by Sierra Dean
“No?” he asked. “Then I suppose I’ll have to read it to you, shall I?”
Chapter Fourteen
Two hours later I waited as dozens of girls filed out of the classroom. Three still lurked around Mayhew’s lectern, twirling their hair and giggling while they asked questions about papers and the deeper meaning of “A Knight’s Tale”. I was willing to bet most of them still thought about Heath Ledger whenever they discussed the finer points of Chaucer, but I wasn’t in a position to judge. Before tonight I’d never given a thought to The Canterbury Tales, let alone an in-depth analysis.
When I’d lived with Gabriel, he’d been nuts for all the old authors—Chaucer, Edmund Spencer, Goethe. He’d bought me a beautiful antique edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets for Valentine’s Day one year. Romantic, right?
I’d read one poem and left it to collect dust on a shelf.
I do remember something about love not being love when it demands someone to change. That could have been a motto for my relationship with Gabriel. Seemed like it also applied to my relationship with Lucas.
Pulling out my phone, I hoped to see a missed call from Desmond. I only had a text message from Holden saying, Exactly how long does a Medieval Literature class last? The books aren’t going anywhere.
Leave it to Holden to be cheeky and sarcastic in a text. But at least he used full words. I had a remarkable loathing for people who insisted on using moronic text abbreviations.
The last of the stragglers left the room, and Mayhew slipped his notes back into the leather briefcase next to his lectern. He seemed to notice me then, for the first time, still sitting in the back row with my Converses propped up on the back of the seat in front of me.
“Did you have a question for me, love?” He leaned against the podium and dipped his head to the side. With his full attention focused on me, I felt a little warmth grow in the pit of my stomach. There was definitely something special about this guy. No wonder all the girls tried to worm their way into his favor.
Grabbing my purse off the floor, I moved down the steps so I could stand in front of him. Because I was already shorter than him, and wearing flat shoes, he still looked down on me in spite of being below-average height for a man.
“My name is…” I hesitated, wondering if I should make something up. If Gabriel had mentioned me, then Mayhew might question my presence in his classroom. But there wasn’t much sense in lying to this man when I wanted honesty from him. “I’m Secret.” Then almost as an afterthought I added, “McQueen.”
“Secret?”
I wasn’t sure if his question stemmed from the oddity of my name, or because he recognized it. “The one and only. I hope.” I offered him my hand, which he shook firmly.
“Oliver Mayhew. Though you probably already know that.”
I smiled. “And you probably know I’m not in your class.”
He nodded. “It’s a little late in the year for waitlist, Secret. Are you auditing?”
“I’m actually here for a friend of mine.”
“Oh?” He picked up his briefcase but made no other move to leave.
“Lucy Renard.”
“Oh,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere over my head. He looked a little guilty, but not in a way I recognized. After a moment he gave me a weak smile and shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know all my students by name. My TA is a lot better with that sort of thing.”
“Gabriel Holbrook?”
Mayhew banged his briefcase against his leg and returned his focus to me. “Oh, do you know Gabe?”
“Not very well. I was actually wondering how well he knew Lucy.”
“Well…” He chuckled. “It’s not really my place to discuss Gabriel’s personal affairs. But it’s my understanding he’s pretty…popular.”
“I bet.” In my pocket, my phone vibrated. Probably Holden asking how long I planned to be. The vampire was going to have to wait.
“Was there a reason you came to my class tonight?”
“Lucy’s…away. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t missing anything important.”
“Ah.” He switched his briefcase from one hand to the other and pulled a pocket watch out, flipping it open to check the time. “It’s a bit late, but if you’d like to follow me, I can give you the notes from this week’s class so Miss Renard doesn’t fall behind. This is a third-year class, a lot happens every week, and it can be a time-intensive study responsibility. I hope your friend isn’t planning to miss too many more classes.”
“It remains to be seen.”
Mayhew left the room, and I followed him.
“Nothing too serious?”
That remains to be seen too, I thought. “No,” I answered. “At least I hope not.”
Down a dark corridor, I became aware for the first time it was almost ten o’clock at night and no one else appeared to be in the building anymore. Instinct told me to check my weapons, but pragmatism told me there wasn’t a hell of a lot a limping British professor could do to me.
He unlocked a door marked with his name and ushered me into a small room. When he turned on the light, I got a better handle on my surroundings. The office was cramped, shelves stacked high with books and his small desk overrun with papers and an ancient-looking desktop computer.
“Cozy.”
Mayhew chuckled. “I don’t spend much time in here.” Sidling behind the desk, he started rifling through the paper towers. If there was a system to how they were organized, a maniac must have been the one to establish it. Mayhew was that maniac, as it turned out, because he found the stapled sheaf of papers he’d been looking for and handed them to me with an apologetic smile.
“Thanks,” I said, stuffing the notes in my purse. I wished I’d come better prepared, with at least a notebook or a proper school bag, but I didn’t own either.
