Chapter 2
Nix
The sole of my leather ankle boot squeaks as I twist my toe on the waxed wood floor.
I grimace at the noise, but Jenny doesn’t react as she pulls a sheet from the printer along the back wall.
Forcing my body to still, I try to discreetly exhale a calming breath.
The admin building I’m currently standing in is old. And this small office feels even smaller with the tall counter dividing the room, left to right. But since it’s only the two of us in here, it doesn’t feel crowded.
I’m not a short woman, but the counter still comes up to about chest height. The wood top gleams like the floors and boasts a bottle of green hand sanitizer, a chipped mug filled with branded university pens, and a striped bowl filled with… condoms.
Attached to the other side of the high counter is a normal height desk, cluttered with paperwork and trinkets, suggesting the user is a longtime employee.
“Okay, here we go.” Jenny waves the paper as she rolls her chair back toward me. “This here is a map of the campus.” She has to stand to reach over her desk. Then she slaps the sheet down on the counter.
She sees me trying and failing to ignore the bowl of contraceptives and grins. “We’re here to ruin lives with debt, not babies.”
I snort at her bluntness. “I mean… fair.”
“Right?” She lifts her brows. “Okay.” Jenny grabs a red marker off her desk and draws a circle on the map.
“You’re gonna be here, in Bates Hall, with the other journalism and mass communication classes.
And your room is lecture hall 3B. It’s on the first floor.
And if you go in through the main doors here.
” She draws an X at the front of the building, along with the room number.
“It’ll be about halfway down on your right. ”
“Awesome, thank you.” I lean closer to study the surprisingly detailed map.
“No problem.” Jenny drops back into her chair.
It’s been one week since I accepted the job offer from Stalden University, and every day since I’ve spent time memorizing the layout of campus.
Because anxiety. And after moving into my new apartment on Saturday, I spent yesterday wandering around campus, familiarizing myself with the paths between buildings.
So even though I’m still nervous about tomorrow, I feel mostly confident about finding my way around.
Jenny’s nails click against her keyboard. “Do you know if your email is working properly?”
“It is.” I nod. “I sent myself a test email this morning, and it went through.”
“Good, good.” She rolls a few feet to the side and pulls open a drawer.
“This is yours to keep while you’re employed here.
” She rolls back and reaches up to drop a single key onto the counter.
“There isn’t a separate office attached to the room, but you’re the only one teaching in that lecture hall this semester, so feel free to set up the desk however you like.
Just don’t forget to lock up after yourself.
If the kids steal your stuff, the university isn’t liable, blah, blah, blah. ”
I slide the key into my palm, then slip it into my pocket. “Noted.”
“We don’t have the class schedule for next semester yet, so you might have to share then. But we’ll sort out the schedules a couple weeks ahead of time, so no need to think about that yet.”
“Oh, um, I’m only covering until winter break.”
“As of now.” She shrugs. “But if Professor Drain doesn’t come back, they’ll probably ask to extend your contract.
” Jenny laughs at my skeptical look. “I’ve seen subs stay for literal years.
It’s lazy, but it’s easier for the university to renew short-term contracts than it is to hire someone new.
And they pay you guys way less than the full-time professors. So…” She shrugs again.
Technically speaking, with my bachelor’s degree in journalism and seven years of experience, I’m not qualified to be a full-time professor here. So, without a master’s or doctorate, an extended substitute position would be the only way for me to stay long-term.
Teaching was never really on my radar for career choices, since I enjoyed the variety of freelance life.
But I happened to run into my chatty neighbor right after she got off the phone with her daughter, who had called to tell her about her friend who, just an hour earlier, witnessed her journalism professor break her leg outside a grocery store in Hemlock Hills.
She was just telling me because she tells everyone everything, but journalism professor stuck in my head.
So, the next day, I looked up the town name and found the website for Stalden University. A cute state school, whose name I recognized, located in a small town in Michigan.
Then, with fingers that hardly felt like my own, I called the number for the main office and asked if there were any journalism openings.
It must’ve been kismet, or fate, or just good old-fashioned luck, because two phone calls and two days later, they offered me the job.
I had to pay a penalty for cutting my lease early back East, but being here feels… right.
And even though I haven’t taught my first class yet, I want to stay.
“You really think Drain won’t come back?” I try to keep the hope out of my voice.
Jenny huffs. “That cranky old lady has been talking about retiring for years. I’d be more surprised if she did come back. My guess is she’ll let the short-term disability play through while her leg heals, then announce her retirement. It’s what I would do.”
Excitement bubbles in my chest. “I won’t lie, that would be—”
Somewhere in the building, a door slams open, startling me. And before I can laugh it off, a vibration reverberates through the floor.
Is this an earthquake?
I brace a hand on the counter.
Did the fates bring me here just to die?
The sound comes again. Rhythmically.
Swallowing, I keep my grip on the counter as I turn to face the closed office door behind me.
