by May Dawson
He cuts her off before she can begin again. “This is your roommate. Stelly, meet Tera. Tera, Stelly. You know the rules. No requesting a roommate change until October.”
“You can’t do this to me.” Her lower lip trembles as she stares at Airren with wide, liquid-blue eyes.
“Do you want me to get Cax in here to talk sense into you?” he asks. “And talk. And talk. And talk.”
“So this is my reward for being your best friend’s little sister? I get stuck with the roommate no one wants?”
“Yeah.” Airren’s irritation is a flash in his eyes, the way he sets his jaw. His quiet judgment cows even me, though I’m not the object of his wrath. “I’ve known you long enough to expect better from you, Stelly. I thought you’d act like the kind, courageous woman I’ve seen you grow into.”
Her lips part slightly, shocked, before she manages to answer. “You’re not being fair.”
“Neither are you,” he says. “Make your bed. Unpack your trunks. Pick-up for luggage storage is in the morning or you’ll have to haul it yourself.”
He nods to me. “I’ll leave you and Stelly to get acquainted. Remember where my room is?”
He asks like he knows I’m going to run into trouble. My heart pounds a warning beat in my chest.
“Yes.” I don’t want him to go, but I make myself smile like everything is fine. “Thanks so much for showing me around.”
“No problem,” he says. “I do it for everyone.”
Ouch. Of course. I’m no one special. I shouldn’t thank him like it means anything, like he’s trying to show me a kindness.
I grab the handle of my suitcase to drag it onto my bed. The handle breaks loose on one side leaving me clutching a strand of leather, before it crashes down to the hardwood floor. Airren and Stelly both turn at the sound, staring at me as I kneel next to it. I turn my back to them. My shoulders ache as I jerk the zipper open. Music pounds so loudly outside I can hear it even through the window, but there’s no way I’m joining the party. As I yank out my fleece blanket, my pillow, and my worn flannel sheets, my vision blurs.
I hope the sheets fit the mattress. I bought them at a thrift store when I graduated from foster care and moved into a boarding house full of ex-cons and people who’d been living rough. But those people had been kind, friendly even, to the lost teenager in their midst. I feel nostalgic about that room right now, even though I had to keep my door locked all the time, and I could always hear rodents scratching in the walls. At least I felt, for once, like I wasn’t an intruder.
Forget the hospitality flowers. Coming back to Avalon isn’t anything like I expected.
His low, husky voice is almost a whisper, as he stops by Stelly’s bed. “Be good.”
She doesn’t say anything back to him, so he must think he didn’t make enough of an impression.
“Don’t embarrass your family.”
There’s another long pause before she says sullenly, “I won’t.”
“Good.” His voice sounds distant as if he’s moved to the doorway. I busy myself stretching the sheets over the mattress, keeping my back to them both. “You hungry, Tera? They should be carving now.”
“No, thanks.” The tremble in my voice gives me away.
He hesitates before he asks, “You, Stelly?”
“God, yes.” She’s already dumping a box back on the ground and moving across the room, her sandals whispering across the wood floor.
“After you’ve gotten started unpacking,” he says.
“Yes. Of course.” She says it like it was her idea.
Once Airren’s footsteps fade down the hallway, the only sound is the snap of her shaking out sheets and throwing them over her bed. She opens up her trunks, muttering to herself as she finishes making her bed, slams books from one of her many crates into her bookcase, and then dashes out of the room, closing the door hard behind her.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone, finally.
I turn around. It’s amazing she made it to dinner; her bed is made up with a ruffled baby blue duvet and fancy gray sheets and a tiered, ruffled bed skirt that makes the whole damn thing look like a cupcake. There are so many throw pillows, I don’t know where she’s going to sleep. It’s like something out of a catalogue.
