Chapter 17 Sutton
SUTTON
Pure, unadulterated horror slides into place on Elle’s delicate face. My ears are still ringing from the scream she let out after tripping over my foot, since she was running without looking where she was going.
I’m beginning to wonder if that’s just how she lives her life: diving in headfirst to whatever suits her fancy.
By definition, I should want to stay away from her. Especially right now—if she’s running from something out here, there’s no telling what she witnessed.
Heat scalds the edges of my esophagus as she shuffles away from me, like running would do her any good if I wanted to take her.
I extend my arm, offering her my hand.
She smacks me with her phone, causing a sharp sting to ripple across my knuckles.
“What the hell is your problem?” I snap, drawing back. “You ran into me.”
“Who just pops up out of nowhere in the forest?” she counters, glaring, though there’s an edge of something else glittering in her irises. It almost looks like fear. “What are you even doing out here?”
“What are you doing here? This area is off-limits to students.”
“I know you’re, like, probably a thousand years old on the inside, but there’s this cool new exercise called walking. I sometimes participate.”
“Well, you’re terrible at it. Consider picking up a new hobby. And maybe do it someplace you’re allowed to be.”
Her eyes narrow, and she glances at my hands. For a moment, I wonder if she’s remembering our night together, but then she leans in and grabs my index finger, holding it up as if inspecting it for something.
A small spark zaps me where she touches, but I don’t try to withdraw. It’s her warmth that keeps me in place.
That’s all. She just feels good against my cold fingers. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Why is a college professor traipsing through the woods by himself with a mask?”
Now I do pull away. “I’m not sure you’re entitled to that answer, Ms. Anderson.”
“Since you tripped me, I think I am.”
“I didn’t trip you—”
“Explain yourself, Boy Scout.” She gets to her feet and aims the phone at me again. “Or else.”
The irritation and determination on her face make my chest tighten. I inch forward a step, letting the toe of my shoe graze the heel of her boot. Walking, my ass.
Why she feels the need to lie when I can see right through her, I don’t know.
My heart thumps heavily as I reach out, gripping her chin and tilting her face. Her skin is soft and warm against mine, and the gesture causes her mouth to snap shut.
I can hear my pulse raging like a river between my ears.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be touching her, but…
It isn’t like this with anyone else.
Initiating or receiving, it doesn’t matter—my body normally rejects it all, my brain recoiling in disgust. The feel of someone against me dredges up nausea and migraines and nightmares.
But she’s different. Has been from the moment we met.
My fingers ache to graze her. To caress her. To be inside her.
Is this heightened craving a result of the night we already shared? Or the realization that I can’t actually have her—which in turn makes her safe.
“You really think you can fend off a guy who’s got eight inches of height and at least fifty pounds on you?”
Her eyes widen slightly, confusion swirling in those hazel irises.
I lean down, moving her head back more, so she has to bend to keep from breaking in half.
“If I wanted to have my way with you out here, who’s going to stop me?”
Defiance shines in her gaze. “Ah, so you’re one of those guys.”
“You wouldn’t know, would you?” I ask. “You just keep manufacturing these moments alone with me without knowing what sort of man I am. I could be biding my time, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.”
“That would be my luck.”
Something in the way she says that—like she’s resigned herself to an unfortunate fate—dispels the illusion. I drop my hand to my side, watching as she blinks slowly, trying to process the shift.
Dark red liquid drips from a cut on her forehead, likely from where she face-planted. It’s next to an older scab, and I wonder how a woman who seems so graceful in class can also be so clumsy.
The urge to wrap her in Styrofoam and hide her from where she can get hurt surges in my chest, but I shove it away.
“You’re bleeding,” I mutter, withdrawing.
She pockets her phone and lifts her fingers, touching her hairline, and pulls them away to look. A pale green flush slowly transforms her skin, drawing beads of perspiration to the surface.
“Oh.” She blinks at the crimson on her fingertips, her gaze growing glassy.
In seconds, her knees buckle. I drop the mask and rush forward, catching her around the waist before she can collapse. She clutches my forearm as if to steady herself, and I guide us backward into a clearing near the half-burnt gazebo.
After having her sit on a wobbly wooden bench, I reach into my coat, retrieving the pocket-size first aid kit inside.
Elle’s eyebrows arch, though she still looks woozy. “God, you really are a Boy Scout.”
“A simple thank-you would suffice.”
