Sophie swallowed as her insides started to pulse. Logically, what he said was terribly possessive and disrespectful to her relationship with Jason and just plain rude, yet she couldn’t help but be aroused by it. His hazel irises darkened as though he could tell, as though he could smell it on her. And maybe he could. Certainly he’d be able to hear the pounding of her heart, the increase of her pulse. She was giving herself away and she couldn’t help it.
“And I know,” he said in his low, gravelly voice, “that you want me, too.”
She swallowed again. Her throat had suddenly dried up. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
“Why are you with him, anyway?” He paused. “Is it to make me jealous?”
This time, Sophie found the ability to roll her eyes. “You know, not everything I do is associated with you,” she told him. She paused, thinking about his words. Will pushed up his brow, waiting for her response. “I’m with Jason because he’s a good guy. He’s sweet and charming, and warm and popular. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel like I belong. I’m lucky he even wants to be with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” Will drawled, clearly not understanding.
“Come on, Will,” Sophie said, staring up at the overcast sky. “Like you don’t know. As a physical, I have a target on my back. I’m one of the last of my kind. The only other physical we know about wants me to breed physical babies. Our society condemns females who are physically stronger than their male counterparts as unfeminine and therefore unworthy of a man. I’m an orphan with no family. I’ve never really had a friend, let alone a boyfriend. And I’m the antithesis of what it means to be popular.”
Will’s gaze was unflinching. “Are you done, kid?” he asked.
There was that word again.
“Stop playing the victim, you’re better than that.” Sophie looked affronted at his bluntness, but he pressed on, refusing to allow her a word in. “You shouldn’t be with a person who pushes you to be the person you want to be. You should be with the person who accepts you for exactly who you are, even if that is a beautiful, hard-headed, frustrating woman. Fuck society. Fuck popularity. Fuck everything else. This is your life, kid. Live it the way you want, not the way people expect you to.”
Her heart slowed again, and the surrounding forest was so still, she knew she’d be able to hear a pin drop in the dirt. “Why do you call me that?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended it to be. “Kid. Why do you call me that?”
Surprisingly, Will turned away, uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if her imagination was playing tricks on her, or if it really was this cold, but his cheeks appeared red. Like he was blushing.
“It’s my term of endearment,” he explained through a growl. “I can call you kid in public and it’s not inappropriate.” He gave up with his explanation and looked her in the eye. “And before you start, it’s not meant to be condescending even if it comes out that way.”
Sophie couldn’t help but smirk at the discomfort she caused him. It was nice to know the feeling wasn’t one-sided.
“I know,” he continued, taking a step forward, “you want to be with me. So ...” He let his voice trail off and bent his head forward so his lip pressed against her ear in a caress. “Be with me.”
She wanted to give in. She wanted to turn her head and kiss his lips, jump in his arms and have him carry her inside as they made out like teenagers stumbling over furniture. However, something stopped her.
“Let’s say I do,” she said. Her head was too heavy so she rested her forehead against his. “And then what? We can’t be together at school. It’s totally inappropriate. It could get Ethan in trouble and you would no doubt be fired.”
“We could—”
“I don’t want to just make it work,” she told him, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hide. If I’m going to be with you, I want to be with you.” She placed the pad of her index finger on his lips and instantly felt him inhale. She liked to know she had that power over him. “And right now, we can’t. You know we can’t.”
He sighed through his nose, turning into her palm so his lips pressed against her skin. He knew she was right. She expected him—wanted him—to fight for her because she would give in, she knew she would. But not now. Not just yet. So she held him tight. They didn’t move for a long time, savoring the stillness for as long as they could.
6
When she awoke, she wasn’t surprised to find Depogare’s black eyes staring down at her, an undecipherable look on his face. She felt herself start to get defensive, but something inside of her caused her to bite her tongue and keep her thoughts to herself. Instead, she took the offered cup of tea from his hands and leaned back against the headboard. She took a sip and closed her eyes, relishing with warmth as the liquid trailed down her throat, keeping her headache at bay. Before, she hated tea, but there was something about Depogare’s Russian mix with his choice of honey … It was more than just soothing.
It was home.
“Go on,” Jane said, resting the cup of tea in her lap between her palms. Her eyes were still closed. “Say what you need to say.”
“About what?” he asked in his slow, Southern drawl.
Her green eyes snapped open and she turned to look at Depogare’s face. “You know about what.”
There was a slight grin ghosting his lips, a real smile from him. “Enlighten me.”
She hated when he looked at her like that. Her stomach would flip-flop and her heart would hammer in her chest. Her skin would also betray her by turning red, so she lifted the cup of tea so the steam would hit her face and cause a flush.
“That I’m overreacting, that I’m letting him get to me, that I need to control my emotions …” She let her voice trail off and chanced a glance up at him. “You know exactly what I mean.”
His smirk deepened. “Clearly you don’t need me to tell you anything,” he murmured. “But yes, now that you’ve brought up those points, let’s talk about it. Are you in love with Mr. Johnson?”
