by Sadie Moss
There’s a girl lying on the floor.
Her body is sprawled awkwardly on the tile. She’s fully dressed, one side of her face bruised… and she’s not moving.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I dart forward, going to my knees beside her to check her pulse. It thrums a steady beat beneath my fingertips, and now that I’m closer to her, I can tell she’s breathing.
Not dead, thank fuck. Just knocked out somehow.
What happened? Who did this to her?
“Help!” I yell. When a response doesn’t come fast enough, I run out of the locker room into the hallway. “Hey, somebody help! There’s an unconscious girl in there!”
One of the practical magic professors, an older man named Nathan Perkins, jerks to a stop several yards from me. His bushy brows draw together, and I’m about to start yelling again when my words finally seem to penetrate his brain. He springs into action, calling for the campus medics and staying with me while we wait for them. It only takes them five minutes to arrive, but by the time they do, several other students have entered the locker room, gaping and whispering in scared voices.
The medics lift the unconscious girl onto an enchanted stretcher that then rises to hover about three feet off the floor. The gathered students part like the Red Sea as the medical staff carts her out of the locker room.
Perkins turns to follow them, but stops and turns back to me, squeezing my arm. “Thank you for raising the alarm, Miss Sinclair. I’m sure Miss Walt will be fine.”
I nod numbly, and he slips out of the locker room, seeming relieved to get out of here.
Miss Walt.
My brows draw together as I try to remember the girl’s first name. I think she’s a third year; I vaguely recall seeing her around, but I don’t have any classes with her. There are several different sections of the Combat class—since it’s a mix of first through third year students, it would be unwieldy to have us all in the room at the same time—and she’s not in my section. Aside from passing her in the hall a few times, I haven’t really had any interaction with her, and I feel oddly bad about that.
This isn’t a huge school, so I could theoretically know everyone’s name even if I’m not friends with all of them. But I haven’t put a lot of effort into getting to know the whole student body.
Not that my knowing her would make any of this better. I’m not the one who attacked her, after all.
But who did attack her? And why? Was it an assault gone wrong?
She was in the showers, so I could almost buy that—but she was fully dressed. And I didn’t see any rips or tears on her clothes, so it’s not like someone was trying to get in them. There were just those weird bruises on her face. A prank that didn’t go the way anyone expected?
Over the next few days, the whole school buzzes with talk of the attack. Everyone’s got theories about it, but nobody’s got any answers. The administration isn’t saying anything either. Cam tells me the rumor is that the girl—whose first name turns out to be Jessica—was attacked from behind and doesn’t know who hit her, but I find the whole thing fishy.
My mind keeps circling back to all the self-defense we’re being taught.
The fighting.
The sparring.
It’s like the academy admins expect us to be under attack—or on the attack—non-stop for the rest of our lives.
Like they know something we don’t.
And I can’t help but wonder—what else is going on at this school?
Chapter 13
People tend to have short attention spans, especially when they’re juggling massive amounts of schoolwork and learning how to use dangerous, barely-controlled magic. So by a week and a half after the attack on Jessica, things are mostly back to normal. She’s on the mend and back in classes, and I make it a point to wave when I see her in the hall.
See? I’m trying.
Life is a lot more peaceful now that I’m not living with the Bitch Squad, and despite my late start, I’ve caught up in most of my classes and am doing pretty well in all of them.
Except one.
The one with the professor I still can’t look at without feeling a tingle between my legs.
Magical fucking Control.
You’d think Roman would do a better job of ignoring my presence, seeing as he’s older than I am and therefore, theoretically, more mature. But it doesn’t seem to be possible for him. Instead of ignoring me, he’s riding my ass into the ground, demanding way more from me than from any of the other students and generally going out of his way to make my life miserable.
Magical Control class is where we learn how to actually manage our magic so it doesn’t spike willy-nilly based on our emotions or anxiety. We meditate at the beginning and end of every class, for example, and do mental exercises to work on our focus and control. Maddy told me they have a similar thing at her school. Her goal is to be able to write cursive using water by the end of the semester—that’s how much control she should have.
As you can imagine, this isn’t the easiest class for me.
And Roman isn’t making it any easier.
The shittiest part is, I’m not the worst student in the class. If I were, I’d understand Roman being so damn hard on me. But I work damn hard, practicing my ass off to overcome my limitations. And I’m not the person who’s losing control and causing explosions during meditation, so what the hell gives?
Maybe I’m just imagining things. Maybe it’s the stress of Jessica’s attack and my growing suspicion that there’s another layer to this school. I don’t know quite what it is, but I just can’t shake this feeling that there’s a puzzle piece I’m missing; it’s making me paranoid, to say the least. So maybe that’s what sets me on edge in class.
Or it could just be that I’m sick and tired of Roman complimenting everyone except for me. Sick of him finding fault with everything I do.
