Book of the Dead: AESLI-00: (A reverse harem, post-pandemic, slow-burn romance) (The JAK2 Cycle, Book 1)

by V. E. S. Pullen

  Sev: Jesus, you’re brutal.

  Me: I just don’t feel any need to stroke your enormous ego. It’s more fun to give you shit because that clearly doesn’t happen enough.

  Sev: I’m not sure why, but your contempt just makes you hotter. Be mean to me, it turns me on.

  Me: Wtf is wrong with you?

  Sev: I wasn’t breastfed as an infant? Luka and Sasha were fucking gluttons and never left any for me, had to go on the bottle almost instantly. At least that’s what I’ve been told. But it would explain my obsession with boobs.

  Me: This explains so much.

  Five minutes later, class ended. I closed everything down, signed out, and shut down the computer. Sev never replied again, it never even showed him typing, so I guess he got distracted by G/Emma.

  I stood and gathered my things, and when I left my desk to exit the classroom, I noticed Spider sitting at his desk. He was watching me.

  He was sitting back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, watching.

  The angle he was at, he could see the chat window up on my screen though he wouldn’t have been able to see anything I wrote. And since I really didn’t care that much, I was going to shrug it off and keep walking, but he stopped me.

  “Good conversation?” he asked blandly.

  “It was fine.”

  “Seemed pretty intense. You were typing a lot.”

  “Your point?”

  “A lot of people were surprised at how much you were jabbering away. People kept looking over then looking at each other, like this was shocking to them. The only person who didn’t really look around was Sev.”

  “Again, your point?” I didn’t believe this for one second. Nobody paid that much attention to me here, and no one was going to be curious about what I was doing. Except maybe Spider, who seemed to view me as some kind of nemesis now, which I was cool with since it’s the enemies that define the heroes.

  “Nothing, just commenting.”

  “Okay.” I waited. He stared. I stared back. “Is that all?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “Are you going to wait until I get to the door and then stop me, making some kind of dramatic statement? It probably won’t have the same impact now, so you can either just tell me, or pretend like that wasn’t a thing that was going to happen and let me walk out.”

  “Watch your back with Gemma Slope. You don’t want to be on her radar.”

  “I don’t want to be on anyone’s radar, Spider. None of you are that interesting.”

  Then I really did walk out, and he didn’t say a word.

  Chapter Eleven

  Azzie

  Art History was in the same classroom as Geography, and on the other side of the building, so I had to move fast to get there on time after Spider decided to delay my exit. I didn’t sprint or do anything so completely out of character like that, I just moved pretty quickly. For me.

  I had time to refill my water bottle but not do anything crazy like use the bathroom, and I made it before the bell. I grabbed a seat near the center of the back row because it was the best view of the screen up front, and the projector was right above me so I could still see to write.

  I loved this class. I loved the art, and I loved learning about what went into making it: from the physical act of creation and the materials used, to the artists’ personalities and what inspired them, to the politics and cultures underlying everything else. It was sociology and history and religion all rolled into one, and the ribbon that bound it all together was the sheer beauty of the works we studied. These were moments in time captured on canvas, paper, bronze, or marble, a piece of the artist and the artist’s world preserved forever.

  These artists couldn’t imagine the world we lived in now, couldn’t even comprehend what we’d become or the magic that technology and science made possible, but we could trace every moment of our evolution through the history of art.

  This was my church, and art had become my religion. It made me hope. It made me believe in something more. It used a single person’s voice to speak for the masses, making me feel everything, all their emotions, from profound joy to unimaginable suffering. And in combination with Geography, it made me ache with regret and loss because I’d never see any of these works in person. All I would ever have is an echo of their stories.

  I settled into my seat and lifted the desktop, notebook and pen at the ready, wanting more than anything to lose myself in pure beauty and to feel my soul refreshed. I needed this.