The vibrations continue. Getting stronger. Louder.
And I think it’s… footsteps.
Heavy, shake the building around us, footsteps.
It’s Monday morning. There are plenty of people already on campus. I heard voices coming from other admin offices as I walked to this office. If something scary was happening, people would be screaming. Jenny would be reacting.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Whoever is coming down the hall…
My pulse pounds at the base of my throat.
Whatever is coming down the hall…
My fingers tighten against the wood.
Why does it feel like they’re coming for me?
Like they’re here just for me?
Each step vibrates from the floor, through the bottom of my feet, up my legs…
My cheeks heat.
The vibrations… they’re… I clench my thighs.
Oh goddess. Why do I feel it there?
The heat in my face slithers down my throat to my stomach.
Then lower.
And when the sensations meet, the heat and the vibrations combine, turning my insides molten.
Lust and desire cloud my vision.
I feel… empty.
I squeeze my legs together, harder.
The sensations are too much.
Too unfamiliar.
I can feel the wetness forming in my core.
My skin feels tight.
I stop breathing.
I just stop, trapping the air in my lungs.
The steps get closer.
Closer.
They’re on the other side of the door.
My body leans toward the sound, but the movement shifts my hand on the counter, and the edge of the map slices into the side of my finger, a small paper cut.
I release my hold on the counter and jerk my hand to my chest on instinct.
The footsteps stop.
All I can hear is my own thundering heartbeat as I stare at the door.
There’s nothing to see. No windowpane to look through. And the office is too bright to see any shadows of movement under the door.
But I can feel… him.
The word wraps around my throat.
It’s a him. I know it is.
I can feel it.
Something tugs against my chest.
It feels like a rope is laced through my rib cage, and whoever is on the other side of the door is using it to pull me forward.
Closer.
The apex of my thighs aches.
I need… something.
I need to open the door.
My weight shifts as my muscles prepare to cross the room.
But then the footsteps resume.
My heart protests. And the rope twined through my chest stretches tight between me and whatever it’s tethered to.
My lips part, and I… suck in air.
I blink.
The footsteps fade.
The tug on my bones slackens.
The vibrations dissipate.
I just needed to breathe.
That reaction was just me forgetting to breathe.
A lack of oxygen.
Another door slams, and the footsteps disappear altogether.
My shoulders sag. In relief? Defeat?
Insanity?
Forcing my attention away from the door, I turn back to Jenny. “Tell me you heard that.” I force out a smile, but I still whisper the question.
The side of her mouth quirks, but she leans forward and speaks just as quietly. “That was Volik.”
The name pulses over my skin.
Volik Vadas.
The vampire.
I swallow, my skin still feeling like it’s quivering.
“He must be in a mood,” she keeps whispering. “He only stomps like that when he’s mad about something.”
A mad vampire.
I swallow again. “What, um, does he do here?”
Everyone knows about the vampire who works at Stalden University, which is how I recognized the name. Because everyone in the world knows about Volik. But I have never found information on what his actual role is here.
Vampires are… famous is the wrong word. Since they keep to themselves. But with oversized frames, solid black eyes, fangs, and horns sticking out of their heads, they can’t exactly hide what they are.
Well, they did, at one time. But for the past seventy-some years, since The Reveal, vampires have been known to humans.
Vampires. Alternates. Alts. Some extremists still call them demons.
Just not to their faces. But even though their existence has been public for much longer than I’ve been alive, half of our information still comes from fairy tales and myths.
With even more debate as to whether there are other species out there, or if that’s strictly myth and the old stories only got vampires right.
So yes, I already knew that Volik worked here. And maybe I got a bit of a thrill at the idea that I might catch a glimpse of him someday. But I didn’t expect that day to be today, or that glimpse to be footsteps that shook the building and turned me on more than I ever have been in my entire life.
I try not to think about that last part as I shift uncomfortably.
Jenny lifts her shoulder. “I think his official title is Director of Alternate Studies, but I don’t think he actually does anything.
His office is down at the end of the hall, but in the four years I’ve been here, I’ve only ever seen him coming and going.
Never teaching a class. Never sitting in the cafeteria. ”
I want to ask if he even eats regular food or if he just drinks blood, since that’s another fact that doesn’t have a definitive answer. I manage to stop myself, but my heartbeat quickens at the idea of him putting his mouth on me.
Sinking his fangs into me.
Okay, wow, Nix. Rein it in.
Jenny sits back in her chair and speaks at her normal volume, the chance of being overheard apparently over. “He might act cranky sometimes, stomping around like that. But I’ve never heard of him being rude to anyone. And he certainly hasn’t hurt anybody. So don’t stress about it, okay?”
I nod and start to reach for the map but stop when I remember my finger.
Glancing down, I see the tiniest spot of blood where the paper broke skin.
And before I can think better of it.
Before I can question the overwhelming need to do so.
I lift my hand and press my fingertip between my lips.