Chapter 7: Briar

brIAR

Ava's going to be the death of me. I can feel it.

Do thirteen-year-olds really talk about how fuckable their teachers are?

Christ. I need to have the sex talk with my little sister. I am so not prepared for that.

At least Malachi Grimm didn't hear that gem of a conversation. Thank the universe for small mercies.

I hear his footsteps in the hall, so I straighten up. I try to wipe the blush off my cheeks from thinking about any of my three professors being fuckable.

Malachi Grimm rounds the corner and strides toward me. "Sorry it took me a few minutes. I got caught up with a conversation."

"No worries."

He steps up next to me to unlock his office door. With him standing so close, I can smell his smoky, campfire scent. It curls around me like a warm embrace.

As he pushes through the office door, I turn to follow him. Malachi Grimm's office is bigger than I expected. There's room for his large walnut executive desk and two midnight blue velvet wingback chairs. Across from his desk, he also has a cognac-colored leather sofa, two navy upholstered chairs, and a glass coffee table.

Opposite his desk are three arched windows that bathe the space in early afternoon sunlight. They overlook the same forest as the window in the alcove I found earlier.

What really captures my attention, though, are the bookshelves covering every available inch of wall space. He has to have hundreds of books in his office. My hands itch to peruse Malachi Grimm's impressive collection.

"Have a seat." Indicating one of the dark blue chairs, Malachi Grimm walks behind his desk. He sits in a leather executive chair, eyeing my form, frozen in the doorway.

Shaking myself out of my staring contest with the bookshelves, I do as he orders. Sitting down makes my ridiculous skirt even shorter. I tug at the stupid uniform, trying in vain to make it cover more of my pale thighs.

"Is something wrong with your skirt?"

"No." As my denial leaves my lips, I want to take it back. I know he'll be able to tell I'm lying. I may want to push his buttons, but now's not the time. Not when I'm feeling so drained from being around people again all day.

"Want to try that again, Briar?" Malachi's voice takes on a dangerous edge.

I clench my jaw and stare down at my lap. I really don't want to talk about my skirt with my advisor, but I know he's not going to let it go. "It's too short."

"You can purchase a different one at the bookshop." He frowns at me as he speaks.

Yeah, I know that. The problem is my stepfather doesn't give me any spending money. This is the one uniform he ordered for me, so it's what I'm stuck with.

Glancing at the door, I debate whether I can make it out of the room before he catches me. I don't want to talk about this with him or anyone. Sighing, I realize answering him is the only way to end this miserable conversation. "I don't have any money."

"Have you tried getting a job?" he says, his tone dripping with judgement.

Like I wouldn't trade almost anything to have the bit of freedom working would give me. "I'm not allowed to work." I whip my gaze up to his as I grind out my answer. I want him to see the fury burning in my eyes.

How dare he judge me for my screwed-up situation without all the facts. He pretends to care in the classroom and then makes a snap judgement like everyone else. If I had a dime for every time people have decided I'm just a spoiled brat, I'd have enough money to leave this shithole town. No one ever bothers to look beyond the fancy house and wealthy stepfather. Money can hide the darkest sins.

I can see a muscle ticking in his jaw at my response. His eyes soften momentarily in regret before flicking to his computer. After messing around on his laptop for a minute, he turns back to me. "I can order you a different one." Before I can object again, he continues. "The cost will be added to your tuition expenses for next semester."

I weigh my options. I can accept his help, even though he's been a grade-A asshole about it, or I can suffer through the semester with a skirt that's way too short. Closing my eyes and blowing out a breath, I know it's not even a competition. "Fine. I need the tall size."

"Done. It will be here tomorrow. I need to talk with my brothers tonight to get a plan together for accommodations. Can you meet me after your class tomorrow to discuss it? I'll be free at noon."

"Sure. Is that all for today?" I bite out. I'm so done with him today. Malachi Grimm has yanked me through the whole gamut of emotions—interest, fear, safety, judgement, and anger.

At his nod, I jump up and stomp toward the door. When I reach his open office door, he calls my name. I pretend I can't hear him and flee down the stairs.

Bursting out into the early September air, I practically sprint out the gates of the school. Once I'm free of WHU, I feel like I can breathe again, even though the air is thick and syrupy with an incoming storm.

While my first day wasn't all bad, WHU is just another fancy prison. The only time I'm really free is when I'm outside. The wind in my hair and the sunshine on my face is the ultimate freedom. Walking among the trees, flowers, shrubs, birds, and insects gives me peace unlike anything else.

I wish I had time to wander the forest this afternoon, but I have to do homework and call Ava.

Sighing, I start the trek back to the house. It's about six miles each way. Luckily, I love running, and I'm fast. Otherwise, it would take a couple hours to get to and from WHU. Putting my earbuds in, I play the acoustic version of "Unsteady." If that doesn't describe my mood, I don't know what does.

I tighten my satchel so it lies against my back and start running. During my run, I can't stop thinking about my professors.

Why am I so drawn to them?

I wish I knew.

