparing his materials. People swarmed like ants as they navigated to their seats. And I sat in a pool of quivering anxiety, both dreading and anticipating the next words to come from his mouth.
“So…?” My voice trailed off, echoing awkwardly in the emptied classroom. I hugged my satchel close, staring at Professor Quinn’s back flexing under his white oxford as he erased the whiteboard.
His shoulder’s tensed, and his arm stilled mid-swipe.
He whirled around, brows shooting up, surprised to see me there.
“Yes?” he drawled.
“You wanted me to be your assistant, and I haven’t heard anything. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Ah, that,” he sighed, clearing the whiteboard with a final swipe. Then he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against it. “I’m not sure you’re ready for the position.”
His statement came down with the weight of a gavel. His judgement, final and resolute. Indignation flared within me even as the intense sweep of his eyes sent ice water down my spine.
“Not ready?” I meant to sound confident, but the question slithered out like a hiss.
Professor Quinn shrugged. “The assistants I’ve had in the past had all completed the class before coming back. They were individuals who I knew could keep up with the load. And it’s only your second week, Miss Ashcroft.”
My eyes narrowed on him, and fury bubbled beneath the surface of my skin. I took a step closer, and his posture shifted as if affected by my encroaching presence. His nostrils flared.
“I’ve already gotten through it,” I bit out.
His stupid, handsome face twisted with confusion. A brief victory that spurred me closer.
“What do you mean?” He huffed, smoothing his mask back into place.
“I read them all.” Another step and I had to crane my head back to keep our eyes locked. He towered over me, but I rose to meet the challenge laid at my feet. “Every book required, not only for your class but every class I’m taking for my final semester.”
Something glinted in his eyes—a sea monster stirring in the oceanic depths.
“You… you finished reading the entirety of…” he roughly exhaled before dragging a hand across his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed conflicted, both stumped and begrudgingly impressed.
Heat radiated off him in waves, and I swayed closer until I stood a hair’s breadth from his chest. If I focused, I swore I heard the pounding rhythm of his heart beating like a drum.
“It was easy, in fact. I can handle anything you throw my way.” The urge to frustrate this man controlled me.
He scoffed, brows knitting together. “I don’t think so…”
“Anything you want me to do, I can do—I will do.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I can grade papers, I can tutor—”
“Tutor?” A condescending chuckle breached his lips. He shook his head, looking down at me as if trying to solve a particularly confounding riddle. “Teaching others? No, you don’t need to teach anything.” His voice curled around me like smoke, clouding my mind and intoxicating my senses.
“Then what do you think I need?” The question came out thinner, breathier, than intended. Like I’d whispered a secret meant only for him. And maybe I had. Or perhaps, judging by the glimmer taking root in his eyes, I had issued a challenge of my own.
One he latched onto.
“Lessons,” he gritted out through a clenched jaw.
“Well, I’m here to learn, aren’t I, professor?” I bit my bottom lip to stifle anything else from slipping free. His keen eyes tracked the movement, watching my bottom lip roll between my teeth and come out pink.
His chest shuddered.
I feared breathing in, knowing the riffling chemistry in the air had welcomed a cloud of pheromones between us.
It was an undeniable tension, the kind you felt intrinsically, like a thread woven through your bones and knotted in the low center of your core.
I couldn’t remain defiant with that much desire bleeding through my veins, at least not for long.
And Professor Quinn didn’t seem as unaffected as he wanted to.
My skin tingled with anticipation, and he sucked in a shallow breath.
Logic screamed at me to recoil, but the simmering cauldron of heat in my belly kept me frozen in place.
There was nothing inherently sinful in the biological reaction between us.
Nothing wrong with wanting him as animals do; wild and untamed.
Consequences stemmed from actions.
We seemed to realize it at the same time. Our nearness, the combined heat of our almost-touching bodies, the way his eyes were glued to my mouth. The heady quality of the moment had blinded me to the reality of our situation. Something that seemed so inextricable yet must be resisted.
Professor Quinn tore himself back, turning toward the podium.
He bowed his head, gripping the edges, white-knuckled.
I relished the vision of such a well-built man from behind.
The slim tailoring of his trousers hugging muscled tree-trunk thighs, and the tight curves of his ass.
And fuck, don’t even get me started on the taper of his waist, stressed by the leather belt he wore.
Fire flushed under my skin, and I licked my lips before looking away.
“Fine.” He shook his head even as he agreed. Though it had been his idea to begin with. I couldn’t fathom why he had changed his mind, flip-flopping back and forth, but I didn’t care.
Triumph swelled through me all the same.
Steam followed me down the hall to my bedroom.
I continued pressing the towel into my hair, drying the last vestiges of hot water.
After such a wet, cold, arousing day, I had needed a thorough scrub to unwind my muscles clenched as tight as stone.
With the curtains closed, only the buttery glow of a lamp on the desk brightened my space.
Warm and cozy, as welcoming as I expected it to be. As it had always been.
I tossed the towel over the back of the desk chair and walked toward the dresser for an oversized shirt to sleep in. I want nothing more than to drop into the middle of the mattress and burrow under all my favorite blankets—
“What’s this?”
Something small at the foot of the bed caught my attention.
My heart stilled as vague memories of my nightmare clawed at the barrier in my mind that had kept them out all day. I fortified my mental wall against those dreams, hand still reaching out for the tiny white and brown feather.
I lifted it, twisting it between my fingers.
How odd.
I looked around the room, but I was still alone.