Chapter 12: Briar

brIAR

It's official.

I hate parties.

The party's only been going for half an hour. No less than six different guys have groped my ass. One dude even sniffed my hair. The loud bass of the music is also giving me a headache.

I'm going to need a drink to get through another however many more hours of this, even though I don't normally drink. Patrick is even more violent with alcohol. I don't want to be anything like him, so I usually avoid drinking. For tonight, I'll make an exception.

Leaving Rory chatting and laughing with a group, I make my way to the kitchen. I see Ronan leaning against the sleek gray cabinets of the massive island. Modern glass and metal pendants bathe him in warm light, softening the harsh angles of his face.

Alcohol bottles of every variety are scattered on the island, along with various shot glasses and plastic drink cups. I nod at Ronan as I grab a red cup and the bottle of vodka. "That bad, huh?" Ronan asks after getting a good look at my disgruntled expression.

"You have no idea." I unscrew the vodka bottle cap and empty half the contents into my cup. Another quirk of my biology is that it takes way more alcohol for me to even get buzzed. A few shots of liquor do nothing.

I bring the cup to my lips, wincing at the harsh chemical smell. Figuring getting this over quickly is the way to go, I chug the whole thing in a few gulps. I grimace at the taste and the burn as it goes down. How do people regularly drink something that tastes like rubbing alcohol? It's disgusting.

When I set the empty cup down, I notice Ronan's eyebrows are practically at his hairline. "So, we're going straight past buzzed to black-out drunk tonight?"

I huff out a laugh. "I burn through alcohol superfast. This will get me somewhere between buzzed and drunk." There's no way in hell I would get black-out drunk around so many unknown people. I trust Ronan and Rory as much as I can trust anyone, but I don't trust all the other randoms here.

"Gotcha. Well, feel free to get as drunk as you want. I'm staying sober so I can keep an eye on you and Rory. I'll make sure nothing happens to either of you." That's… really thoughtful of him. It's been so long since I had anyone who cares what happens to me. His concern makes me feel too much. I don't do emotions, especially with this many eyes on me.

Feeling overwhelmed, I impulsively round the island to hug Ronan, hoping it conveys my gratitude. He hesitantly wraps his arms around me, surprised by my sudden move. As he gives me a gentle squeeze, I hear a growl rumble from behind us.

Startled, I jump back from Ronan. I turn around and find the last person I expected to see at this party.

Malachi fucking Grimm.

My professor. Who just watched me pound back half a bottle of vodka. While underage.

I'm definitely fucked. And not in a fun way.

As he stalks toward me, I can't help but notice how good he looks in casual clothes. His black tee and dark jeans are a far cry from the usual suits he wears at school. The black T-shirt stretches across his broad chest and showcases how ripped his arms are. His jeans are slung low on his hips, offering a tantalizing peek at his abs when he moves his arms up.

Malachi crowds me against the island when he reaches me. He places a hand on either side of me and leans in until we're practically nose to nose. I can feel his warm breath feathering across my lips, making me think of what it would be like to kiss him.

No. Nope. Nuh-uh. This is so not the time to be thinking about kissing Malachi Grimm. Especially not when his eyes simmer with barely leashed rage.

"What the hell are you doing?" Malachi growls, enunciating every word. This close, I can see his blue eyes are ringed with amber. It seems to be growing with each second I don't respond. I must be drunker than I thought. Eyes don't change color like that.

"What does it look like? I'm getting drunk," I snark back, my default setting when I feel threatened. But I really don't need to be provoking him right now. I'd prefer not to go to jail for underage drinking. I try to change topics. "What are you doing here? It's not a school event."

"I'm here as adult supervision because someone needs to keep an eye on all the shitheads partying. The twins and I rotate who's here each time. The real question is why are you here, Briar? You don't come to these things."

"You're not here as a professor?" I blurt and then cringe. Way to state the obvious, Briar.

Malachi chuckles humorlessly. "No. The thoughts I'm having right now, Briar, are certainly not those of a fucking professor."

My heart skips a beat as I wonder what he's thinking about. For a foolish moment, I wonder if he's thinking about kissing me, but I know he'd never see me that way.

I close my eyes briefly to shake myself out of my thoughts and to push down the disappointment at him not wanting me like I want him. It can't and won't happen. I need to get over my stupid infatuation with the Grimm brothers.

"Don't blame Briar, Kai. Rory and I guilted her into coming, so be pissed at us, not her." Turning my head, I see Ronan standing just to the side of us. He's tense and looks like he wants to haul Malachi away from me. I appreciate the thought, but Ronan's a good few inches shorter and probably twenty-five pounds lighter in muscle. No one's moving Malachi until he wants to move.

Malachi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, seeming to try to collect himself. When he blinks open his startling navy eyes, the amber I thought I saw earlier is gone. Alcohol can make you see crazy things, I guess.

"You drink often, Briar?"

"No," I snort. "I rarely drink." I press my lips together to keep from saying anything about Patrick. Christ. The vodka's working faster than usual.

"Why, then," Malachi says, his voice dangerously soft, "would you think it's a good idea to drink half a fucking bottle of vodka?"

"As I told Ronan, I burn through alcohol fast." I glare at Malachi. I don't need him judging my choices. I can take care of myself. I've been doing a half-decent job at it all these years. Okay, maybe not half-decent, but I'm not dead yet, so I count that as a win.

Why does he even care?

He's my professor, and I'm just another student. Thinking about how little I mean to him has my already sour mood darkening further.

"Did you eat anything before drinking?" Malachi doesn't back off at my attitude. Instead, he comes closer, pressing his rock-hard abs against my stomach. It feels like pure electricity sparks everywhere he touches me.

His question sinks in, and I realize I might have made a mistake. I've had a full stomach the other times I've drank. I haven't eaten anything today besides a protein bar.

Shit. No wonder the vodka is hitting me so fast.

Rather than admit I'm an idiot, I do what any sane person would do. I shove at Malachi's chest, trying to get him to move back. I'd rather leave the conversation than give him the satisfaction of being right. Unfortunately for me, he doesn't budge. After a few moments of pushing as hard as I can, I give up, collapsing back against the island. "What the hell do you eat? The hopes and dreams of children? Jesus fucking Christ, your muscles have muscles."

At my outburst, Malachi simply gives me an amused grin. His smile is infuriating and sexy in equal measures. He opens his mouth to respond, but Ronan cuts him off.

"Back off, Kai! Let. Her. Go," Ronan barks, sounding madder than I've ever heard him. He has his hands clenched at his sides, and the veins in his neck are standing out. I swear I see a flash of amber in his eyes, too. Maybe vodka isn't my thing. I'm seeing some weird stuff after drinking.

Malachi stares at me for a few beats longer, his jaw rhythmically clenching. Without taking his eyes off me, he steps back. It's only half a step, but it's enough that I'm no longer pinned against the island. I refuse to examine the part of me that mourns the loss of his hot, hard body pressed against mine.

Like the coward I am, I take the opportunity to turn and flee. I rush out of the kitchen and into the dense crowd. A ton of people have shown up since I went to the kitchen.

Great.

I hate parties. They're literally the worst.

Shoving my way through the throng of bodies, I fight against the current until I see Rory. Her eyes light up when she spots me. When I reach her, she pulls me onto the makeshift dance floor. I lose myself in the music as we dance, trying my hardest to forget what Malachi Grimm feels like pressed against me… and how much I crave more of it.