7. Karolina
KAROLINA
The day that passes after the hunt is long and painful. All I’ve been able to think about is Bones’ anguished roar after I rejected him in the woods. I can still hardly believe that he actually thought there could be something real between us.
I never agreed to anything like that.
Or did I?
You belong to me. All of you. Relax for me, Karolina. Let me claim you.
Yes, I want you. Make me yours.
I try to shake the breathy, lust drunk words from my head.
I’m doing my best to outrun the memory before Monday classes start in a few hours.
The beauty of my new surroundings soothes me, and I put in an extra mile so I can enjoy the peace and quiet of the riverside path at dawn.
The dark water of the River Ouse churns to my left, and I duck under the draping, verdant branches of ancient willows as I slow my pace to gasp in fresh oxygen.
I’m only fifteen minutes from York city center, but it’s as though I’ve stepped into a different world: a secret woodland haven that’s a balm to my soul.
I shake off budding memories of a different woodland scene—the one I raced through in the darkness on that night when I was still living in the hell that was my foster home.
I glance up and soak in the early sunlight that filters through the bright green leaves.
Safe, I remind myself.
I left that scared girl behind as soon as I turned eighteen and claimed the inheritance my parents left me. It was enough to buy my new identity and pay for my education. Funds are running low now, but I’m determined to get by so that I can finish my MA.
I glance at my watch. It’s past time to return to my flat and get ready for my first class.
Increasing my pace, I leave the peace of the willows behind and race towards my new life.
Two hours later, I’ve showered and changed into my usual jeans and a pale green blouse. It’s a casual but polished look, designed to blend in while appearing put together.
I pull my worn leather bag with my books and laptop higher on my shoulder and step through the iron gates that surround King’s Manor: the centuries-old stone building that houses the Centre for Early Medieval Studies.
It takes me a few minutes to navigate the repurposed manor and find my lecture hall, but I manage to get there before class starts.
Amala, a pretty young woman with a thick black braid and a broad smile, gives me a little wave, indicating that I should sit by her. Rich turns to look in the direction of her wave, and he shoots me a boyish grin.
I suppress a wince. I’d hoped his flirtatious advances at the pub after orientation had been influenced by the many pints he ordered, but I’m familiar with the way his gaze flicks over me as I approach.
It’s not a blatant, disrespectful assessment, but there’s definite interest sparking in his blue eyes.
I return their smiles but choose to sit beside Amala instead of Rich. I’m happy to be friendly, but I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. I never date, and the few men who’ve shown interest have ghosted me, anyway.
It’s safer to maintain my distance. I have too many aspirations for trivial distractions like boys.
And I have Bones. No man could come close to fulfilling my darkest fantasies the way he does.
I drag my thoughts away from the painful fallout after our kinky hunt and focus on my classmates.
“We missed you at the club last night,” Amala says when I slide into my seat. “I wish you would’ve come out and danced with us.”
“Yeah,” Rich adds. “They had three-for-six tequila shots. We should go again next week.”
I shake my head with a rueful smile. “I don’t do shots. Especially not the night before classes start. I can’t believe you two aren’t hungover right now.”
Rich chuckles and shakes his blond head. “Are you that much of a lightweight? You’ll have to hold your drink better if you’re going to live in England.”
“Don’t pressure her,” Amala admonishes, then turns her dark brown eyes on me. “Just dancing next time. You don’t have to do shots if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely. “That sounds fun.”
“Or we can do karaoke!” she enthuses. “We can go sometime when we don’t have class the next day.”
“That sounds great,” I reply. “If you’re willing to put up with my terrible singing.”
“It’s all about the performance,” Rich interjects. “You have to have passion.”
His eyes pin me on the last, and I pretend not to notice.
“What’s your favorite song?” I ask Amala instead of flirting with him.
“Oh, that’s hard! I have a whole playlist saved on my phone. Let me check—”
“Phones down,” a new voice barks from the front of the room. “If you want to be on your phone during one of my lectures, take it outside, and don’t come back.”
Amala’s eyes instantly shine, and she immediately tucks her phone out of sight, pushing it deep into her bag to demonstrate compliance.
I whirl around to glare at our asshole professor. I don’t know Amala well, but she looks like she’s on the verge of mortified tears.
“Class hasn’t started yet,” I retort.
My gaze clashes with eyes so dark that they’re almost black, and my breath catches.
