by V. F. Mason
No.
I intend to enjoy the victor’s spoils, aka Estella, and killing her brother would put a damper on my plans.
So having Jaxon and his negotiating skills to act as a middleman, along with the brotherhood, would be helpful for us all.
“I’m with you, brother. The MacAlisters thrive together and stay together, no matter what.” He repeats the family motto that earns only a hollow chuckle from me.
I don’t remember anyone staying in my nightmare with me while monsters ate my flesh, bit by bit, until nothing human or sane remained. I was left to die in the darkness that consumed so much of me that my heart became just an organ to pump my blood.
“You won’t kidnap her though, right?” Dread coats his voice as if he already knows the answer. “Wooing her is one thing, brother, but straight-out kidnapping will not be well received.”
And by well received, he means Octavius would go batshit crazy.
“With or without his permission, she will be mine, Jaxon.” And before he can bitch some more, I hang up on him.
I’ll give her some time.
Every experienced hunter knows one thing.
In order to capture your prey, you have to draw it out from its comfort zone and unsettle it so much it has no choice but to run.
Fun fact about running?
They get tired at some point.
And that’s when a hunter attacks. The prey has exhausted itself so much it meets its fate peacefully and willingly, wanting relief from all the fears consuming it.
Once upon time, Persephone was reincarnated in this world.
And I intend to keep her as my own, all her objections be damned.
After all…
I never claimed to be a saint.
I’m a sinner who will use whatever weapon in his arsenal is necessary to achieve what he wants.
Chapter Four
“It’s dangerous to stand between a man and his obsession.
For a man who has tasted forbidden fruit will stop at nothing to taste it again.
Even if it means killing the dragon standing in his way.”
Ryder
* * *
Estella
“I take it back!” Morgan exclaims, huffing in frustration as she slaps the table in the university cafeteria. “I’m holding a grudge about this assignment until we graduate.” She taps on her tablet and groans. “Fifteen pages! He wants fifteen pages with detailed analyses. Who has time for this? And it’s due on Sunday!”
“If it helps, he wrote a personalized note to me saying I can’t use the Hades and Persephone myth in my paper, since we covered my point of view in class.” I drop a tea bag in the hot water while doing my best to ignore all thoughts of Ryder.
Which is impossible when one must focus on the assignment he has given us.
“It doesn’t help,” she says and then rests her chin on her palm. “The man is a beast on the hunt. And the worst part? We have no clue what bone to throw at him to satisfy his hunger.” I blow on my tea before sipping it and wince when it burns my lips. “Seriously. In the last two weeks, he has given us more work than Dylan did in two months. Not to mention all the discussions and him making people cry.” She puts her hand on her chest. “I’m going to cry in the next class when he finally digs his claws in me.”
Yeah, his mood has been… difficult, to say the least.
After our… whatever what happened can be called… two weeks ago, I went to the administration office, wanting to drop the class, but for some reason the lady who handled it all told me not to do it. She convinced me not to drop such an important class for my major, stating that it serves as a prerequisite, and instead I should push through.
All her points were valid, and I found nothing I could object to—except I almost made out with the professor.
I’m sure that wouldn’t have been received well.
So as a result, I’ve spent all my free time in the library for fear of running into him, and I keep my head low during Ryder’s class. Thank God he hasn’t bothered me again, focusing on other students who take his harsh comments hard; one of the guys even ran away crying.
All his cruel ways aside, his delivery on the subject is so interesting most students pay attention and love to listen when he adds his personal touches, speaking about his time in Greece and Rome, where he devoted an entire year to fully immersing himself in their history and discovering a lot of new things.
Whenever the class ends, he ignores me all together, and if it wasn’t for the possessive gaze that lands on me at the most unexpected moments, staking invisible claims all over my body and inspiring hot flushes through me, I’d think our encounter was just a fragment of my imagination.
My home life hasn’t been any better, restless nights filled with dreams about Ryder doing wicked things to me while treating me as his most beloved possession and holding me so tight in his arms I wouldn’t be able to listen to my mind and run away from him.
Like Hades trapping Persephone in his world and making her addicted to his touch.
So it’s safe to say I live in my own personal hell, my mind and body torn in two, where one craves to seek out Ryder and discover what pleasures of the flesh he has to offer, while the other screams at me for being a fool because he just played a wicked game with me.
For all I know, he seduces all his students and thrives on the knowledge that they find him irresistible.
I squeeze the paper cup too hard, and the tea spills out, burning my fingers. I hiss and mutter, “Shit,” then grab a tissue to wipe it away. Josephine chooses this moment to sit in the opposite seat, flipping her golden locks back.
She puts her tray on the table with a steaming cup of coffee, by the smell of it, and a milkshake. “Thank God we finally have a window seat,” she says and then slides the milkshake toward Morgan, who is obsessed with the drink but buys it only twice a week so she can save money for new art supplies. “Here you go.”
