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A weight fell off my shoulders—I had backup, I was safe—but when I glanced back, Alastor hovered, not taking his eyes off us until we rounded the corner of the building.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CAT
The last thing I wanted to do after this morning was leave Lawrence Hall, where I could lock myself inside my room and convince myself I was safe despite Alastor living somewhere in the building. But I had classes, and unless I wanted to fail in my first week, I had to show up to them.
So I showered, got dressed, ate some of the grapes Death left for me1 and went in search of my friends. Honey’s room was empty—worry stabbed through my chest—so I knocked on Byron’s door, my eyes stinging with tears when he swung it open, looking rumpled and tired.
He flung his arms around me and hauled me into a fierce hug before I could speak, and didn’t let go for long minutes. “I’m so fucking sorry for snapping at you. And for being a raging dick since. You deserve better than me pushing you away when I’m stressed. I’ve already come up with a ten-step plan for how to be better at handling stress in the future.”
“I love you,” I blurted, because it was true and I’d missed my best friend. “Please don’t shut me out again.”
“I won’t. That’s step number one.”
I laughed, a little weakly. A tear slid down the bridge of my nose. “I’ve been stressed too, so I get it. And I don’t have a baby sister expecting her own baby.”
Byron groaned and released me, giving me a beleaguered look. “She calls me twice a day to panic-vent. Mummy and Daddy still don’t know.”
“She’ll have to tell them eventually,” I pointed out, hauling him into another hug, this one quick and squeezing. “I missed you like hell, By.”
I didn’t know how to tell him about Nightmare, the curse, and the death gods that were apparently my husbands. But I couldn’t keep all of it inside so I blurted, “I met someone. Someones.”
“Someones?” Byron demanded, releasing me to stare at me. “A threesome? Cat Wallison, who are you?” He grinned. “Good for you. Tell me one of them isn’t Duncan Ford.”
I made a face. “He’s hot but no.”
Entitled, arrogant asshole wasn’t my type. I wasn’t sure what was my type. Apparently ageless, terrifying death gods who brought gifts and said sweet things.
“You haven’t met them. They’re… third years,” I said in a stroke of genius.
Byron grinned, his face transformed, the life returning to his eyes. “Damn, Cat. University really brought out the wildcat in you.”
I glanced down, my face on fire. “It might not last. It probably won’t.” I shrugged. “When in Rome, or whatever the med school equivalent is.”
“When in Rome, try all the dick available to you?” By suggested, ducking inside to grab his coat and satchel. “Speaking of dick…” he said shyly enough that I shot him a look.
“Byron,” I breathed, my eyes popping out of my head.
“I know, I know, I hate people and humanity makes me want to scream, but I met a guy at the party.” He shrugged, shooting me a surly look as he locked his door. “I don’t hate him.”
Coming from By, that was a declaration of love. “Fuck me.”
“I’d rather not. Shall we grab Honey? We’ll be late. Again.”
Ah, shit. I thought living on campus would mean we were always on time, but Ford was so big and there was a whole park to run across, that we always seemed to be late or just on time. It resulted in people staring at us as we filed into lecture theatres and I hated it, Byron hated it, and yet we never learned.
“Honey must already be there; her room’s empty.”
“We could probably learn something from Miss Punctual,” he pointed out, making me laugh. “Anyway, it’s very early days, and he’s not great with people he doesn’t know so don’t say anything okay? Shit,” he said as we jogged down the stairs, “there he is.”
Curiosity and excitement made it very hard to keep a smile off my face when I saw the guy Byron had pointed out, just locking the door to his room on the first floor. He had sandy-brown hair in an artful flop, deeply tanned skin, and an elegance about the way he moved, the way he was dressed—in a white shirt tucked into black trousers ringed by a gold belt of laurel leaves and I was staring at Byron’s boyfriend belt, send help, oh my god.
“Hey, Gustin,” Byron said, colour entering his cheeks.
Gustin—the elegant, sandy-haired boyfriend—turned to see who’d spoken and smiled. “Byron. Hi. You’re in Infection and Defence with me later, right?”
“Yeah.” Byron nodded, turning a colour of scarlet.
