20
O n my first day here in the academy, a tall guy with wavy white hair told me I didn’t belong here, that I’d be ripped apart by the end of that week. He told everyone that I was a whore and human filth, that I carried a highly contagious sickness. If they knew what was good for them, they’d steer clear of me. He even went as far as burning my books, locking me in my room so I’d be late for class, and volunteering me to help him show the class how to defeat an enemy with one hand.
Me being the enemy. Also the one who lay on the ground and wished death upon him.
The twins were the only ones who saw through his lies.
Now he’s walking into my mortal studies class ten minutes late, and I’m trying to pretend I’m not gravitating towards him. It’s like our souls are trying to intertwine and rule the world, magnetic and charged and desperate to look at each other, to touch and taste and be close.
It’s been four hours, and as pathetic as it is, I have to admit that as soon as he left my room and I bathed, I relived every moment of last night in my head while I slipped my hand between my legs.
I swallow and look down at my notes—a bulleted list of my favorite musical artists.
The back of my neck itches as I bring my attention to the twins’ third fight of the morning.
Despite being princesses, they argue like any other siblings when it comes to fashion and makeup and style. Mel finds it ridiculous that humans find release and calmness from music, and Poppy looks like she wants to hex her into next week when Mel says the music playing on the professor’s magical box is giving her a headache.
We haven’t even gotten to the bands.
They’ve been at it for hours. Poppy was, and still is, wearing Mel’s top, which Mel thinks is a heinous crime. I witnessed them rolling across the corridor with fists flying as soon as I met them in our dorm hall, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t split them up.
I ended up sitting on the stone stairs until they gave up trying to kill each other. I even looked at messages between me and Dane to pass the time and contemplated talking to him. But either he’d have taken a week to reply, or he’d ignore me and tell the school I’m a whore again.
My heart rate picks up as Dane sits right next to me, intentionally pressing his thigh against mine.
“What are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth, whispering so no one can hear me. “Sit elsewhere.”
“Nope.”
And he doesn’t. For the next three hours, the professor talks about different genres of music in the mortal world, how musicians make their money, and the fame behind them. She even mentions YouTube, and how the website launched multiple worldwide artists.
Dane doesn’t seem even slightly impressed by the fact humans work hard for their earnings. He’s naturally rich. Born into a family who probably bathes in gold. From Poppy’s calculations, and conversion rates that shouldn’t exist, Dane is worth hundreds of billions.
Yes, billions.
Maybe he’ll pay his way out of prison.
He kicks my foot. I can hear you.
I don’t care. Stay out of my head.
Are you ready for practice?
I sigh and continue writing notes from the board, and he kicks me again, hitting his thigh against mine. When I ignore him again, my pencil flies out of my grip and hits Orsen on the back of the head.
“Hey! The fuck? Who did that?”
“Language, Mr. Zeller. Pick up your pencil and copy what I’m writing on the board!”
You’re evil , I say in my head.
But not scary, right?
Weirdly, I can hear the tone he’s using in my mind. I nearly blush and dig my fingernails into my palm instead. You’re about as scary as a butterfly.
The teacher drones on about homework and upcoming tests, but I cancel out everything around me as Dane’s deep, cold, yet enchanting voice flows through my head. I can assure you, mortal, that after task four, you won’t be comparing me to a fucking butterfly .
Task four: Both students will take part in the fourth stage of human contact. Intimate touch until completion.
An explicit scene unfolds before me, and I know it’s from him.
Firm shadow hands part my thighs as he stands behind me with a grip of my throat, tilting my head to the side. A moan slips from my mouth as the ghost touch of a fingertip drags down the front of my underwear before the soaked, dripping fabric is moved aside, and I gasp as he pushes two fingers inside me.
The hold on my throat gets tighter.
His mouth presses against my ear with a deep, thick growl, followed by words in a different language. But the translation is there.
Scream for me, little mortal.
I gulp, audibly, and lick my lips as I cross my legs. That’s quite an imaginative scenario. Too bad it’s fake. I try to make the last part sound as false as possible, but with the building warmth at the base of my spine, I might as well beg him to make it happen.
Do you want me to complete task four right now?
I snap my head to him with a confused look.
He doesn’t move his eyes from the board as he writes each word down, the multitasker that he is. He speaks in my head again. You can say no, and that’s fine, I’ll stop. But I can feel you. Stop denying it. It is unbecoming of a mortal who depends so much on trust and has such complex needs.
I level my gaze on the professor again, my body jolting in my seat as something warm wraps around my ankle. A few students gape at me, but I clear my throat and pretend I’m listening, looking down to see a black shadow circling my ankle, crawling, climbing up my right leg to my knee. It tightens as Dane knocks my thigh with his again.
My shadows will do anything I ask. If I want them to kill, they’ll kill. If I want them to protect, they’ll protect. If I want them to please someone, then you better fucking believe it when I say they’ll do that too.
I think that goes against the rules for task four. I have no idea how I manage to give him a response, but I do. My hands grip the edge of the table as the mass circles higher, like a snake trying to capture and strangle its next meal.
Something else glides up my inner thigh, and when I glance down, Dane’s hand is on my left thigh, holding me under my skirt, his fingers a nanometer away from my drenched panties.
I clench my thighs, and a groan vibrates between us. It’s loud, but only to us. The classroom focuses on the work while Dane shifts in his chair, not moving his hold, fixing himself. There’s a tingling sensation between my legs, different from my own arousal.
Whatever the connection is between us, it’s getting stronger. I don’t need to look down to know that his cock is solid. He probably doesn’t need to touch me to know my underwear is soaked through, that my core throbs with desperation for his next move.
Absentmindedly, I press myself forward, biting my lip as his fingers slide ever so gently against me. All my nerve endings are on fire, screaming for more. I try to grind against his fingers again, but he lightly slaps my pussy, and I stifle a moan.
He tuts, voice as deep as the ocean. I swallow another moan, flinching as he taps my sensitive area again . How much do you want me to touch you?
I respond by dropping my hand under the desk and sinking my nails into his wrist, gripping him, keeping him there. How much do you want to touch me, Dane?
Fuck .
Being at the back of the room, no one knows what we’re doing—no one knows that I’m trying to grind my pussy against Dane’s hand in a class full of immortal creatures.
I give you permission to touch me.
But as I whimper from the firm press of his thumb against my clit, the professor slams down her large book and tells everyone the class is over.
We mentally and physically break away from each other, temporarily severing the connection, and I try to regulate each breath as he collects his bag. “See you at practice, mortal.”