“You didn’t have to.” My friend shifts uncomfortably, running her hand over her ponytail and then clenching her hands, probably to hide her paint-smeared fingers.
Our new addition to the group has this effect on people, because she’s always well dressed and put together; one can only envy her dedication to the process.
Josephine opens her cup and dumps sugar in it, lifting her brow. “Don’t worry. The guy from my history class bought it for me.”
Morgan blushes while disappointment crosses her face before she covers it up and reaches for the milkshake, playing with the straw.
Although at this point it’s an everyday occurrence, since Josephine somehow pronounced herself our “third wheel”—her exact quote—and accompanies us wherever we go, staying glued at the hip with us.
She checks our schedules to make sure they all coincide, has added us to all her social media, always has our lunches planned, and has even threatened—as if I care—to end our friendship should I stop replying to her texts or ignore them.
Somehow, she’s even convinced me to attend a concert a month from now to see the band Morgan loves, claiming it’s a great opportunity to bond.
All her enthusiasm surprises me to no end, but I’m going with the flow while Morgan falls deeper and deeper down the hole that is her crush. Her mood always gets ruined though whenever Josephine arrives with gifts from her admirers.
Usually, those include something Morgan would love but can’t afford to buy.
This minor inconvenience aside, she is hilarious and kind when she doesn’t try to act like the rest of her family, who treat everyone they think is beneath their status as dirt under their nails and unworthy of their time.
“So we’re still on for the movies tonight, right?” Josephine asks, scrolling through her tablet and adding another thing to her calendar. This girl will make a great CEO someday. “I got the tickets already, and my driver should pick us up in an hour.”
“Oh, I need to give you money for that.” Morgan fishes her hand inside her bag, but J
osephine just waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Don’t worry about it. My brother got them.”
“Oh. Okay,” she mutters, chewing on her straw and sipping her drink, while I just shake my head at both of them.
Wait.
Tonight?
“I can’t go to the movies tonight.” They both look at me, waiting for an explanation. “I got a job.”
Josephine’s brows furrow, and she traces her finger on the cup, cocking her head to the side. “What kind of job?”
“I’m gonna help out at the library, stocking old books in the right places, and watch over it in the evenings twice a week.” A beat passes, and I elaborate further. “You know how much I love books, and when the school emailed me about the opening, I found it interesting.”
Granted, back then I didn’t know how many plans my new friend would have for us, so it seemed like a great way to spend my evenings rather than staying home behind my apartment’s walls.
“So it’s basically free labor, correct? Since you don’t need the money.” Josephine knows my net worth and how I don’t have to work a day in my life to live in luxury, since we both come from old money. Thanks to our family names, we just need to wish for something and it’s ours. “Why waste your time on it? If you need work experience, come join my brother’s company, and we’ll give you a good salary. They have student programs.”
A chuckle slips past my lips at her proposition, just imagining Octavius’s face if I accepted a job there. He’d sooner find me a job at one of his friend’s corporations than ever let me work with her family. “Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, I want to be a teacher someday, remember? So this should be a good experience.”
“If you say so,” she mutters, takes a large sip, and then addresses Morgan. “You should apply for a job at our company, then.” Morgan works at a diner in the mornings when we have late classes and tutors math to a few college students. “It would make your life easier. And I just listed the benefits.”
“Well, I don’t know. They’re probably looking for someone with business experience and—”
“Nonsense. Send me your CV, and it’s a done deal.” Josephine shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.”
“Oh,” Morgan sighs and then gets up, mustering a smile. “I’m going to the restroom.” With this, she races in that direction while Josephine crosses her arms and huffs in frustration.
We stay silent for several seconds; truth be told, we haven’t been alone since the day she invited me to the library.
A lightbulb switches on inside my brain, shining on the thing happening right under my nose, and a grin shapes my mouth. She notices it, murmuring, “Shut up, Reed,” as her cheeks heat up and she drums her fingers, trying to avoid the subject, but it’s too late now.
My God!
How did I miss it?
“Josephine, just ask her out.” I decide not to beat around the bush, especially with Morgan coming back any minute. “Because it’s becoming painful to watch.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on. Really? All the gifts from your ‘admirers.’ You’re practically stalking her every move and now trying to get her a better job so she has more time to hang out with you.” Her lips thin, and anger along with guilt flash in her eyes, telling me I hit the target. “You’re wooing Morgan, and it’s sweet. But maybe try doing it without making it seem as if you don’t care about her.”
She opens and closes her mouth, bites on her lips as if musing on her words, and finally speaks up. “I’ve never done this before.” She leans closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m good at hookups, not dating and relationships.”
I frown at her words, because Morgan is a hopeless romantic who believes in relationships and would never agree to a hookup.
Or at least that’s what she said a few months back.