It doesn’t take me long to unpack. I put my few clothes on the shelves of the walk-in closet and my handful of books on the shelf above my wooden desk, which is worn smooth by the many students who have come before me. The shelf looks so bare, but then, they always do. My shelves in my room at home were filled with knick-knacks: silly gifts from friends at school like pony figurines and shiny papers folded into hearts and flowers, my mother’s collection of cut-glass message bottles, the brass fountain pen set that had been my grandfather’s. All of that was left behind when I went through the portal. I’d collected things Earthside, but when I was packing, I’d realized it was all nothing but trash—free buttons and bumper stickers and bookmarks—just because I’d wanted to have something.
Then I cart my luggage out to the hall to be picked up in the morning. Most of the doors on the hall are closed; everyone else must be downstairs at the party.
I sit heavily on the fleece blanket. I was so stupid to think I could come home. What did I think was going to happen?
Someone taps on the door.
I freeze. If I ignore them, they’ll go away. I breathe in, breathe out, exhaling softly so no one will hear me. There’s a creak in the floorboards outside as someone shifts their weight. In, out. No sound of retreating footsteps. A tickle builds in my throat. Great.
Well, maybe this a bad plan. But I can hardly answer now. The knock comes again, ten seconds later.
The tickle grows ever more persistent, and I run my tongue over the ridges at the top of my mouth.
The faintest cough explodes out of my mouth as I press my palm to my lips.
I swear I can hear whoever it outside shift triumphantly, and this time, the knock is quick and sure.
“Stelly went to dinner,” I call.
Let’s face it, no one is visiting me.
I’m likely best-off is no one is visiting me. Twice, someone with a grudge found me Earthside, and both times left me marked. I don’t know what to expect here, but in my experience, optimism often leads to bruises.
But maybe it’s Airren. Maybe he’s standing there with his muscular arm braced against the doorframe as he leans casually against the wall, his lips pursed slightly the way they did when he looked at me earlier. Chewing on my thumbnail, with the same sense of doing something stupid I had when I climbed into that cab, I cross the room. I swipe at my eyes with my thumb. Maybe I don’t look as big of a trainwreck as I feel. At least I must look better than Stelly, who appeared to have cried all day with dread at sharing a room with me.
When I swing the door open, the talkative blond from outside the station stands in the doorway. He carries two plates, piled with slices of barbecue, cucumber salad, yellow tomato caprese, and fresh-grilled corn.
My eyes jerk up to his face, which is unexpectedly handsome this close up. A shuck of blond hair falls over one side of his high forehead and the greenest eyes I’ve seen. His cheekbones are high and chiseled, his jaw is wide, and his lips look pink and lush and entirely kissable.
“Airren said you could use some dinner,” he says. “And that I should talk some sense into Stelly, but she doesn’t seem to have found her way back yet.”
Oh. This must be Stelly’s brother. Do you want me to get Cax in here to talk some sense into you?
“Good luck,” I say fervently. Oh, shoot. That sounds like I don’t think Stelly’s capable of sense. I’m definitely getting off on the right foot with this guy by insulting his sister. My eyes widen as I start to stutter out an explanation.
“Relax.” He brushes past me through the door and sets the plates of food on my desk. He turns and grabs Stelly’s chair, which he lifts easily over the boxes to set beside my chair. “I didn’t expect the Dark Lord’s daughter to be so easily rattled.”
So much for leaving that behind.
“Yeah, well, I’d kind of like to not get kicked out of college in week one,” I mutter. “Tension’s high.”
He settles into the seat next to mine and reaches over to pat the other chair, then jumps up, pulling two bottles of Sarsaparilla soda out of his pockets. “Eat up. I know you’re starving.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, wondering what class his magic is, but he grins as he pops the top off a dark brown bottle and passes it to me.
“Half the floor knows you’re starving. I heard your stomach growl. Well, more like a roar.”
“It’s been a long day.”
He holds out his bottle to me. It takes me a second to catch up, then I clink mine with his.
“Tomorrow will probably be longer,” he says, which is a hell of a way to toast.
“I’m sorry,” I ask. “Did Airren send you here to cheer me up?”
