8. Malachi
MALACHI
It’s Monday morning, and I’m in a shitty mood. I’ve spent the entire weekend in a case of frustrated arousal, and fuck me, it’s been weird—half-annoying, and half-heavenly. Now, though, I’m getting seriously pissed at the way my body won’t behave.
At least economics should take the edge off. Nothing like learning about disastrous thirties economic policies to dampen an erection.
The class hasn’t started yet and is only half full.
This is an elective. Neither Roman nor Cain take this class.
They barely take any. Roman most of all.
He attends so sporadically, I’m surprised the college hasn’t kicked him out yet.
It makes me think his family has a deal with the dean to just keep him here for a few years, until he’s ready to assume the throne as the head of their empire.
Cain goes to more lessons, and I attend the most. I like learning, and sometimes, I like to sit and just listen. Switch off everything else and let the words of whoever is at the front of the class wash over me.
I sit at the rear and let my chair tip back as my toes push against the floor. I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. I had the dream again. The one where I’m being held down by my father and uncle as they beat the crap out of me.
My upbringing and background are the main reasons I bonded with Cain and then Roman. I met Cain first, we became friends, and, when we met Roman, we were inseparable.
Roman is the one who showed us how powerful we could be.
Not only if we were physically strong, which we’d all become in response to our childhoods, but if we were mentally strong, too.
Part of that is having a belief system, and Roman did.
He shared those beliefs with us. It’s not any kind of organized religion, but our own thing.
We have taken a little from the Viking beliefs and ways, some paganism, and the old gods, and made our own way of dealing with the world.
It works for us, and it means we’re more than friends. We’re brothers now.
The door opens, and a petite girl slips in. She has her hair covering her face like a veil, and I’d recognize that hair anywhere.
I’m immediately alert. She darts inside like the ghost she is and slides into a chair near the window, not looking around the room at all.
She stares out of the window, giving me a view of her profile on the side where she’s not covered her face so much.
Her features are delicate, and her nose is so cute.
It turns up like those cartoon princess noses.
Her brows are pale, but a little darker than her hair, and her eyelashes are darker again.
She doesn’t look as if she’s wearing makeup, which makes her different than every other girl I know of her age.
Her skin is pale, almost translucent, but there’s a spot of color on her cheeks, and her lips are slightly red.
I wonder if that’s their natural color. I get my answer a moment later, when she bites down on her bottom lip and worries at it.
She’s nervous as hell, clearly. Her lip nibbling is joined by her fidgeting and taking deep breaths that she blows out through her parted lips before resuming the nibbling again.
The door bangs open as our lecturer walks in.
He’s an older man named Gerard, from France.
He is kind of cranky but excellent at teaching economics.
It’s a subject I find fascinating when I’m not exhausted, but without much sleep this weekend, the class is going to be a slog. Until she walked in and woke me up.
There aren’t many girls in this group. Most of them are discouraged from taking it, but as an elective, they can choose it if they wish.
Most of them don’t wish. The girls tend to pick things like art, literature, and creative writing.
Their goal is to become interesting fonts of knowledge to entertain their wealthy husbands’ guests with fascinating snippets over dinner.
“Okay, class. We will pick up where we left off last week.” Gerard’s dull intonation always lulls me, and sometimes I’ve almost dozed off in this class. “What does the term Voodoo economics refer to?”
Ghost girl wriggles in her seat. She seems more and more uncomfortable. She sucks in a breath and makes a little hiccup sound after it.
Other students in the class have noticed her discomfort, and a couple whisper to each other behind the backs of their hands, and nudge each other, nodding in her direction.
It takes all my self-control not to tip their desks over and batter them with their chairs, but instinctively, I know that won’t do our new girl any good.
She looks like she wants to vanish rather than have anyone call more attention to her, but her fidgeting only grows worse. Her shoulders hitch as she tries to suck in oxygen.
Fuck this. I know a looming panic attack when I see one. Gerard has turned his back to the class to write on the board, and I take my chance.
Quietly, I get out of my seat and move forward until I’m sitting right behind her.
I don’t do this to freak her out, but to try to talk to her and calm her down.
The problem is, as soon as I’m so near to her, I get the urge to lean in and sniff her hair.
That would be fucking creepy and weird, and others would see, so I somehow lock down the urge to lean forward and inhale.
Instead, I swallow hard and make myself focus on trying to modulate my tone to friendly.
“Hey, new girl. Ophelia, right?” I whisper to her.
Her spine stiffens as if I’d held a fucking gun to her head.
“I know economics is boring, but it’s not that bad.” I chuckle softly at my own terrible joke, but she doesn’t join in.
Okay. I’ll take a different tact. “Seriously, if you want five minutes of fresh air, I can ask Gerard if we can step out. I’ll go with you so everyone isn’t focused on you.”
“I’m okay,” she says softly, not turning her head to glance at me. Does she even know who’s speaking to her? “It’s just hot in here.”
It’s a lie, I’m sure of it. “Do you want a drink of my water?” I offer.
“No, thanks.” This time she does turn her head, just a touch, to take me in.
Her face grows even paler at the sight of me, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Her hand shoots up.
Gerard raises his eyebrows at her. “Yes?”
“Please, sir, may I be excused?”
Some of the students snicker. This isn’t school. If we need to leave, we can. It’s polite to say, but she’s asking as if she’s a young kid.
“Um, yes, of course.” He looks confused as if it’s the first time he’s really noticed her, and he doesn’t know what she’s doing here.
“I feel unwell. I’ll get the notes for this week and catch up in time for next week.”
She scrambles to stand, her hands shaking as she gathers her things. Pushing her way out from her desk, she drops her book and mutters something as she bends to pick it up. Then she drops her pen.
“Oh, darn it,” she says softly.
Darn it? I’ve not heard anything like that in ages. It’s kind of endearing.
When she’s finally got her stuff together, she walks quickly out of the room. I glance at what she’s wearing as she goes. A long, plain dress made of material that looks a little scratchy, and flat shoes. The kind ballerinas wear.
No makeup. A dress and flat shoes. I’m no expert on women’s clothes, but I don’t think those things are what most girls are into. She looks like she came from another time.
As she closes the door behind her, she turns to the small glass window in it and looks back in the room for a brief second. Her gaze finds mine and, I swear, I shiver. She stares at me, blinking only once, then she’s gone.
That split moment in time, when she looked back, had the hairs on my nape tingling. Her gaze felt like a judgement against my skin.
Who the fuck is this girl? She knows Cain, yet she ran from him. She doesn’t know me, but she looked at me as if she knew my deepest secrets. For a tiny tear in the fabric of time, she looked at me in a way that stripped my skin from my bones. Laid me bare.
Not even thinking, just reacting, I stand and scoop up my belongings.
“Now you. God, at this rate the class will be empty,” Gerald observes, his tone bored rather than annoyed.
“Forgot I had something important I need to do,” I reply. “Can I grab the notes and catch up for next week?”
“If you must.” He rolls his eyes but says nothing more. I can leave if I wish, and he’ll put the notes in his mailbox for those of us who need them tomorrow, the way he always does. I can get them then.
“Something important that’s small and blonde,” a male voice says snidely as I head to the front of the room. I turn and see Saint, one of the Vipers, smirking as he watches me go. Fuck him. He’s a moron.
He’s not wrong, though.
I do need to find that petite blonde, because something about her has me in a chokehold.