“But you like her, right?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I do. The way she talks… walks… and paints. There is something so magnetic about her.” She blushes once again and sighs. “She has a heart.”
Because she utters this statement almost as an insult, I blink and ask, “That’s a problem?”
She nods. “My family and I don’t have one. We are ruthless and very straightforward. I might screw it up with her royally and don’t really want to break her heart for the first time.” She wiggles her nose in distaste. “This is all your fault!”
What the hell? “My fault?”
“Yes. I noticed her because of you. Now I can’t even focus on my calendar without thinking about Morgan and what she is doing right now. She’s turned me into a psycho.”
A laugh bubbles up inside me at seeing her all frustrated and lost in her very first crush. I bet she didn’t expect for her structured world to fall apart because of a purple-haired artist who adores her.
A nagging sensation glides over my skin, awakening every nerve in my body as heat slams into me, immobilizing me. The familiar feeling of a possessive, obsessive gaze settles over me, whispering about danger nearby that might have deadly consequences for me.
Yet I’m still attracted to it like a moth to a flame.
I look around, wanting to find the source of my discomfort and curiosity alike, but find nothing out of the ordinary. Just passing students enjoying their meals or drinks with the occasional professor stopping by to grab a coffee.
My fingers rub over my neck and collarbone, remembering how Ryder’s hand wrapped around my throat, and a raspy breath slips past my lips, because these sensations are so familiar.
As if he’s watching me from a distance, reminding me that a hunter always traps his prey, no matter how much they run.
And deep down, I want him to do it, then see what happens.
But that’s an illusion, right?
The man made no effort to get me after that one time, so he’s probably already moved on to someone else, while my soul burns anew every single day, wondering about what-ifs.
A shadow falls over us, and as the energy shifts from calming to sinfully charged by thousands of volts, I know who stands next to me.
Because who else would have such an effect on me?
Tilting my head back, my eyes clash with the deep-brown ones filled with amusement and desire so strong my toes curl inside my shoes.
My fingers wrap tighter around the paper cup.
“Professor MacAlister,” Josephine greets him, sitting up straight, while I just stare at him, drinking in his handsomeness as he stands there in a suit that showcases all his defined muscles. And by the admiring glances thrown his way, I’m not the only one who notices.
But his massive form and our window seats block most of the view from their prying gazes, so they can only guess what’s going on in here.
Considering Josephine and her love of harassing all her professors by submitting her assignments early and then asking them thousands of questions in the most unexpected places, no one is even surprised.
“Josephine. Excellent paper on the Hades myth.” He hooks his thumb on his pocket, which opens his suit jacket, and his tailored shirt highlights his six-pack.
It should be forbidden for a professor to be this handsome. How can people focus while looking at and listening to him?
Or maybe I’m just that shallow.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she says, shocked by his words but still enjoying them. In our class, she’s still the only one he compliments, and he didn’t stop her from expressing her views on the myth we’ve already discussed.
Irrational jealousy once again flows over me, the green-eyed monster rearing its head and reminding me how I’m nothing special and apparently not even memorable enough for the professor to be concerned with afterward.
My phone vibrates inside my bag, and I take it out to read the message flashing on the display.
I groan inwardly, cursing my st
upidity at agreeing to go on a date with him in an attempt to forget about Ryder, or rather how a stunning professor shamelessly flirted with him the other day and I got jealous.
Which just proves what an idiot I am all around.
I should have dated in high school, then I wouldn’t be lusting over a forbidden man or wishing for all these women to stop fawning over him.
“Professor MacAlister, did you like my take on the modern myth using the human trafficking example?” Josephine asks, her voice grating on my nerves, so I zone out, not interested in his replies or another set of praises he has for my friend.
Canceling on Quin two days before the date would be rude, so I’ll go and make clear to him I don’t want anything but friendship from him.
A laugh bursts out of me as I imagine the picture he just described—or him besting Octavius, who must be twice as big as him. He has a better chance of being thrown out the gates and landing on his ass, which creates quite a comical perspective and could be the cherry on top of my disastrous love life.
Ryder shifts his attention to me, openly scanning me from head to toe, and then places a red drink in front of me. “This is tastier than that sorry excuse for a tea you have, darling.”
My heart stops and then gallops in my chest so wildly I’m afraid it might jump out on the floor where he can step on it and crush it, literally in this case, since he has done that figuratively many times already.
Darling.
This word sounds incredibly wicked and holds so much promise on his lips, as if everything we’ve done so far is one major dose of foreplay, where he’s set on driving me insane in order to succumb to his desires.
Curling my fingers around my phone, I muster up indifference so he won’t see the havoc he creates within me or know his power over me.
Even I don’t understand my emotions; no one gets this crazy after interacting with someone once, and years of my crush doesn’t matter in this equation, because it still doesn’t justify my actions.