He smiled and patted his pockets as he scanned his desk, then let his arms drop, shrugging to himself over some internal thought he was processing. When he rounded the desk and stood in front of me, it took all my will not to move away from him.
My phone vibrated, making me jerk in surprise. Mayhew didn’t seem to notice. He held out his hand again, and although I felt another handshake was a bit much, I didn’t want him to think me rude, especially not after he’d been gracious enough to give me notes for Lucy.
I shook his hand, appreciating the firmness of his grip. He clasped his other hand on the back of mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles. This was a little too intimate. I tried to pull away, but he showed surprising strength by holding me in place. His hooded eyes, the color of an old sweatshirt, locked on me.
“It’s been a real pleasure.”
“Thanks,” I repeated, my hand going limp between his.
“You’re welcome to sit in on my classes whenever you’d like. I mean, until Miss Renard comes back.”
My eyelids flickered, and my limbs felt heavy. It was too early in the night for me to be feeling sleepy, yet I stifled a yawn. Mayhew gave my hand one last squeeze with both of his, then let it fall. My fingers tingled slightly.
“You have a good night.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
Outside, halfway between the English department and the library, I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket to see what Holden was pestering me about and to tell him I was on my way to meet him. When I flicked open the message screen, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The first message was from Holden, time stamped before ten, right as I was about to leave with Mayhew. It was the second message that startled me, for two reasons. It was from Desmond, and it said, I’m home. We need to talk.
The real kicker wasn’t his cold words, though, or that he was back. It was the time I’d received the message. Quarter after eleven. I’d only been in Mayhew’s office for ten minutes, tops.
Where had an hour of my night gone?
Chapter Fifteen
I was afraid to go into my own apartment.
In the small foyer between the street-level door a
nd my front entrance, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and twisted my keys around on their little metal hoop. Losing an hour of my night without explanation had made me uneasy. Standing outside my door knowing an angry werewolf was inside wanting to talk was the icing on the cake.
Now would be a brilliant time for Sig to call and tell me he needed me on some pressing council business.
Anytime now.
I pulled out my phone and checked the screen.
The front door jerked open, and Desmond stood inside the frame. He leaned against one side, looking from me to the phone.
“How long were you planning to stand out here? I’ve been listening to you breathe for the last ten minutes.”
“I…” I didn’t have an answer for him.
He stepped out of the doorway and crossed the room to sit on the loveseat. I tried not to take it as a positive sign he’d chosen to sit there instead of on the armchair. I shucked off my Converses and sat next to him. Just a normal, average couple sitting down in front of the TV after a long night. Only our TV was off, and we were so far removed from normal it wasn’t even funny.
“Did you talk to Lucas?” I asked, hesitant to mention the L-word after Desmond’s outburst the other night.
He ground his teeth together and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Before or after I punched him?”
My mouth gaped. Desmond was Lucas’s second-in-command, his right-hand man, the Chewie to his Han Solo. I don’t think I’d ever heard of a time when they’d come to blows over something. Now something had, and it was my fault.
Desmond shifted in his seat and looked me in the eyes. His expression was drawn and tired, none of the sweet, cheery man I loved so much.
“I didn’t know,” I told him.
He sighed. “He explained that much to me. It’s the only reason I’m here right now. But this is a big deal. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Can we talk about it?” I took his hand in mine, and he didn’t pull away. “I know you’re upset. Dominick told me the mark…well, he said it made it look like I was picking Lucas over you.”
“It’s a mate mark. It shows everyone you picked him over me.”
“And you thought I would do that without talking to you first?”
“Let’s be honest here, Secret. A lot of what’s happened since you met us has been done without us consulting you. We kidnapped you. Lucas had you brought home against your will. Even my living with you…it wasn’t your choice.”
“Not at the time.” I squeezed his hand to bring his attention back. He’d started to stare at the wall again. “But that was ages ago, Desmond. I love having you here. I love you.”
“More than you love him?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “Yes.”
I don’t think he expected that. He stared at me and said, “Say it again.”
“I love you more than I love Lucas.” The moment I said the words, I knew how true they were. “I do care for him, don’t misunderstand me. But I’d love you even if there were no soul-bond. If I ever lost you, I’d die.”
Desmond didn’t say anything. He pulled me closer using my own grip on his hands and wrapped an arm around my back. I lay against him, my cheek on his chest, languishing in the familiar scent of him and the taste of citrus he left in my mouth. The rise and fall of his breathing made me feel comforted for the first time all week.
“He needs me,” I whispered after a long silence.
“That’s what he said after I decked him.”
“There’s the risk of an uprising in the south. He needs to show a united front, and that means he needs a mate who isn’t…” I sighed, not sure what else to say. Honestly, Lucas should have a mate who was nothing like me. He needed someone obedient and flexible. The more time the wolf king spent trying to make me fit the mold of the queen he wanted, the less it resembled me.