Jane spit the tea all over Depogare. His crisp, white collared shirt was now stained amber because of her inability to control her physical reaction to his random and completely inappropriate question.
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, her voice strained. “Why would you ask me such a stupid question?”
“I believe it’s a valid question,” he said. “Why else would he have such an affect on you?”
Jane knew he was trying to make a point, but she noticed his eyes blacken even further, just a fraction. She pushed her brow together at the sight of it. Was he jealous? Certainly he didn’t consider Calvin Johnson as a threat. Not Calvin Johnson. Although, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t flattered. He might not be the most attractive guy out there—fifteen hundred years on the planet would do that to you—but there was something about him, something alluring that twisted her insides and squeezed just where she needed to be squeezed. Right now, looking at him, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a slew of Russian tattoos he received over his extensively long life. He was the definition of masculinity wrapped up in an immaculate business suit. His dark auburn hair was gelled back from his face, bringing out the shape of it and the softness of his cheekbones. She was positive he shaved every morning, even during the break, but he already had scruff coming in. He was a bad boy wrapped up in good boy packaging.
“Stop.” His voice was low. A command.
Her skin burned. “Stop what?” she asked, getting defensive. He always seemed to be able to read her thoughts even though she knew he wasn’t, and it unnerved her to no end.
“Stop looking at me that way.”
“I—” Jane was going to play it off, but stopped herself. Her eyes ripped away from him, and instead rested on her lap where her hands were folding over the tea, resting on the silk, burgundy covers. Her face still burned, yet she knew if she touched her cheeks, they would feel like ash. How could this man make her feel so many different e
motions at one time?
“It isn’t appropriate,” he went on.
“Stop.” Tears accumulated in her eyes, but she’d be damned if she let them fall. “I’m sick of people telling me how to feel. I’m sick of people telling me my feelings are wrong, like there’s something wrong with me.” With shaky hands, she placed his tea on the oak nightstand next to the bed and forced herself to stand.
“Jane, you must—” Depogare stood, reaching out to cup her shoulders with his hands, but she jerked herself back.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. Her legs wobbled; she could feel herself start to lose control again, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get out of here. Out of this school, away from everyone and everything. “You think you can touch me after what you just said?”
“Jane, you need to calm down.”
“See? There you go again. You tell me not to look at you a certain way, but you call me by my first name and you make me tea. You take me to your room and you have me sleep in your bed. You call me a Russian term of endearment and you’re jealous of some student because he riles me up. I’m drawn to you, Daryl. There’s something about you that …” She closed her eyes as she thought. Suddenly, they sprung open. “I don’t know what it is. But it’s you. I want you.” She paused, and then, “And I know you want me, too. Even if it is inappropriate.”
Depogare didn’t even deny it. It frustrated Jane even more. His eyes—those black, midnight blue eyes that were constantly guarded—roamed over her, hungry, desperate, telling her everything his lips wouldn’t say. She felt her green eyes darken at the look, and she wondered if this was the way she looked at him, if he was feeling what she currently felt.
Without warning, his hand reached out and gently gripped her chin. From there, he let his free hand gently push strands of blonde hair from her face. His fingertips caressed her sharp cheekbones, ran down the column of her throat, and stopped at her shoulder. He wasn’t just touching her; he was feeling her, worshipping her outward appearance with the feel of his hand as if she were a Roman goddess carved out of marble by Michelangelo himself. As if she were his to claim.
“Your touch makes me feel things I’ve never felt before,” she dared to whisper. The intensity of the moment was too much for her, and her eyes couldn’t look at him for help. They found his exposed collarbone, and decided, in that moment, he had a masculine collarbone.
He froze at her words, and she worried he would release his hold on her. When he held the back of her head to pull her closer, she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“You do not know what you say,” he said through a low breath. But even she could detect how desperately he wanted it to be true.
“I know exactly what I’m saying and how I feel.” She picked her eyes back to lock with his, and he flinched at the intensity of the moment. “Deny it, then.” A pause. “Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me there’s nothing between us.”
His long index finger began to caress her throat in long strokes. “I cannot.”
“Then why …” She let her voice trail off and pushed up to her tiptoes. She placed her lips on his, taking him by surprise, taking them both by surprise. Her heart was beating so hard, she thought it would break her chest, and it was so loud, she worried he might overhear. And then, time stood still because he was kissing her back, and not in any way that would be labeled as appropriate. His one hand gripped her throat while the other messed up her hair. Jane’s eyes finally closed and she allowed instinct to take over. She was certain her lips were already bruised, certain there would be a strain in her calves for being on her toes for such a long time that might affect her soccer playing capabilities, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything else except that moment.
She let out a moan—she couldn’t help it, not really—and the sound pierced the air like a shot in the dark. It caused Depogare’s eyes to snap open and his body to spring back as though she scalded him with hot water.
“I, I, I—” Depogare was stuttering. Depogare never stuttered.
