I sigh and chance a look at the clock on my screen.Shit.I’m going to be late. I’m almost to the door when another figure turns the corner on my right and crashes into me.
I drop my bag and my books tumble out onto the floor. My body sways with my momentum, but my cat-like reflexes and the stranger reaching out to catch me keep me from landing face first on the linoleum. “Ow. Crap.” My skin burns where he touches me, but he doesn’t let go and a snarl works its way up my throat.
“Watch where you’re going,” the guy snaps.
Asshole.I tear my arm free and ignore him, not bothering to look up as I catch sight of the silver rings decorating his hand. Urgh. What the hell?
I drop to the floor to grab my things, conscious of the time as I rush to put everything back in my bag. I’m so screwed. It’s only the second day of school and I’m going to be late to my English class for the second day in a row. My skin prickles, a burning sensation licking beneath my skin as my body fights to heal the silver poisoning. The contact was brief, but that’s all it takes for me to have a reaction. Dammit. That's going to annoy me for at least the next few hours before the Lyc-V in my system repairs the damage. Stupid silver. Who wears silver rings these days, anyway?
His feet edge closer, and my hackles rise. Black Beast Mode sneakers come into my line of vision, making me think of the red ones Desmond wears.Urgh, and now I’m thinking about Desmond.
The guy crouches down and retrieves my last book before handing it to me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You just came out of nowhere. I’m late to my English class and my professor is known to be a real hardass. I didn’t mean to take you out like that.”
I accept the book, making sure my hand doesn’t come into contact with his as I rise to my feet. I finally look up at the stranger beside me and honey-colored eyes framed with dark brows meet mine. I suck in a breath, my heart skipping a beat. I’m taken aback by my response to him, but the longer I stare makes me realize I’m not that surprised.
He’s gorgeous in a devastating way. Medium brown skin, full lips. I wouldn’t say he’s light skinned, but he’s not as dark as Desmond. He’s wearing slim-fitting jeans that are torn in the knees and a long white crew shirt that molds to his body. Add to that the black sneakers and a black ball cap turned backwards and he’s stunning in a brooding yet casual sort of way. I’m not sure how else to describe him.
Most of the skin I can see on him is covered in ink. Two forearm sleeves disappear beneath the long sleeves of his shirt that he’s pushed up to his elbows, and he has a series of runes on the left side of his neck. A scroll design filled with Latin script on his right. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill tattoos. I can sense the magic thrumming beneath his skin.
But despite looking like Kelly Oubre Jr’s doppelganger, there’s something about the way he’s studying me that sets me on edge. He’s not a shifter. Not a vampire. And definitely not human. What is he?
"It's fine. Sorry for slamming into you,” I say, not wanting to cause issues with another faction.
The corners of his mouth curl into a calculated smirk. He licks his lips and rubs his palms together, almost like a prayer. “Nothing to be sorry about.” His eyes roam over me, sliding down from my face, lingering on my chest, and then returning to my face again.
“Alrighty then.” I move to step around him, but he mirrors my steps, effectively blocking me.
What is he doing?
“You have Fisks for English, right? I saw you in the back the other day.” His eyes rake me over in appreciation once again. He’s not even trying to hide his interest.
Normally, I’d be flattered, but right now I just want to get to class so I’m leaning toward being annoyed.
“Um. Yeah." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and try to ignore the way my stomach clenches. “So you know, gotta run.”
I try to go around him again but his hand shoots out, gripping my forearm, and the sting of silver has me gritting my teeth as a snarl slips past my lips.
“Hold up,” his voice pitches low and his eyes lock onto mine.
Mine widen in pain, a flash of trepidation slamming into me before I shove it aside and force myself to hold still, refusing to let this asshole see my pain. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but he can’t just grab me. I tug on my arm, but unlike the first time, he doesn’t release me. His fingers flex, his grip tightening as his penetrating stare bores into me. The scent of burning flesh reaches my nostrils and something dark and dangerous seeps into my expression as tension bleeds into the air.
My gaze darts around us, taking in the empty hallway. Classes started almost five minutes ago, so it’s just the two of us in the halls. Good. No witnesses for when I lay this guy out for daring to touch me.
He must pick up on my anger because all of a sudden he smiles, offering me an easy carefree grin. “Safety in numbers, right? Come on." Not giving me a chance to respond he gives me a conspiratorial wink and pulls me the rest of the way to our class, his hand still wrapped around me though it’s slipped down, his fingers encircling my wrist.
The door to our class is already closed, but he quietly inches it open and peers inside as I tug my hand free yet again. He turns to scowl at me as I rub the ache from my wrist.
"How’s it look?" I ask, trying to dispel some of the tension still thick between us. My tigress wants to strike out at him, but I know now isn’t the time. I attempt to peer over his shoulder, but he's nearly a foot taller than me so I can’t see much.
He gives me another smile, this one wider and seemingly more genuine, and I realize he’s young. Probably a freshman like me since we’re in the same English class. He still has some softness to his face, though that looks like the only place you would find any. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow and his arms are corded with muscle. Between the body, the arrogance, and the rune tattoos, I'm betting he's a fae or a druid. I wonder if he plays Infernum. He certainly has the physique for it.
"Come on," he whispers, tugging me through the door though thankfully this time with his other hand, the one not sporting silver rings. He adjusts his hold again, capturing my hand with his, and I stare at our laced fingers with a frown, but allow him to lead me inside so as not to disturb the class.
Fisks is at the whiteboard, his back to us as he writes today's assignment on the board. He’s human, so if we’re quick and silent, we shouldn’t draw his attention. We get a few interested looks from other students as we make our way to the empty seats in the back, my hand still locked in his as he raises his finger to his lips, the universal sign to be quiet. A few students nod and grin before turning their attention back to the front of the class.
Once safely in our seats, he releases me and I expel a relieved breath right as our professor turns around to face the class. His gaze lands on me and he frowns but doesn't comment, continuing with his lecture.
"That was a close one," the guy who crashed into me says.