“We never thought it would be this hard,” Desmond admitted. “We always knew the soul-bond was going to be an issue, because of how it connected me to him. When we met you, I figured you’d be with him and that would be that. There was no way for us to see it going like this.” He stroked my hair and kicked his legs up on the couch so I was lying on top of him.
“You guys really believed you could share?”
“I never thought we’d have to. But after the first night you and I were together, Lucas figured that was how it was going to be. He’d turn the other cheek while you and I carried on a physical relationship, and he’d still get to have you as his mate.”
“Isn’t that what’s happening right now?”
“It’s different, though. Because I love you and you love me. We never realized how much human emotion would fuck this whole thing up. It’s hard to be analytical when you’re in love.”
I had to laugh. “Do you think this has any hope in hell of working? Me being his queen but loving you?”
“It’s uncharted territory.” Desmond tipped my chin up so I was looking at him. “I’m not happy about what he did. There was a risk that when he mated you, it would nullify my bond with you. He didn’t seem to take that into consideration when he forced the connection on you.”
“Lucas does a lot of things without thinking about the consequences.”
Desmond kissed my forehead. “He’s my king, and it’s my duty to abide by his decisions. But if he does something this stupid again, to jeopardize what you and I have?” I let my head fall again so I didn’t have to see the sheen of anger painting his face. “I’ll—”
“Don’t say it.” I wasn’t sure how treason worked in the werewolf world, but I didn’t need Desmond putting himself at that kind of risk because of something Lucas had done to me. I pushed myself up so my arms were braced on either side of his chest and I was staring him in the eyes. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Secret…”
“No, it’s fine.” The blue clock on our DVD player said it was only twelve thirty. Plenty of time to meet up with Lucas at the penthouse and be back before sunrise. “I think I need to have a chat with him, anyway. I wasn’t exactly rational when I found out what he’d done.”
“Rationality isn’t your middle name.”
“No. But that makes two of us, Mr. Punches-Holes-in-the-Wall.”
He twisted a lock of my hair around his fingers. “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for how I reacted. But you have to know I would never, never have hit you.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” It hadn’t, honestly. Even when Desmond was dismantling the drywall with his bare hands, I didn’t think he wanted it to be my face instead. He’d been raised by a strong woman and had shown nothing but respect for women the entire time I’d known him. A violent outburst didn’t say great things about his self-control, but I’d never worried he’d lash out at me. “Besides, if you did, I’d break both your arms.”
Desmond laughed and kissed me, sweet and almost chaste by the standards of our usual kisses. “I know you would.”
I got to Rain Hotel twenty minutes later, shared a terse nod with Melvin the night concierge, and ducked into the elevator before he had a chance to give me his two cents on anything. Melvin, a were-ferret, was always a little too interested in the comings and goings of Lucas’s business. I didn’t trust him.
The elevator let me out on the first floor of Lucas’s three-floor penthouse, and unless he was working on something in the office, I doubted I’d find him here. His bedroom was on the second floor along with the guest suites and Desmond’s old residence. The top floor was split between the big lounge area and a massive outdoor patio with an infinity pool looking over the view uptown.
Seeing as it was February he wouldn’t be at the pool, and I didn’t particularly want to check his giant bedroom first. I climbed the stairs to the third floor and stepped into the lounge.
Considering how recently I’d experienced such intense pleasure in this same room, the sense of dread I felt upon entering wasn’t the most standard reaction. Lucas sat on the sofa, his hea
d leaned back and his eyes closed. After the long months of our courtship, I could recognize the signs of stress in his countenance. The fact I could recognize stress better than any other emotion told me Lucas and I needed to have a serious discussion about our relationship.
Which was, after all, the reason I had come.
I cleared my throat, and he snapped to attention, his eyes wide and body tense. He was ready to launch himself across the room at a moment’s notice if need be. Were he in his wolf form, his ears would have been pinned back and his lips curled in a snarl. As a man, he eyed me warily and didn’t let his tension ease when he realized it was me.
We were off to a good start.
I couldn’t blame him for his posture. The way I’d reacted to him during our last conversation was enough to make any man uneasy about his personal safety. I had that effect on people. I just wished it wasn’t on the people I cared about.
“I come in peace,” I offered. “I want to talk.”
His eyelids sagged, and the weariness he’d been hiding leaked to the surface. Lucas was exhausted. “Are you planning to talk with your fists? Because that was Desmond’s opening line too.”
“I’m more of a nonviolent negotiator.” I crossed the room and sat cross-legged on the big ottoman in front of him, about six inches out of his reach.
In response to my words, he let out a snort, then chuckled. “Right.”
“Okay, so I’m not usually big on talking it out, I realize that, but I think we need to discuss what’s going on here.”
“And what exactly is that?” he asked.
“That you keep pushing me when you know I’m not ready.”
He scooted backwards on the couch and looked up at the ceiling instead of directly at me. Always a great start for open communication. Why I thought supernatural men would be better at talking things out than normal human men was beyond me. If anything, they were more stubborn and pigheaded. And that was saying something.