Jane could only watch as she tried to catch her breath. She had never seen him this disheveled, and she couldn’t help but giggle a little. His eyes snapped to her, and the giggles turned into a loud, deep belly laugh.
This entire situation was ridiculous. She had just kissed Depogare. She, Jane Cabot, kissed Daryl Depogare. And it felt … amazing. Her stomach felt as though she were floating, and she highly doubted her heart would slow down any time soon. It was exhilarating. If she never kissed him again, it would have been the best kiss of her life.
“Why did you do that?” he asked. His Southern brogue had a hint of Russian to it.
“Because I wanted to.” She gave him a look. “You’ve been alive for fifteen hundred years. Tell me you’ve been kissed before.”
Now it was his turn to give her a look. “That is none of your concern,” he snapped.
She smiled anyway. How could she be upset after experiencing a kiss like that one?
“That will never happen again.”
Except that.
“What?” Jane asked, her voice more shrill than she anticipated. “Why not?”
“For someone as smart as you are, Miss Cabot, you’re certainly ignorant of our current predicament.” He stood up straight and pushed his hair out of his face so it looked the way he usually had it when he was teaching. He wasn’t Daryl anymore; he was Professor Depogare. She was losing him. She was losing this perfect, flawless moment. “I am your instructor. You are my student. If anyone were to ever find out about you and me, the consequences would be dire to our reputation.” He held up his hand, somehow knowing she wanted to speak. “I am quite aware that you are eighteen and a legal, consenting adult, but I am in a position of power and trust, and I will not risk that. Not for me, not even for you. If I’m not here, I cannot be there when you need me. And if I was not there, I would never forgive myself.”
His words barely registered with her. “I’ll wait for you, then,” she told him. “I’ll wait for you until I graduate.”
“I cannot ask you to do that for me. I will not ask you to do that.” His black eyes were on her, so intense Jane had to look away. “You are young, Jane. You cannot lock up your heart in order to wait for mine. You might meet someone like you. You will not wait for me.”
“Are you trying to protect me or you?” She furrowed her brow. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? I see the way you react when Calvin gets to me. Maybe no one else picks it up, but I do. Your eyes narrow and you flex your fingers, then you ignore it because you think it’s the way it needs to be. That I should be with someone like Calvin and not someone like you. Well, you’re wrong. I want to be with you, and I don’t know why you keep pushing me away when I know you feel it, too.” She paused, and took a breath. “What are you so afraid of? Please tell me. I have a right to know.”
His face contorted into a scowl. “You don’t have a right to know anything,” he snapped. His voice wasn’t controlled anymore, and there was lightning in his eyes. “You’re selfish, Jane Cabot, if you think we should simply act on these feelings because we feel them, without thinking of the consequences. It shows how naïve you are about the real world and how it works. I could lose my job. You would never be taken seriously at all. You would be branded as a slut. No, it’s not right and it’s not fair, but that is what would happen. What would your grandfather think?”
The minute her grandfather was mentioned, tears welled up in her eyes on their own accord. “Stop it,” she said through gritted teeth. “You made your point. Stop it.”
“But I’m not finished,” he continued. He was being cruel, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. “This is why you’re not progressing in our lessons. You have no self-control. You let everything get to you because of your emotions since you think you can’t control them. Yes, you can.” He looked away, and Jane was glad because her face was on fire and his words were sinking in, making her feel n
auseous. “That doesn’t mean you can’t feel them, but you still need to control them. Or else they will control you, and look how well that’s worked out for you.” He lifted his brow, kicking her when she was down.
It was silent, except for her breathing. She wanted to react. She wanted to say something that would hurt him the same way she was hurting, but she couldn’t open her mouth. She was numb. She was exhausted. And she wanted to go back to her empty dorm room and sleep away her shame.
“Okay,” she managed to get out.
“Okay?” He seemed perplexed.
She locked eyes with him and nodded once. “Okay,” she repeated. “I’m going to leave now. There’s nothing more to say.”
A pause. “The tea—”
“I’ll be fine.” She started to walk out of his bedroom door, but he stopped her.
“Allow me to walk you—”
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated, her voice only a little sharp. She didn’t want to argue anymore, didn’t want to fight.
This time, he didn’t stop her, but his eyes followed her the entire way out.
As she left the Aqua building, Jane was surprised that she had yet to cry. Not only was she rejected by Depogare, but he humiliated her. He ripped her open so her flaws—some of which she had no idea she even possessed—came spilling out like blood from a pierced artery. She knew he felt something for her when he kissed her; she was surprised by the amount of passion that went into his kiss, to be honest, considering how stoic and brooding Depogare was. Yet, he clearly saw her as a child. Even though he looked no more than twenty-one, he had been alive for fifteen hundred years. She, on the other hand, had only been around for eighteen. As a peculiar, she, too, was privileged with immortality. But why would he choose a new peculiar when he was so experienced? It was silly to think there was a possibility that any relationship could come from this. Attraction, certainly. But nothing more serious than that.
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