“Nope.” His hair flops into his eyes when he shakes his head; it’s an unexpectedly boyish gesture in contrast to his chiseled good looks. “Cheering is not my strong suit.”
“I noticed.”
He doesn’t take offense. He chews and swallows thoughtfully. “I tried to get Stelly to stop crying earlier today. You saw how that went.”
Yeah, not much of a success story there. So has he been tagging along with Airren all day, scolding Stelly and shepherding freshmen? After all, he was right behind Airren when Airren slipped off those sunglasses, never letting on that he knew exactly who I was. The whole thing feels like a setup. “Why were you guys down at the train station?”
“We’re all in Rawl,” he says. “Our house runs a shuttle for everyone’s luggage.”
I absentmindedly rub my aching shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me about that, or that you knew who I was, for fun?”
“Not exactly.” He doesn’t volunteer anything else but takes another bite, nodding meaningfully at my plate.
The food does smell—and look—delicious. Foster care was an awful lot of school lunches and PB&J. I tuck into the meal, keenly aware that given the size of my desk, every time I lean forward my knee almost brushes against his. He’s tall and lanky, with broad shoulders above a rawboned body. He’s on the geeky side but in a good way. I would probably think he was cute if I were in the kind of headspace to notice guys being cute. But I’m focused on surviving the next week or so. There’s no strange lightness in my stomach or desire to chatter nonsensically.
“We usually screw with all the freshmen,” he says. “You’re not special.”
“I didn’t think I was.” I totally am special, unfortunately. “Sure looks like you got Stelly.”
His jaw sets. “I’m sorry about my sister.”
My mouth is full, so I wave my hand, on the verge of lying that it’s no big deal.
He shakes his head. “It’s not okay. I swear we were both raised better than that.”
I swallow. “She just has to hang in until October, right?”
“Oh no.” Cax leans forward, with sudden fixed intensity. It is oddly sexy. “She’s going to stay in this room, and she’s going to be the best damn roommate you could have, and she’s going to like it.”
My lips curl up slightly in surprise. “Why do you care so much? Are you an RA too?”
“She’s worried that she’ll look bad because she’ll get lumped in with you,” he says.
The brutal honesty makes my smile die as quickly as it came.
“There’s no honor in that. She should give you a chance.”
My heart rises when he says chance. “Thank you.”
“I’m not an RA,” he says.
I look up into deep green eyes, specked with silver-gray, curious what he has to say next. We’re sitting so close together, and when he looks back into my eyes with that gorgeous but intense gaze, it feels too intimate.
“But I am an upperclassman,” he continues, “and according to the school rules, upperclassmen and freshmen are not allowed to date.”
I stare at him, absolutely perplexed. It’s a bit presumptuous to bring that up. He’s cute, but let’s not get carried away. I give him my best back-the-fuck-off look for his arrogance—something definitely perfected while Earthside—and then scoot my chair back.
His eyes flicker down as my chair legs scrape over the hardwood floor and then meet mine again. He’s not bothered one bit by my dark look. “Airren, Mycroft and I might be the only friends you have until you prove yourself to people here. I’m sorry that it’s like that. But just because you may rely on us…don’t go falling in love with us.”
“I don’t rely on anyone,” I reply briskly. “You don’t have to worry.”
The tiniest smile twists one corner of his lips. “Okay. Sure.”
He’s somehow already finished that massive plate of food. He takes the plate in one hand and pushes back the chair, and his knee brushes against mine. I freeze, not wanting to react to his touch. Which is probably really, really obvious. Smooth, Tera.
He’s halfway to the door when I ask, “So, why are you guys willing to be my only friends?”
“You’re going to have to figure that out, Tera Donovan.” He flashes me a devilish grin and then steps out into the hallway, closing the door between us.
That doesn’t make me feel any better at all.
Chapter 6
The next morning, there’s a quick knock on the door.
“It’s your friendly neighborhood RA.” Airren’s voice is muffled through the door, but I’d know that low, sexy tone anywhere. I’d been sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to shake my groggy head clear after the usual night of restless sleep, but when I hear his voice, I jump up like I’ve just had a shot or two of espresso.