Sometimes he’ll walk through the classroom and put his hands on us to help guide us through the exercises. Every single time he does that, I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through me. My body remembers every single place he’s touched me like it’s seared into my skin, and it can’t seem to distinguish between the touches in the alley and the ones in class. Every time he puts his hands on me, I burn for him. And the few times we’ve locked eyes, I could barely even breathe.
Is he being such an asshole because he still wants me? Is he punishing me for that? Is he mad that I didn’t give him my name? Or does he think I’d already been accepted to this school and knew who he was when we met? That I fucked my future professor on purpose?
You know what, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter why, what matters is that he cuts it the fuck out.
Two weeks after Jessica’s attack, I decide I can’t take it anymore. I linger after class, taking my time putting my books and things into my bag.
Roman’s standing in front of his desk, flipping through a couple of late papers students dropped off on their way out, but he looks up once the classroom empties out and I start to walk over.
“Miss Sinclair.”
“Professor.” I fold my arms. “Any particular reason you’ve got a bug up your ass about me?”
Roman leans back against his desk, bracing his hands on it. “I have no problem with you.”
“Could’ve fooled me. When you tell literally everyone else in the class ‘good job’ when you observe their work and stay absolutely silent about mine, that says a hell of a lot about what you think of me.”
“I don’t think anything about you.”
“That’s a lie.”
Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look. Miss Sinclair…”
“Elliot.”
“Elliot.” He drops his hand and gazes at me, his dark blue eyes doing that thing where they seem to see right through me.
I bite my lip. Maybe it’s a little shitty to insist he call me by my first name now, when I wouldn’t even give it to him after we had sex. But I can’t stand the formality in his tone when
he calls me “Miss Sinclair”.
God, I hate that I still want him, that I’m still just as attracted to him as I was when I first saw him at the bar. It hasn’t gone away, not even when I’m pissed as fuck at him. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Now that I know what it feels like when he kisses me, how his hands feel on my body, what it feels like to have him inside me… I just crave him that much more.
Roman clenches his jaw. “I thought it would be best if… if there was not even the slightest hint of favoritism. Given what happened.”
My jaw drops in angry disbelief. “What? That’s bullshit! Neither of us knew who the other person was when it happened. It was just a random hookup; it’s not like we were aware. The admins can’t fault us for that if they find out, which they won’t. And it was just one fucking time! Unless I’ve got a twin who’s been boinking you on the side, I haven’t done anything with you since then. So why are you still acting so—so weird?”
“Because I didn’t want it to be a one time thing, Elliot,” Roman growls. When he says my name this time, there’s not a hint of formality in it, and his deep voice sends shivers down my spine. “I wanted your name. I wanted—” He breaks off suddenly, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he clenches his teeth. “I wanted more. If I hadn’t had to come to the academy, I would’ve gone back to the bar the next night to look for you. What happened between us was—”
He cuts himself off again, and his nostrils flare as he presses his lips into a thin line. My stomach flips, and I’m both glad and disappointed that he didn’t finish that sentence. What happened between us was incredible. At least it was for me. It was the kind of incredible you go back for again and again—because you just know that somehow, it’s going to get better and better every time.
And I didn’t even give him my name.
He wanted more, and I ran away.
With deliberate slowness, he rises from the desk and takes a single step toward me. “Miss Sinclair, do not mistake me for some pathetic moron who can’t get over a random hookup being in his class.”
Ouch. That fucking hurts. I’m aware I just used that exact same phrase about five seconds ago, but hearing him say it, the emphasis he puts on those two words, makes my chest squeeze painfully.
So of course I go on the offensive, lashing out like a child.
“Oh, so it’s happened before? Is this a common occurrence?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Very funny.” He’s looming over me just the slightest bit. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, but it makes me want to do something stupid like press back against the student desk a few feet behind me and make him lean over me even more, make him cover my body with his.
“That’s not an answer,” I shoot back with a challenging look.
“Jesus, Reckless.” His jaw muscles pulse again, and he closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s gathering some kind of inner strength. “No, I’ve never slept with a student before. But don’t tell me you’ve never run into a random one-night stand somewhere else. It happens. I’m trying to deal with it the best way I can, but it’s… complicated. I didn’t want us to be just a one-night stand, and I still—” He stops himself, tearing his gaze away from me with a noise of frustration.
“You still…?” I prompt, my voice quiet and breathy.
Fuck. This is dangerous.
I’m not looking for a relationship. I don’t have time for something that’ll inevitably end in disaster.
But… God, he is so fucking sexy. I need a way to work out all this damn stress, and Roman looks like he’s being held back by the thinnest of threads.
He looks at me, his eyes so dark they look almost black. A rush of heat shoots through me. I know what he’s going to say before he even says it.
“I still want you,” he admits, his voice low and rough.
I hate myself for this, but I still want him too, more than I can understand. I’ve been able to avoid attachments before this, so why can’t I stop wanting this man? He’s handsome, yes. Good at sex, oh, hell yes. But surely there are plenty of other guys out there who are the same.
Doesn’t matter—I crave Roman.
I’m going to get in so much trouble for this, I just know it, but I honestly don’t give a shit right now.