  What I didn’t need was for a group of girls to enter the row after me and surround me where I sat. I’d seen Marina and Bella Serra already sitting off to the side a few rows away when I got here, where they could talk and play on their phones during class and not get in trouble for it, so it made no sense that they were now sitting to Gemma’s right, and she and the other one I thought was her sister were bracketing me. And Luka was standing in the row in front of me eyeing us all, looking as confused and lost as me.

  I widened my eyes, mouthing “help me” and it made him laugh — laugh! — and he took the seat left of the one directly in front of me and positioned himself half-turned in it so he could talk to us. Since not one of the girls had said anything to me, were still talking around me as if I wasn’t there, I thought maybe they had mistaken me for someone else and decided that I could sacrifice my seat today if it meant getting away from the talkers.

  I grabbed up my stuff and prepared to stand when a beautifully manicured hand with blood-red talons gripped my arm. “Where are you going, Azzie?” It was the other one, Not-Gemma, who spoke to me. By name. I collapsed back in my seat (mainly out of shock) and stuttered through some excuses that she dismissed immediately. “Stay.”

  Like a well-trained dog, I did what I was told, silently pleading with Luka to explain to me what the fuck was going on. His gaze was darting back and forth between them and me, brow furrowed, then he whipped out his phone and began to type.

  “We haven’t officially met,” said Gemma. “I’m Gemma Slope, and this is my twin sister Adriana.”

  Twin? That shocked me stupid, and I stared at her with my mouth agape. I guess I’d been fooled by the different hair colors, and up close I could tell that Gemma was a natural blonde, so I turned to her sister and realized she dyed her hair dark.

  “Oh,” I said dumbly. “Uh, hi. I’m Azzie.”

  “Azrael Vokaty, yes, we know,” Not-Gemma — Adriana? — said, her hand still on my arm. “We have mutual friends.”

  “We do?” I said, looking around, not comprehending since I didn’t have friends.

  “Yes, the Koleks, the Callises, and the Chandlers,” Gemma said, making my neck hurt as I had to keep looking back and forth. It took me a second to realize all of whom she was speaking about.

  “Oh, right. I’m not sure how accurate the term friends is,” I said, and Luka’s face fell. It was like kicking a super hot puppy. “We’ve only known each other about 24 hours,” I said quickly, “but they seem cool.”

  “Interesting,” Adriana said.

  “We assumed you’d known each other for a long time,” Gemma added.

  “Considering you slept in Sasha’s bed last night,” Adriana finished.

  The audible gasp from the seats beyond Gemma let me know that Marina and Bella were now going to go ahead and fuck up my dismal reputation even more.

  I knew what they expected would happen. I knew, without question, that they expected me to stutter and stammer, to attempt to explain to them what really happened, to insist it was all perfectly innocent and offer up my side of the story like a sacrifice on a false god’s altar. That’s what normal people do.

  It wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. They’d merely bask in my discomfort, and use Marina and Bella to do the damage. It was quite masterful, really.

  But I’m not normal.

  “Wow, as bitch moves go, that was incredibly effective,” I said, staring Gemma down before moving on to her sister, who didn’t bli
nk. Interesting. Guess I know who the real alpha is. “Seriously, that is next-level as far as gossip goes, and I commend you for putting all this together on short notice. This whole setup, the witnesses… really pro bullying right here. Very impressive. But here’s the problem: you’ve picked poorly as far as targets go. I really couldn’t care less about what any of you think of me, and I believe Marina and Bella both can vouch for the total lack of fucks I give. Yeah, see? It’s pretty widely known that trying shit like this on me is a waste of time because I don’t talk to, listen to, or even acknowledge as sentient, any student at this school. Now, the Koleks and Callises have somehow managed to sneak into my orbit, but I’m fairly certain, even after only 24 hours, that the bullshit you just spewed from that pretty little cock-holster of yours out into the universe, won’t mean a damn thing to them. But, you know, well played and all. Now, either sit there and shut the fuck up and let me enjoy my class, or go find another place to sit, you useless garbage person and your equally useless sister.”