I steal a glance at Stelly, with her head buried under her covers, to make sure she didn’t see that embarrassing display. She is presumably still a soggy lump under there; all I can see is a few yellow strands spread across her fluffy pillow.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and smooth it with my palms as I head for the door.
When I swing it open, Airren flashes me his perfect broad smile and holds out two pieces of paper. He’s wearing a button-down shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and gray trousers; the sleeves of his shirt are rolled back to expose his forearms.
“Hall schedule,” he explains. “Freshmen have testing this morning for math and magic placement. Then this afternoon, you’ll head to registration, down in the cafeteria. The whole house will be cycling through.”
“Great.” I reach to take the papers from him. His broad hands are tanned, but the scars across his knuckles are white in comparison. I glance at his face. What exactly it is Airren did before he came to Corum? He’s too young to be one of my father’s original men, but underneath that boyish smile and the clean scent of his aftershave, there’s something violent and rough.
“Everything all right, Tera?”
I nod and take a step back, ready to swing the door shut on him.
He grabs the shoulder of a freshman. “Hey, Ric. Pass these out to the rest of the hall, all right?” He nods toward the windows at the end of the hall as he hands over the sheaf of papers tucked under his arm.
He steps into my room, closing the door softly behind him, and glances at Stelly. His black eyebrows crinkle in disapproval, but he doesn’t say anything as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Everything in Avalon feels like a ghost.” I cross my arms too, although I have a feeling it doesn’t have the same effect; his broad biceps strain the sleeves of that poor overworked shirt. “It’s been a while.”
“It’ll feel like home soon,” he promises.
“We’ll see.” I pull my hair in a thick rope over my shoulder, toying with the ends. Casually, I ask, “What’d you do? Before you were a student?”
“How do you know I did anything?” His gaze is curious, not irritated. He sits on the edge of my desk.
For a second, I fee
l lost in the center of the room. I’m less comfortable in what’s supposed to be my space than he is. Then I plop down on my bed, one leg tucked beneath me, trying to feign nonchalance. “The way you carry yourself. The scars. I doubt you got those playing soccer.”
He glances down quickly, holding his hands out in front of him as if he had forgotten about the scars. His hands are broad and masculine, with long, deft fingers, and for some reason, my imagination raises a sudden image of him caressing my thighs.
Apparently, I like my men a bit dangerous.
“You’re right,” he admits, sticking his hands in his pocket as his gaze returns to my face. “I was pretty garbage at soccer, actually. I spent three years as a Divide Marine before I started college. Mycroft did, too.”
That explains the swagger. A Marine.
“So, I should feel safe with you around, then,” I muse out loud.
I don’t, of course. I don’t remember the uniforms that dragged me out of my father’s castle—they might have been police or they might have been Marines—but I’ve had a distinct distrust for anyone in blue ever since.
He gives me the quickest flash of a wink. “You should.”
Despite knowing better, I want to trust that wink.
He spreads his hands apart like he’s an open book. “Anything else you want to know?”
“I think that’ll do for now.” Airren seems so nice. So open. So did the portal-master at first, and then he cringed at my touch. Before I can second-guess myself, I’m off the bed. I cross the distance between us and put my hand gently on Airren’s chest to push him toward the door.
I have many questions I could ask, but what I want to know right now if he’s disgusted by me too.
Airren grins as he takes a step back, letting me push him. I can feel how little resistance he offers. He raises his hands, palms out, up to his shoulders as if I’m arresting him. When his shoulder blades bump the wall beside the door, the two of us are standing close together. He smells like fresh, clean aftershave, and black coffee and oranges.
My breath is too quick. He has to notice.
“You’re something else, aren’t you?” he asks. He has a wide lower lip and a thin upper lip with a distinct cupid’s bow. There are faint dimples at the corners of his mouth as if he smiles often. His jaw is wide and determined, as hard-edged as his lips look soft.