Snakes

snakes

M y instincts about Jackson Thorne from the trial don’t appear to be incorrect. He’s taken control of the situation in a truly admirable fashion, even to the point of getting that stubborn bear to shut his big yap. I’m grateful for his intervention, because I know Lucas was flirting when Channing walked in. Given the testosterone-filled youth of our star hockey player, I believe he would have continued to dig his heels in because it might impress me. It definitely would not , but I’ve had centuries to mature while he’s only early twenties. The folly of false bravado is something you grow out of as you age, especially when you’re a supe with an extremely long life-span like me.

That doesn’t mean his brash overconfidence and ballsy overtures were lost on me.

My eyes dart to the student in question, roaming over his relaxed form as he leans back in the chair next to the detective’s desk. He’s slouched with his long legs sticking out and his hand behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. No matter, they’re questioning him about a murder in which any rational person would consider him the prime suspect; no, Lucas Wolfberg is as cool as a cucumber as Thorne navigates the questions being spit at them. Being part of a family as distinguished as his probably had him learning this kind of shit the minute he could talk.

His gaze skates to meet mine as if he can hear my thoughts and I feel the heat flare under my skin. I don’t have to worry about my mother’s lineage because of the special contacts they invented for my kind in the 90s, but the other side… Let’s just say the gargoyle I get from my father is a lot more aggressive than defensive. It helps me scent the pheromones coming off the lean, muscled male staring at me—and it likes what it smells. To regain focus, I have to glance at my phone and pretend to scroll. A message pops up from Channing, and I sigh in relief.

Thank fuck. I need a distraction or I may have an incident I can’t cover up.

“Feeling the need to let something loose, Dean?” Lucas’s question has a teasing tone, but when I raise my eyes to meet his across the room, I can tell he knows exactly what he’s saying.

Fucking shifters can smell everything; it’s annoying as hell.

Pursing my lips, I give him a stony glare. “No, Lucas. I’m doing well, thank you. You should focus on your own issues.”

His grin is lazy and knowing as he scratches his stomach, pulling his henley up over taut, defined abs. The display is on purpose and I sniff, going back to my phone without giving him the reaction he’s looking for. I refuse to play games with someone suspected of murder on my campus and besides, I have no idea how to handle such an arrogant alpha display. I’m usually the aggressor with sexual partners and I’ve always been in charge in that arena.

Magnus shifted that paradigm slightly because he was haughtily overbearing with damn near everything, but he wasn’t the one who pursued me in the beginning. After I learned what kind of person he really was, I realized his easygoing attitude and shower of affection when we started dating were simply a method of luring me in so he could isolate and dominate me behind the scenes. Once he had me in his web, the slimy dragon hoarded me like some ancient vase he’d found on an expedition. When we were together, he trotted me out when it was convenient and I made him look good, but the second I disagreed with anything he said or did, I was blasted with his fiery temper.

I don’t know how to feel about this much younger, sexy ass hockey player stalking me like I’m a flank steak and he’s been starving for a month. Ethical concerns aside, I can’t imagine he has a good track record for sticking around and though I’d enjoy a one night only performance, I think it would reinforce some rumors being spread across campus about my morals. If I wasn’t the Dean, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but I have a reputation to repair and they expect me to represent the school.

My phone beeps and I look down, smiling a bit. Channing is turning out to be a lot more likable than my first impression. Since I gave her permission to handle the gamut of issues at the arena while I accompanied Lucas to the station, it seems she’s got the crowd dispersed, the players and fans out, and is waiting for the CSIs and coroner to clear the area before she locks everything up. Her last-minute promotion may have uncovered a hidden gem in the PR department, and I may have a conversation with her about further opportunities once this shit is settled.

I could use a personal assistant that is loyal to me and not the prior administration; I feel Channing may be just the person for the job.

“What’s the good news?”

