Chapter 27 Nyx
NYX
There are few universal truths—laws of human nature—that have remained unchanged since the dawn of alcohol.
Hangovers, for one. Regret, for another.
Both of which make my head pound despite the torrent of hot water I’m trying to drown myself under.
I can’t tell how long I’ve been in the shower since waking up alone after realizing I had sex with Killian—
Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker, I had sex with Killian.
That was not on my bingo card.
I specifically told myself not to do that.
Repeatedly.
He was off limits.
No more fuckboys, I said.
You know better than that, I thought.
The worst part?
I know it was good—great even, if the ache between my legs and teeth marks on my neck are any indication.
And I can’t fucking remember it.
Honestly, it’s just rude.
Despite my best efforts, the shower does not lead to my demise, but it does wash the smell of him off of me. And by the time I return to my room, my Killian-soaked sheets have been picked up by the laundry service. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.
After making my bed with the spare sheets in the bottom of the wardrobe, I faceplant into the pillow and seriously rethink my life choices. I can practically hear the universe laughing at me in some cosmic impression of Nelson Muntz.
Fuck, nope. That’s just my phone vibrating.
Ramsey Mondragon
want to get lunch?
I start typing out a response: I want to crawl into a hole and sleep for three weeks.
Nope. Can’t send that. Delete.
Nyx Byrke
12:30?
His response comes before I can flip my phone back over.
Ramsey Mondragon
sounds good
Okay cool, that gives me at couple hours to wallow. Or maybe just go back to sleep. I can work with that.
Three hours later, Ramsey can barely contain his laughter when I rest my forehead on the cool table, trying not to puke from the walk to the Great Hall.
“You might just give me a run for the grumpiest asshole in this place.” I roll my forehead to look at him, cheek flattened against the hard surface.
“You’re lucky I can’t eat you.”
He loses the battle and laughs outright, sliding a loaded tray piled with food at me, which I promptly push back.
“Grease is good for you,” he says, pushing it towards me again .
“What is this, fucking ping pong?” I groan and close my eyes.
“Eat,” the deep sibilant voice commands.
Clearly I’m still drunk, because even though I’ve come to know and kind of even maybe like the Moratus dragon, I still talk back. “Have you never been hungover before?”
“I don’t get hungover. Even if I drink enough, my shifter blood takes care of it.”
“I’m sorry, are you actually complaining about not getting hangovers?”
“Closest I’ve come is Fae wine.”
My stomach revolts. “Oh God, please don’t talk about more alcohol.”
“You’re like a little hissy kitten. If you had a tail, it’d be all puffed up right now.”
“Excuse you, I’d be a black cat with a magnificent tail and you know it.”
He puts his hands up, all innocent. “Maybe after a nap and two rounds of IV fluids.”
I narrow my eyes and petulantly grab a strip of bacon.
Fuck, it’s—
“Purrrr-fect,” I deadpan, and he shakes his head, shoveling food into his mouth now that I’ve finally taken a bite.
“So. What do you want to do today?” he asks through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“Go back—”
“You can’t say ‘to sleep’.”
“To the library. I was going to say the library.”
“Yeah-huh, sure. What could you possibly have to do in the library? This is supposed to be a vacation.”
“Well I’ve never had a vacation, so…”
He rolls his eyes, and I manage to keep down a few more strips of bacon as we finish lunch. By the time we leave for the library I feel marginally more human.
“Why are you walking funny?”
Oh God.
“Just sore from training with Luther this week.” Which is not… technically a lie. He grumbles. Except it sounds more like a shovel being dragged across asphalt than any sound a normal human would make.
“What?”
“He shouldn’t be going at you so hard.”
“I mean, he’s not like, hurting me. He’s just a dick.”
“He’s a giant dick.”
“I’m 5’3”. Everyone’s a giant to me—case in point,” I gesture to him.
“I’m not the one beating the shit out of you every week.”
“I mean, it’s not the worst I’ve had to deal with.” He gives me a baleful look as we walk through the massive library doors to our—his. His spot. “Wait—didn’t you say you were a bouncer?”
“So?” he raises his eyebrow as our steps echo through the empty stacks.
“Soooo do you know any dirty tricks you could teach me?”
“Tricks?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like cheap shots I can use against him. Or anyone else who wants to start shit.”
“I’ll think of something. When do you want me to show you?”
I melt into one of the worn leather armchairs and close my eyes, out of breath from climbing the stairs as we reach his corner. “Tomorrow?”
“That seems ambitious,” he deadpans.