Crouching so we’re eye level, I brush some of the hair from her face. My stomach tightens, and a fierce blush climbs over her cheeks.
She hisses when my thumb grazes the cut, and I wince. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s fine,” she says, swallowing. “I just always forget how cold your hands are.”
“Raynaud’s,” I offer, tearing open an antiseptic wipe to clean the shallow cut. “Narrow blood vessels and limited blood flow. It’s a whole thing, but I really hardly notice it anymore myself. Just when it hurts, I guess.”
“How often does it?”
“Varies, really. Sometimes my fingers and toes are just cold. Sometimes they’re numb. The tingling can get pretty irritating, but mostly it just is what it is.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She nods, averting her gaze as I drop one of the soiled wipes.
“Not a fan of blood, are we?”
“Not particularly, no.” She exhales shakily. “Ironic given my family’s history with it.”
“Their history?”
“Well, you know. My dad’s a doctor.”
“Ah.” I open a Band-Aid and cover the cut with it.
Her breath catches as I smooth my icy thumbs over the edges, but when our eyes lock, it doesn’t feel like the cold matters much anymore.
She takes her bottom lip between her teeth. My nostrils flare as I move away, pocketing the trash.
“Do you always carry Band-Aids with you?”
“You’d be surprised how often students get injured around campus.”
“Is that why you’re out here then? Cruising for someone to rescue?”
“No. I was on my way to a Visio Aternae meeting. They sometimes ask to hold them in the quarry, even when it’s blisteringly cold outside.”
“So what’s the mask for?”
“Best way to keep the ghosts from recognizing you,” I tell her. It’s a partial joke, but she doesn’t seem amused. “The mask isn’t mine. I saw it on the ground and can’t stand litter, so I picked it up.”
“A likely story.”
“You’re awfully accusatory for someone who said she was just walking through here. What exactly do you think I was doing?”
What did you see?
The real reason I’m out here at sunset is due to a rumor floating around about a possible Death’s Teeth sighting, though there was nothing scheduled.
I came out to see if there was any merit to the claim, hoping that my demands to investigate Avernia’s new student hadn’t caused them to grow suspicious of me.
The Director is supposed to be ornamental. She doesn’t pick and choose when to host gatherings. Not without Incarnate’s approval or attendance.
The fact that she might be going around me doesn’t exactly bode well, especially for the woman in front of me.
I haven’t reported any real news to them about the new attendee, so it’s possible they’re growing restless.
If that happens and they set out to find answers on their own, I won’t be able to save her.
Elle shakes her head, her shoulder slumping. “I don’t know. I just… The Primordial Forest freaks me out is all. Don’t you think it’s creepy?”
I shrug. “I was raised in it. Things are far less terrifying when you know them from the inside out.”
Our gazes connect, something passing quietly between us. The tendons in my neck pull taut, my fingers itching to touch her again.
“Tell me more about this group,” she says after a moment, breaking the spell. “Visio Aternae. Why are they so special?”
“They’re the only ones at Avernia trying to do actual communal good. The other student organizations focus on their own goals and projects, but Visio Aternae expands past that. It’s about looking at the future and building a community for everyone.”
“Is that why I can’t join? You don’t think I can be a team player?”
My eyes find hers. “I’m not sure your presence would bring about the sort of attention those students are used to.”
“Rude. Are you implying I bring negative press?”
“Not intentionally, perhaps. But given how the school feels about your family, it’s sort of the natural expectation. Are you unaware of the stuff Pythia says about you online?”
A small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Reading up about me?”
“I make it a point to learn what I can about all my students. Helps me be a better teacher.”
She laughs, tilting her head back.
My throat constricts as the sound caresses my ears.
“No wonder you’re such an honest guy. You’re a terrible liar.”
Offense pulls at my features. “I am not. And I told you—I’m not that honest.”
Her eyebrows arch, wrinkling the Band-Aid on her forehead as she gives me a look.
“Fuck,” I breathe, chuckling as I push to my feet. “Guess I walked into that one.”
“You’re very easy,” she agrees, hopping up from the bench.
“If that were true, our relationship would look a bit different right now.”
Overhead, the clouds congregate directly above us, shrouding our clearing in shadows. Elle’s gaze darts around the area, as if checking for potential beasts that might crawl from the foliage to attack.
Or something far worse.
“So what are you really doing out here?” I ask. “Don’t say exercising. You’re not dressed for it.”