Rolling my eyes, I look at Lucas again. He’s not paying attention to a damn thing Jackson and the grumpy detective are talking about. He’s only focused on me, it seems, and while it may be a little flattering, it’s not smart. Keeping his mouth shut about finding Pierre unless told to speak is good; sitting there staring at me like a fucking stalker is not. I have to dissuade him from setting his sights on me further—I’m a bucket full of crazy without a lid since the trial. No one deserves to be part of cleaning up such an enormous mess left by a scumbag like Magnus.

“None of your business, Lucas. Concentrate on your own problems,” I snap.

His rumbling laugh feels like it’s vibrating over my body despite being across the room. “My family is paying someone to do that for me, Morgana. I have plenty of free brain space to focus on you.”

Well, that’s just ducky.

“If you must know, Channing is getting the crisis at the rink taken care of efficiently and I’m pleased.” The beep of another message gets my attention and I look down again, sighing in relief. “It seems like the team working the scene is done and she’ll have everything buttoned up soon.”

“Ah, that’s excellent. She could be a valuable ally for you. I got the sense she’s been overworked and underappreciated for a long time. You need as many friends as possible.”

My expression tightens and I nod sharply, uncomfortable with his insight being so spot on. I’ll have to be careful with this one; he sees way more than he should and he’s clearly determined to make me a notch on his bedpost. Worming his way into my good graces won’t work the way he’s hoping, though. I’m no longer a na?ve academic from a nouveau riche family who isn’t familiar with how the rich play their games. My ex made certain I got an unforgettable lesson in keeping myself closed off. It’s the best way to avoid being hurt again or ending up in a secret jail in Argentina.

“I don’t need staffing suggestions from a freshman sports star. Thank you for your opinion, but I can handle myself,” I reply as I lift my phone up and scroll through the mountain of emails accumulated since earlier in the evening.

The incident at the game triggered a deluge of donor, staff, board, and angry parent communications I’ll be sifting through until sometime tomorrow. I already have enough work without dealing with this damn school’s nonsense. That’s going to come out of budgets from the goddamned hockey team—we’ll see how this smarty pants likes when his coach has to cut some corners.

I think I’ll tell the little shit on the ride home. It might distract him from hitting on me.

The scenery flies by as Lucas speeds along the highway away from downtown. He’s definitely annoyed with my blunt statement about team budgets, but he hasn’t said anything. The tick in his jaw makes my gut curl in satisfaction. I wanted this reaction, and I played my cards exactly right to get it.

“My grandmother will pay to clean up our locker room.”

I frown. “What do you mean ‘our’ locker room?”

Arching a brow, he gives me a sexy smirk that’s full of pride. “We paid to build the thing when they broke ground a century ago and we’ve paid to upgrade it every time the university has requested it to keep up with other programs. It’s basically ours. So I’ll call her tomorrow and she’ll send in a team of elves to deal with it. No worries; that fee is what she spends on tea cups for her collection monthly.”

“Thirty grand?” I snort before I can stop the words from exiting my mouth.

“I take it back. She spends that on hats. Her tea cups are far more expensive,” he says as he swerves into another lane, racing around a slow-moving car.

Rich people are a pain in my round, tight ass.

“Fine. But she’ll need to speak with me before she sends her people on campus. Everything is locked down for the moment because the board is convinced that if you didn’t kill Pierre, whoever did is hiding there.” I shake my head as I stare out the window. I don’t agree and despite several passionate emails back and forth while Lucas was being questioned, I was overruled.

“Hmm,” he mumbles. “That’s interesting. I doubt it’s true; anyone leaving that messy a scene without drawing suspicion seems too thorough to get caught snoozing in an empty dorm or crouching in a broom closet.”

Looking over, I don’t hide the surprise on my face. “That’s what I think, too.”

“Obviously, you also like crime shows and mysteries. Dame Agatha or Sir Conan wouldn’t make the solution so obvious and likely, neither would someone with that skill set. The way they set me up spoke to this being planned—they knew it would be believable because I have a rivalry with that lunkhead. But they also had to be watching; no one could predict me getting fouled out that soon into the game.”