“Okay you know what—” I crack one eyelid and glare, only to see him grinning.
“Chill. What book do you need first? I’ll get it while you recover.”
“The Divine Unseen: Tarot in the New Age. And thank you.”
“No problem,” he says, and my eyes drift shut watching him walk away.
The library is dark by the time I wake up. My phone vibrates my lap, and I nearly blind myself checking the screen to see it’s Milo.
Milo Monroe
hahahahhahahha
you’re lucky he didn’t draw a dick on your face.
Wait—
Nyx Byrke
What?
Milo Monroe
“POV: when Sleeping Beauty parties too hard.”
[picture]
It’s a picture of me, sprawled out in the armchair, snoring with my mouth open and drooling on Ramsey’s sweatshirt that I now realize is keeping me warm.
“We are officially on a friendship time out!” I shout, knowing he’ll hear me with his super special shifter hearing wherever he is. A booming laugh comes from the stacks to my left, and moments later he appears.
“What’s up?”
“You’re a dick.”
He shrugs with a smirk. “It was funny.”
I groan and lean my head back. “How long did I sleep?”
“Only like three hours.”
“You let me sleep for three hours? What did you even do the whole time?”
Another shrug. “You’re not the only one with reading to do.”
“Thanks for the sweatshirt.”
“Welcome,” he says. I notice then that his expression changes. I don’t know how to explain it—like he’s looking at something behind his eyes. My jaw cracks with a yawn as I stretch in the chair, and my eyes droop.
“I think I need to go back to my dorm and sleep this off. If I don’t go now I won’t leave this chair for the rest of the night.”
“Okay, let’s go.” I hand him his sweatshirt but he doesn’t take it. “Keep it, it’s cold as fuck outside.”
I mumble as I put it on. “Ugh. I thought winters in Lynden were shitty, but this place takes the fucking cake.”
“I haven’t noticed. I usually run hot. It’s—”
“A shifter thing, yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes as he leads us down the marble staircase and out the doors. The icy coastal wind nearly knocks me over at first, so I scoot behind him and cinch the hood of his sweatshirt until I can barely see out of it.
“Are you using me as a human shield?”
“Well it sounds bad when you say it like that.” I tease as his body continues to block the worst of the wind on the way back to the dorms. Even though his sweatshirt dwarfs me, by the time we reach the common room my teeth are chattering and I’m shivering like a drowned rat.
He parks me in front of the enormous fireplace as it flares to life when he snaps his fingers.
“Stay.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I burrow into his sweatshirt, which muffles my sarcasm. But—I notice it again. Where he’s looking at me but not seeing me.
“You want dinner?” He finally asks, but I shake my head.
“I don’t think I can stomach it. I’ll go back to my dorm as soon as I thaw.
Thanks for today.” I give him a tired smile, which turns into another jaw-breaking yawn.
There’s a moment when my bleary eyes meet his and I’m transported back to Samhain when we were on the patio, before everything went tits up.
“You’re welcome,” he says quietly. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I smirk. “Still going to teach me how to knock Luther on his ass?”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Baby steps.”
I can’t help but laugh before remembering I’m wearing his sweatshirt. “Oh shit—sorry, let me—” I begin to take it off, but he stops me.
“I think you need it more than I do right now. I’ll grab it tomorrow.”
“Oh no, twist my arm why don’t you?” I roll my eyes, but we both grin. “‘Night Ramsey.”
“Goodnight, Nyx.”
My eyes close as soon as my head hits my pillow, practically swaddled in his sweatshirt that I finally admit I really, really don’t want to take off.
A fresh blanket of snowfall glitters in the early morning light when I finally wake up the next day, curled into a little ball inside of Ramsey’s sweatshirt under my covers. In the privacy of my room, I let myself breathe in the scent of him, a mixture of sweat and ozone and ash.
I let myself pretend that it’s his warmth surrounding me, and it makes me wonder about everything that happened on Samhain. About what might have happened if Killian hadn’t pushed him.
Fucking—ugh.
Why did Killian have to push him? I don’t even know half of what he was talking about. I just saw Ramsey get more and more upset. And then his eyes changed and even the air felt heavier. For a split second, he almost looked—
Scared.
Which is why I haven’t brought it up. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t make him.
God knows we’ve both got our own damage.
And this place is lonely enough that I don’t want to alienate one of the handful of people who seem not to care that I’m a poor, powerless nobody.
Which is yet another reason I’m kicking myself for sleeping with Killian.
God damnit.