  I stared straight forward at the Botticelli onscreen and ignored the explosion of sound around me. I gave them one minute to shut the fuck up or leave, and when that didn’t happen, I very calmly picked up my things, climbed over the seat in front of me, and moved to the first row.

  Luka settled down beside me a few seconds later, leaning in to say “That was the coolest—”

  “I’m trying to listen,” I snapped at him. “Please stop talking.”

  I was just the tiniest bit relieved that he laughed at that — I didn’t want the kicked puppy look again — and even more relieved that he didn’t say another word for the rest of the class. It was a good one too, and I felt much calmer at the end of it, having gotten my fix after days without.

  I walked into study hall to a fucking standing ovation.

  Really?

  These. Fucking. People.

  It was back on the other side of the building, and I move slower than most even with Luka carrying my bag, so like almost every other class, I slid in the door right before the bell. And then the goddamn room of people stood up and applauded. Not Spider, of course. He was lounging in the front of the class behind the teacher’s desk — I still don’t buy him as a teacher — seething with anger.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and walked to an empty desk nowhere near any of the people who were now going on and on about me “putting those bitches in their place” and quoting me — surprisingly accurately! — taking special pleasure in repeating the “cock-holster” label, which I kind of regretted since I wasn’t normally someone who’d slut shame. Turns out Marina might be as dumb as a rock but she’s apparently got an eidetic memory for gossip, and she was doing an instant replay of the entire conversation. It didn’t sound like it was the first recitation either. When Tyler Wentin attested to my claims by bragging about how I once said I wouldn’t even notice if he died, I was pretty sure that this must be what going mad feels like.

  My phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number.

  Unknown: I told you to keep a low profile

  Me: Okay…

  Unknown: This doesn’t sound like a LOW PROFILE

  Me: Umm, who is this?

  There was a metallic cracking sound and I looked over to see Spider glowering at whatever was in his hand that he just slammed on the desk. The look he gave me was so angry that I figured it out.

  Me: SORRY. How was I supposed to know it was you? I’ve only ever texted with Rachel and Mouse.

  Spider: Whatever.

  Me: Good talk.

  I started to tuck my phone back into my pocket when it buzzed again.

  Spider: I WASN’T DONE

  Me: Yelling at me? For standing up for myself? I think you are.

  Then I really did put my phone away.

  A few minutes later, when I found myself unable to concentrate on my Stats homework because of the incessant buzzing in my pocket, I pulled my phone out again. The lock screen showed ten unread messages from Spider and more from other unknown numbers. I scowled at my phone, then turned it off.

  “Azzie Vokaty! Outside! NOW!” Spider barked from the front of the room, pointing at the door as he got up from his chair. I looked around, a little startled to find myself sitting between Luka and Ryan Callis, with Tyler, Marina, and Jeremy D’Amico nearby.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” I muttered under my breath and got up from my desk, debating whether I should bring my backpack with me or if he’d let me back in class.

  “I got it,” Luka whispered loudly, nodding at my bag.

  I made a face at him, pissed as hell over needing someone to wrangle my backpack for me, but glad all the same that he’d make sure I got it back and no one would mess with it. Except maybe him. As I passed him, I tapped his shoulder lightly in thanks but he reached up and grabbed my hand, squeezing it before letting it go.

  I stomped into the hallway and slammed the door — more like shut it slightly louder than usual because I didn’t want to pull an audience from surrounding classrooms — and glared at Spider.

  “What?!” I snarled at him, hands on my hips.

  Then that jerk fucking hugged me!

  Folded me right into his arms, tucked my head under his chin, and fucking. hugged. me.

  “I can’t believe you said that to Adriana,” he chuckled softly, squeezing me. “You are something else, Azzie Vokaty. Cock-holster? Fucking legendary.”