Sweet baby Zeus, is this guy for real?

“Lucas, you’re not the detective in this case. If Jackson gets you cleared, you need to stay way the hell away from their investigation. You’ll end up looking guilty again if you meddle or gossip about it.” I look down to see my hand on his and yank it back, scolding myself internally for initiating the touch, even innocently.

“I won’t bite,” he says with a wolfish grin. “That is, unless you ask nicely.”

This time it’s my turn to arch a brow and smirk. “I don’t ask for things like that, Lucas. I command. Despite whatever rumors may be going around the community, Magnus was not the ruler of my world before his well-deserved death. And he certainly isn’t running my life now.”

“You’re locked in this region until your sentence is complete, Morgana. He may not be in charge of you, but his ghost is haunting you.” His expression turns sympathetic as he glances over at me. “Sorry. I hear all the good stuff from my family, so I know you have a tag that lets the Society know where you are. Kinda shitty of them to tie it to the thing that helps you keep your shifting under control when your emotions are strong, though.”

How in the motherfucking hell did his family get all of that info? Some of it was sealed at the trial!

“My privacy has been invaded enough as it is. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop making it worse.” I pause, considering whether I want to correct him or not. Finally, I decide it’s better to be honest than to hide shit if rumors are circulating. “My amulet doesn’t suppress shifts. I can do that on my own; I am three hundred years old. It helps me keep my clothes intact when I shift to either form, so I’m not running around naked afterward.”

The sound he makes when I say ‘naked’ is sinful. “As much as I’d appreciate getting to see that, the convenience of it makes sense. The gargoyle or the Gorgon form would definitely tear your lovely designer suits to pieces.”

A tiny hiss echoes in the car, and I reach back to the back of my head. That’s Desdemona, the one snake I cannot control about ninety percent of the time. All of them have names, of course, because I have to talk to them when they are being unreasonable, but Des is the absolute worst one with acting out. “Goddamn it, Des,” I mutter under my breath.

“You name them?!” Lucas’s voice is full of wonder as I reach back and pinch the unruly shit to hopefully force her to go away.

Inhaling deeply, I glance at the car’s roof, praying I can leave soon. “Yes, I name them. How else am I supposed to talk to my hair when I need individual strands with minds of their own? If I didn’t, I couldn’t scold the ones who misbehave—like Des.”

“That’s possibly the coolest thing I’ve heard in a while. They all have, like…sentience?”

Unfortunately, like djinns and other rare supes, both gargoyles and gorgons are insular groups whose numbers are dwindling for various reasons. Neither are commonplace and most supes won’t meet one of either of my descendants in their entire lifespan. That’s another reason Magnus loved showing me off, and it rankles a little to find out Lucas knows. It makes me believe I’m definitely a checkbox in his macho diary; he wants to tick off another rare supe on his long list of conquests he can brag about.

“Yes. But I prefer not to discuss it and I’d rather you not tell people. I’m not a sideshow, nor am I a circus freak for people to gawk at. The trial made me infamous for my crimes and that already puts me under a microscope.”

“I get that. People treat me differently once they hear about my Nana, too. I hated it as a kid because I could never trust if someone was my friend or if a girl liked me for me. Still can’t half the time, to be honest,” he replies as he pulls into the parking lot in front of the rink.

I tuck my phone into my purse before opening the car door. “Thank you for the ride, Lucas. Please remember what I’ve told you. I’d hate to see your career end before it begins because of something you didn’t do.”

“Where’s your car?” he asks, ignoring my statement completely.

Stepping out, I touch my amulet with a grin and my wings unfurl, stretching out behind me. “I didn’t drive here. Goodnight, Mr. Wolfberg.”

As I push off the ground, his wide eyes follow me as I take off.

That will quiet him for a bit. At least, I hope so.