Chapter 9
Maeve
“HEY!” I CALL OUT WHEN I get back to the dorm room after my last class of the day.
I expect one of the girls to respond, but no one does.
Yuki, Alina’s arctic fox spirit companion, is napping on the couch, and I give him a scratch behind the ear before climbing the stairs into the loft, but I find the room empty.
Isis is still twined around my neck, hiding beneath my hair, and she starts a leisurely trail down my left arm. I approach my bed and hold my arm out so she can slither off my hand and wrap around one of my bedposts.
“You seem bothered,” she hisses, tipping her glossy black head at me. “What’s upsetting you?”
I let out a big sigh and collapse onto my soft mattress. “I don’t know.”
Isis hisses again. “Don’t lie to yourself—or to me.”
She knows me too well.
“The fellowship. My application essay. My energy sphere.”
I’ve been practicing and practicing, but since the first day of the semester, I haven’t been able to hold the sphere together for any longer than a second or two.
“Maybe I’m missing something.” I roll onto my side and prop my head on one hand. “This has to work. I just need to figure it out.”
Isis twines up onto one of the horizontal bed rails and looks down at me from above. “And what of your professor?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”
From down here, I can see Isis’s shiny red underside, and I can understand why many people are scared of her. But I never have been.
“You forget,” she hisses, “that I can feel your pulse when I’m around your throat. And when you’re in Professor D’Arques’s class, your heart races.”
Fuck.
My mind searches for an explanation of some sort, but I come up empty-handed.
Because Isis is right.
It’s been three weeks since the semester started, and I’d hoped my attraction to our new history professor would wane; instead, it’s growing stronger. I even dreamt of him last night, and when I woke, I had a moment of disappointment when I realized it wasn’t real.
With a sigh, I push up from the bed. I don’t want to talk about him right now—or maybe ever. That would just indulge these ridiculous feelings.
“I’m going to the bathhouse,” I tell Isis instead.
She eyes me from across the room as I grab my robe and the tote with all my soaps and serums, but she doesn’t say a word.
THE BATHHOUSE ISN’T CROWDED YET—nighttime and early morning are the busiest—but there are a few women lounging in the main pool when I arrive, and I don’t feel like socializing. So instead, I opt for one of the private bathing pools.
The bathhouses are below the castle, carved deep into the natural stone. Overhead, the ceilings rise in smooth waves, capturing the steam that twines in gray tendrils from the magically heated pools. The air smells of warm rock, crushed herbs, and clean water.
Stepping into one of the small private alcoves, I wave a hand, and with a brush of air magic, the heavy curtain shifts closed. Runes are etched into the rock walls, and they glow with dim warm light as I set my tote down onto a wooden bench and hang my robe on a silver hook.
I begin to strip out of my clothes, and thoughts of Professor D’Arques—Severin—start to creep in, unwelcome.
Despite my best efforts, I’ve not been able to banish the image of him that night on the spire, shirtless beneath the moonlight, his torso gleaming with sweat, his eyes so dark I could see the stars reflected in them.
In my dream last night, we were on the tower, wrapped in the warm summer air, his hands on my waist and his fangs at my throat. Thinking of it now, I immediately get warm, and I haven’t even stepped into the bath yet.
I drape my clothes across the bench, grab my soap and hair serum, and then finally step into the deep pool.
The water is warm, on the verge of hot, and it takes me a moment to acclimate to the temperature.
Once I do, I sink into the water up to my chin, then dunk under, attempting to soak thoughts of Severin from my mind.
It doesn’t work.
With my eyes closed, I see him: Standing on the tower, blade in hand. Lecturing to our class, his hands clasped behind his back. Arguing a point with me, his dark eyes so intense and focused that they make my heart beat faster.
What was Moonhart thinking when she hired him? I wonder as I break the surface and settle back against the warm stone. She should’ve known he’d be a distraction.
I grab my soap and lather up, working it into my skin.
The baths are enchanted to be self-cleaning, so almost as soon as the bubbles wash from my body, they’re swept away into a crescent-shaped drain, and fresh water pours from a silver pipe into the bath, constantly keeping the water clean.
Once my body has been washed, I pour a dab of hair serum into my palm and work it through my hair from scalp to ends.
It’ll need to sit for at least twenty minutes, so I settle back against the stone again and close my eyes.
And Severin’s face is there. His voice echoes in my mind: Good night, Miss Vandermere.
That night on the spire, I almost wanted to reach out and grab him around the wrist, to keep him there with me, even though I had no logical reason to. But I wanted him to stay, even if it was just to debate the history lecture he’d given that day.
The warm water laps at my skin, and I find heat building in my low belly as I think of Professor D’Arques.
The water around me ripples with magical energy—my storm slipping out again, like it has since I met Severin.
I drag in a long breath, trying to clear my mind of him.
But it doesn’t work. And without consciously meaning to, I slip one hand between my thighs, and I’m right back into that dream again.
Severin’s hands grasping my waist. His fangs teasing my skin as I tip my head back, begging him to bite me.
I circle my clit with two fingers and imagine his body pressing against mine, forcing me back against a wall. As I picture his fangs sliding into my skin, I slip a finger into my slick heat, and I’m already soaked.
This is what Professor D’Arques does to me.
And giving in to it is a mistake. I should be working on my fellowship essay, which Professor Azula still isn’t happy with.
I should be practicing my energy sphere, which is still unstable, unusable.
Instead, I’m touching myself to the thought of him, wishing he were here with me in the semidark, his hips forcing my legs apart and his hard length pushing inside me.
I bite my lip and tip my head back against the smooth edge of the rock pool, fingering myself deeper and faster.
Miss Vandermere, he whispers in my memory. Miss Vandermere.
I want to hear him say my name. I want him to murmur it against every inch of my skin. I want to tremble beneath him and take him as deep as my body will allow.
I begin rubbing my clit with my free hand, my feet propped up on the stone bench alongside the edge of the pool. I imagine it’s him touching me, and I almost convince myself I can have him.
But of course I can’t. He’s my professor, and I need to focus on preparing for my fellowship interview and demonstration at the end of this semester. It’s going to take all my effort to get my energy sphere to a place where I can safely show it to the Arcanum Collective’s board of practitioners.
Which also means I need to get out of this bath and do something meaningful with my time.
But I need to finish first. Maybe that’ll help purge my mind of Severin D’Arques.
Biting my bottom lip, I add another finger to my pussy, wondering how long and wide Severin’s cock is and what it would feel like to stretch around him.
And with that thought, I coax myself into a toe-curling orgasm, my back arching as I cum around my fingers.
I’m careful not to make a sound, holding back the moan I want to release.
I don’t need the other women knowing what I’m doing back here.
Chest heaving, I ease myself down from my climax and slide my fingers out of my throbbing pussy.
But as I slump there against the rock, serum still coating my hair, I’m disappointed and somewhat pissed off to find that cumming to the thought of Severin has not chased him from my mind. If anything, I think it’s solidified his presence there, making these feelings for him harder to ignore.
Which means I’m in a world of trouble.