I almost run past my house, I'm so preoccupied with my thoughts. Luckily, I spot the white and gray monstrosity before I pass it. Loosening my bag to hang down by my side, I pass through the gates leading to the property.

Behind the wrought iron gates is a towering mansion with white limestone walls and a slate roof. The loosely federal style structure has grand Corinthian columns framing tall double doors. Black-rimmed windows and dual chimneys complete the front wing of the house. The other two wrap around behind.

The grounds are landscaped meticulously. Not even a single blade of grass is out of place. Cheery fountains bubble in the late-summer heat, tempting the local wildlife to sneak a drink.

As I walk up the curving driveway, I stare at the three separate wings of my stepfather's ostentatious house. Who even needs nine bedrooms, multiple kitchens, a home theater, and a Roman spa?

My stepfather, apparently.

Shaking my head at his over-the-top display of wealth, I ease one of the two eight-foot, wood-and-glass doors open. Stepping inside, I mentally go through the homework I need to complete. So lost in my thoughts, I don't notice anyone in my way until I collide with a hard body.

I don't have time to contemplate the sheer stupidity of not being vigilant before a large hand shoves hard on my shoulder.

As I fall backward, it feels like everything's happening in slow motion. It seems to take forever for my tailbone to smack against the white marble of the foyer. My shoulders thump against the ground next, and my head finally hits the floor with a sickening crack.

The pain makes my vision blurry as I stare dazedly at the two mahogany curved staircases. The intricate scrollwork on the banisters seems to dance the longer I stare at it.

"Watch where you're going, you stupid bitch!" At his caustic words, I shift my unfocused gaze to my stepfather, Patrick Wynfield.

With his neatly styled brown hair peppered with gray at the temples, six-foot height, and trim physique, he's handsome—or he would be if you could ignore the cold cruelty in his empty brown eyes.

I must take too long to reply.

"Get out of my sight!" Patrick roars, spittle flying everywhere.

I scramble up as fast as my foggy mind will allow me. I use the sleeve of my school blazer to wipe up the crimson blood sparkling against the marble. The only thing Patrick hates more than my presence is when I leave a mess.

I jog up the staircase and take a left at the top. With the way the world is spinning, it's not the pain making my vision blurry. It's a concussion. I've been concussed enough times to know the signs.

Stumbling toward my room, I let out a sigh of relief once I'm behind my door. I slide down the white door to land on the plush, beige carpet. The light blue walls of my room are moving like ocean waves, so I shut my eyes before I throw up.

Careful not to lean my injured head against the door, I take a few deep breaths to calm my stomach. My head hurts like a bitch, and the pounding in the back of my skull is spreading. My entire head feels like it's getting attacked with a hammer.

I sit on the floor with my legs hugged to my chest until I don't feel like my lunch is going to come back up. Once I can move again, I make my way to my whitewashed desk. I carefully slip off my satchel before glancing at the clock on my desk.

Shit. It's almost six. I've been sitting on the floor zoned out for an hour and a half. I quickly check my reflection in my phone camera to make sure I didn't get blood on anything other than my blazer sleeve. When I'm sure I look presentable, I call Ava.

I try my best to listen to her excited ramblings about her school, horse, and plans for the week past the pounding in my head. Ava doesn't know her dad likes to knock me around. I plan to keep it that way until we can leave this godforsaken town. While he's never hurt Ava, I'm still relieved to have her safe at boarding school.

Patrick allowed Ava to go to a boarding school as long as I attend Wolves Hollow University. My dreams of leaving this place for college are crushed, but all that matters is that she's safe.

"Are you okay, Rosie?" Ava's question snaps me out of my wandering thoughts. I guess I haven't been hiding my concussion as well as I thought.

"I'm good, Aves. I just have a headache." It's not technically a lie, just an omission. I don't want her to worry.

"Rosie! You should have told me! I wouldn't have talked for so long if I knew you weren't feeling well."

"I'm really A-OK, Bun Bun."

She eyes me skeptically. I don't blame her. I probably look like death warmed over after bleeding everywhere from my head wound. "If you say so. I have to go anyway. Feel better, Rosie. I love you."

"Love you too, Ava."

After hanging up with Ava, I briefly debate going downstairs to grab dinner. I don't know if Patrick's home. Groaning, I know I can't take another hit tonight. I'll have to skip dinner. Luckily, I have an emergency stash of protein bars in my room for times just like this. I greedily inhale three double chocolate protein bars. They taste like ash, but I need to fuel to heal.

Along with needing to eat so much, I also heal much faster than normal. If I eat enough, I can heal broken bones in a week, instead of one to two months. I have no idea why I heal so fast, but I'm grateful for it with the frequent beatings from Patrick. I don't know if I'd still be alive today if I didn't have super healing.

Shoving that morbid thought out of my head, I toe off my Converse and climb into my bed. The natural white oak four-poster bed provides an illusion of safety with the gauzy wraparound curtains. I don't have the energy to strip off my clothes or climb under the sky blue comforter. As soon as I'm settled on my stomach, I succumb to a dreamless sleep.