Professor Asshole is gorgeous—he must be nearly six and a half feet tall, and his tweed blazer seems to barely contain his broad shoulders.
His round, gold wire-rimmed glasses don’t do anything to diminish his aura of raw power; if anything, they only enhance his air of authority.
And that face…chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a slightly blocky brow.
All artfully framed by caramel hair that falls around his shoulders in thick waves.
No academic has the right to look that much like a male model.
His glower clashes with mine, and I swallow hard. My fingers fist beneath my desk in a reflexive gesture of strength.
I don’t care how hot he is. I won’t let him be a dick to my new friend. Especially when he’s barely older than we are.
“We’ll start now, then,” he replies coolly. “With you. Why are you here?”
My brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“I want a name and a reason.” He gestures at the lecture hall. “Why did you choose University of York and this course? The administration mandated an insipid ice breaker before I can start teaching you anything.”
I bristle at his arrogant attitude.
The demand to know what his problem is teases at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. Provoking my new professor isn’t a good idea.
I keep him fixed in a steady, defiant stare when I say, “I’m Lena Williams.”
I give him the fake name that came along with my new identity. It used to be my nickname when I was little, so the transition wasn’t too difficult. After living as Lena for the last five years, I answer to it easily.
Only Bones knows my real name now. He’s an anonymous internet stranger, so it doesn’t matter if he calls me Karolina.
Professor Asshole is still looking at me expectantly.
“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” I dare to challenge him before complying with the rest of his command for the ice breaker.
His lips twitch, and I can’t tell if he’s smothering a smirk or a frown. The hint at actual human emotion is gone as quickly as it came.
“I’m Rand Hirst,” he replies smoothly. “Some of the faculty here will encourage familiarity. I am not one of them. You will address me as Professor Hirst.”
I barely manage to resist rolling my eyes. Is this guy serious?
I decide that he probably has some sort of inferiority complex. He’s so young that he must want to prove he’s our superior.
He might be an established academic, but that doesn’t mean he’s smarter than I am. Maybe more knowledgeable, but not more intelligent.
I straighten my shoulders, determined to prove that I’ve earned my place in this MA.
“I chose University of York because we’re surrounded by Medieval history in the city and because of the merits of the program.” I match his cool tone and demeanor. “Why did you choose to teach here?”
“This isn’t a conversation, and I’m not here for small talk, Miss Williams,” he rebuts. “This is a tedious requirement imposed by the university. If you’re finished, we’ll move on to someone else.”
My cheeks burn with indignation.
“I’m here because I want to be an author,” I assert. “I want to base my Fantasy novels in as much historical realism as possible. This MA will help me accomplish that.”
Professor Asshole’s expression is completely impassive. “Fantasy has no place in my course. You don’t need a History degree for that.”
My eyes sting, but not with embarrassment; I’m furious.
“I have every right to be here,” I seethe. “What are your qualifications, Professor?”
Amala gasps beside me, but I don’t tear my glower from my new archenemy.
“I’m not required to take part in this icebreaker.” He’s still cool and infuriatingly remote. “You can find my bio on the university website.”
My jaw works, chewing on words I don’t dare hiss at him.
I cross my arms over my chest, choosing not to engage further. I came to York to learn, not argue with one of the hottest, rudest men I’ve ever met.
Professor Asshole holds my future in his hands, and one bad grade from him could tank my qualifications.
I plan to teach when I complete this course so I can earn a modest living while I write my novels. I don’t expect overnight success, and I can’t afford to write fulltime once my inheritance runs out in a year or so.
But I won’t give him further vulnerable information about myself that he can somehow use against me. I’ve had enough of him trying to tear me down to nothing in the space of a few minutes.
“Alright, then.” He shrugs and moves on, appearing almost bored. “Who’s next? Let’s get this over with.”
I manage to draw in a deep breath and unclench my fists when Amala jumps in to take the heat off me. Even though she was clearly intimidated when Professor Asshole snapped at her about being on her phone, she’s brave enough to draw his attention.
I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn her friendship and loyalty so quickly, but I’m grateful for it.
I resolve to be more social than usual to express my gratitude. I’ve always been reserved, keeping myself apart to avoid people asking too many questions about my past.
But this is a new life I’m starting in a completely different country. I might risk letting people in for the first time since I left my foster home.
Screw it. I’m going out with my classmates tonight. And we can all commiserate about how awful Professor Hirst is over a few drinks.