“Then why don’t you take what you want?”
The words are hardly out of my mouth before Roman’s sealing his mouth over mine. I moan, my fingers digging into his shirt, clawing at him, trying to bring him closer. His powerful thigh slides between my legs, spreading them without a second thought, until he’s pressed right up against me, and a hot shudder works through me like an earthquake.
Roman’s hands slide around my waist to my back, keeping me pinned to him, and he tugs my lower lip between his teeth as I roll my hips against his thigh. I suck on his tongue the way I’d suck on his cock if he let me, my mind filling with dirty images as he walks me backward, bending me over the desk behind me just like I hoped he would. His hands are sliding under my shirt, searing hot trails over my stomach, and I’m trying to get his shirt open and oh fuck, oh yes—
There’s a knock at the door, and I nearly fall to the floor as we both jerk in surprise.
“Yes?” Roman calls out, his voice rough. My heart slams against my ribs as we gaze at each other in shock, our chests rising and falling fast.
“Roman?” A soft, musical voice floats through the door. “You got a sec?”
Oh fuck, it’s Professor Tamlin. Of all people to interrupt us, it has to be the one person on campus Roman used to date. At least, I hope she’s the only one. Goddamn it, now I can’t stop thinking about that.
“I’m in a student meeting,” Roman calls, clearing his throat. “One moment.”
He pulls away from me and we quickly check to make sure we don’t look like… well, like we were just rounding second base and possibly about to make a run for third.
“I don’t deserve for you to treat me like crap just to avoid gossip,” I hiss in a low voice, resuming our earlier argument as I straighten my clothes. “Treat me the way you’d treat any other student. Or I’ll find a way to kick your ass.”
A smile cracks Roman’s serious facade for a moment, and it’s breathtaking.
“I’ve no doubt that you will,” he says softly, a touch of humor in his voice.
Then his stoic exterior falls back into place as walks over to the door and opens it. Thank God some people are polite enough to knock when they see a closed door, since that door definitely wasn’t locked.
Professor Tamlin walks in, looking as sophisticated as usual. I’m in worn out jeans and a t-shirt, my hair a mess even before Roman got his hands in it, and she’s standing here looking like the African-American version of Audrey Hepburn.
She had to have broken up with him, not the other way around. How could Roman possibly dump someone like her?
“Elliot.” Tamlin smiles and nods when she sees me. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I reply, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“She was reading me the riot act,” Roman mumbles in mock annoyance.
“Oh dear, a firecracker. However will you manage?” She grins conspiratorially at me. “Gotta give him hell, or he’ll get too cocky.”
I shouldn’t hang around. The longer I’m here, the better the odds she’ll pick up on the tension that still hangs heavy in the air. And there’s nothing more for me to discuss with Roman, really.
He wants me. I want him. This can’t happen. The end.
“Right. Well, I’ll... uh, I’ll see you later.” I gather up my things, which I dropped when Roman was kissing the breath out of me, and slip past her toward the door.
Tamlin waves and then starts talking to him about something regarding class scheduling as I make my way out of the room.
The whole time though, I can feel the heat of Roman’s gaze on my back.
Chapter 14
After that, things are normal for a period.
Or as normal as they can
possibly get at a magical school, especially one for people with extremely volatile powers.
I’m getting better at controlling my magic, which I have to say is a huge goddamn relief. I don’t want to accidentally hurt anybody.
I even realize I have a new ability, a second ability. Apparently, that’s something that happens to some of us with Unpredictable magic. If the power inside us is strong enough, it’ll manifest in more than one type of magic. In extreme cases, a lot more. The oldest documented age at which a new ability was discovered in an Unpredictable magic user was seventy-six. I learned that in my History of Magic class, thank you very much, Professor Goldstein.
On the day my new power sparks, I’m in Combat class, fighting with Dmitri again and trying desperately to pretend I’m not hugely turned on, when I decide to mix things up a little.
A bit of parkour never hurt anybody, right?
I figure if I get a short running start and then kick off the wall, I can tackle him and take him down.
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, I run at the wall—and keep running.
Up it.
“Holy shit!” Dmitri blurts out, his shock overcoming his usual code of grumpy silence where I’m concerned. “Jesus, Elliot, be careful!”
I’d tease him for finally caving and talking to me like a regular human being, but he sounds genuinely worried about me, hugely worried, in fact. And to be honest, I’m… uh, a little panicked myself.
“Um, Professor Tamlin?” I call, trying not to let my voice squeak. “Any ideas on how to get me down?”
Turns out, getting down is just a matter of walking. My footsteps are as solid on the wall as they would be on the floor. It actually almost feels like the wall is the floor, which does funny things to my perspective. If I think about it too hard, my heart starts to race and my hands get clammy, so I just focus on strolling evenly across the wall toward the real floor.
Cam catches my gaze, and he must see the slightly terrified look in my eyes, because he starts singing the Spider-Man theme at the top of his lungs. That sends everyone—including me—into laughter, and the anxious knot in my stomach unclenches a little.