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“Yes. Plenty of the students here are religious. They go to church on a Sunday, just like they would at home.”
For some reason, I find this image of the students going to church an odd one. Morals and principles don’t feel like they belong in the picture. The place has a strange vibe, and it doesn’t fit with its inhabitants all being good, upstanding citizens.
The door opens, and Nataniele takes us both in. He is a very handsome man, but his hard expression ruins the good features God gave him.
“Darling,” he says in that patronizing tone, “I’ve got two of the esteemed professors dining with us tonight. I’d hate for you to be late.”
His gaze travels over me, taking in every curve, and he nods as if in satisfaction. “I see you like the clothes you were provided with. You look good in it, Mackenzie.”
He comes over to us and touches my shoulder, making me shiver.
“It’s chilly out there,” he says. “Don’t get cold, now.”
Then he pivots on his heel and stalks off. Mom rummages around in my closet, her movements hurried, and grabs me a small, cropped cardigan and drapes it over my shoulders.
“There you go.” She smiles at me and pats my cheek, but her face is pale.
The gesture is so familiar and so tender it makes my chest ache. I smile at her, forcing myself not to be sad in front of her. “Thanks, Mom. See you later.”
“Have fun.”
She kisses my cheek and turns to follow her future husband.
When they’re both gone, I shove the cardigan back in the closet and grab my small purse as I leave the room.
My heels click-clack on the polished wooden floor and, as I turn a corner, I realize I’m utterly alone in this corridor.
The wood shines in the rich glow of the lights lining the hallway. All along the wall are those portraits of people from days gone by. I reach out and touch the walls, feeling the history of this place pulsing under my fingertips. How many people walked these corridors before me?
Like this, quiet and lit with those warm lamps, the university feels like a gorgeous wrinkle in time. I pause and stop walking and simply let myself soak up the atmosphere. On the wall a few feet away is a portrait that catches my eye. I head over and stare at it. The face in the painting is intimidating, almost frightening. Hooded, dark eyes, stare out at the viewer, and flared nostrils give the sense of anger, or deep impatience.
“He was killed right here, on the grounds.”
I jump at the voice and automatically put a hand to my chest.
I turn to find Kirill standing behind me, and my heart pounds. Oh, God. I’m alone, in this corridor with the one man in this place who scares me the most.
“Killed? Here? Why?”
“Blood feud.” He shrugs, and his light blue gaze roams over me. “Are you going to a disco?”
I flush at his words. Here I thought I looked the part, but it seems I got it wrong again.
“I was going to the bar for a drink.”
“You are dressed like you’re going to a fancy dinner, or a club.” He reaches out and grasps the material between thumb and forefinger. “If you do go dancing later, you can be the disco ball.” He chuckles to himself.
Then he spins me around, and I gasp.
“Da,” he says. “Put you on the ceiling and make you spin.”
“Kirill,” I say, “I need to go. I’m late.”
I’m tense as hell, expecting him to say something, or maybe take advantage of this situation and hurt me somehow, but instead he dips his head once. “Da. I will walk you.”
Then he walks forward and indicates with a flick of his fingers for me to follow.
My dress wasn’t the best choice, I’m realizing. Not because of Kirill’s snide comments but because it keeps falling down, exposing more cleavage than I want to. I discreetly pull it up, and Kirill smirks as he shoots me a quick glance.