  “Why is everyone acting like I stopped a bank robbery or saved a baby from a well? I told a mean girl to fuck off — what’s the big deal?” That felt a little whiney, but I was seriously disturbed by how warm Spider felt, and how freaking big his arms are, and how good he smelled. Warm and spicy and just yummy. “You smell good. Why do all of you smell so good?”

  “Chicks dig guys who smell good,” he laughed again, “and we dig chicks.” I rolled my eyes. That was obvious. “Did you just snort?”

  “Maybe a little,” I mumbled, taking another deep breath since I wasn’t sure when I’d get a hug like this again. Or like anything. Not a lot of cuddling in my world, is what I’m saying. “Just because I’m letting you hug me doesn’t mean I like you, you know that, right?”

  “I’m aware,” he said, with a sarcastic resignation. “I’m on the fence about you as well.” After a few seconds he said, “You were right.”

  I tilted my head back just slightly and peered up at him through one eye. “I’m often right. What thing was I right about?”

  “I shouldn’t yell at you for standing up for yourself,” he said, manually tucking my face back in his neck. Since he was forcing me, I thought it was only fair that I got a taste, so my tongue may or may not have— barely— touched his skin. He didn’t taste like he smelled, but he tasted good. Pretty sure he had no idea I just did that. If he said anything, I’d deny everything, say I licked my lips and it was totally an accident and— “I’m sorry for that. I’m just worried. Gemma and Adriana can be vicious, and I don’t want them targeting you.”

  “Well I think that ship has sailed,” I said, breathing out on his neck so it felt especially warm to him then taking another little lick since obviously he didn’t feel the first. So good.

  “They can, and probably will, do more. And potentially worse. You’ve humiliated them, and the Slope Twins do not like being humiliated. Be careful of Gemma, especially. She’s the ringleader,” he said, and I felt my beanie slide off and his hand smooth my hair, then his cheek was resting directly on the crown of my head with a contented sigh. “Your hair smells really good.”

  “Thanks. Rachel makes my shampoo. And guys dig chicks with hair that smells good and I… I like my hair to smell good too.”

  He laughed again. I snuck in another tiny lick but I swore it was the last one.

  “So how long are we going to stand here hugging out a cease fire? I’m not sure you’re supposed to do this with students,” I said as he buried his face in my hair and took in a big breath.

  “I’m pretty sure if a stu
dent licks your neck, you’re allowed to smell their hair,” he mumbled into the top of my head, then tightened his arms as I tried to pull away. “Cease fire, remember? Let’s just stand here another minute and then you can storm back into the room and pretend I’m a jerk who’s been yelling at you this whole time.”

  “Well, you kinda are a jerk,” I said, my flaming cheek nuzzled against his collarbone as I decided to own the neck licking. “But you taste as good as you smell. I’m not sorry for licking you, I’d do it again.” He stiffened, pulling away slightly, his head lifting up but he didn’t let go, and he let out a strangled laugh.

  “Jesus,” he kind of half-groaned, “that’s really unfair. I can’t walk back into a classroom with a hard-on, I really will get fired.” I pulled away, my eyes drifting down almost against my will. Sure enough, there was a definite bulge going on in those cargo pants. I looked up at him, eyes wide, face sixteen shades darker red, and he shrugged. “That’s what happens when you’re pressed up against a pretty girl and she talks about licking you,” he said, completely unapologetic. “You start thinking about her licking you, and then it stops being your neck she’s licking.”

  As someone with an excessive number of red blood cells, to say that they were all now in my face was significant.

  “So does this mean the cease fire is over?” he called after me, laughing, as I fled to the girl’s bathroom.

  After I doused my face with cold water about a million times, and got my libido back under control as well as my glowing-stoplight face, I checked the texts on my phone. The original ones from Spider were increasingly agitated, telling me to answer him or he’d do terrible things that he couldn’t think of yet but he would, goddammit! I labeled his contact appropriately — Aragog — then put my phone to sleep, ignoring the other texts from unknown numbers that I suspected were blonde, identical, pains in the ass.