Page 197 of Volik

I would not kill them.

Not unless Nix asked me to.

But there are a few creatures from the mountains I could toss through.

Ones far scarier than squirrels.

Chapter 82

Nix

Volik sets me down just outside the back door of Bates Hall.

I know he used to walk through town to get to campus, but he’s avoiding the streets now because of the reporters.

And there are plenty of reporters.

I’m a little surprised, considering how that went for the last group, but I suppose if their bosses tell them to come…

“Are you sure you do not want me to come inside?”

I smooth my hand down the front of Volik’s shirt. “I’m sure. Go do your stuff.”

Volik’s clothing guy had a whole crate of clothes delivered—dropped onto the front lawn—this weekend. So Volik finally has a full wardrobe again. But apparently, the only fabric this guy had was black. Meaning every single item of clothing Volik has now is black.

I let my fingers trail down his stomach.

Good thing he looks hot in black.

“Go inside, Mate.”

Smiling, I lean forward and press a kiss to his chest.

Before I can step away, Volik grips my jaw, holding me in place as he lowers his head to press a kiss to my mouth. “I will be back before your second class.”

“Good.”

His nostrils flare. And I do the same thing, filling my lungs with his mint, before I turn away.

As I enter the building, I rub at my chest.

The weight of the mate bond has been feeling heavier over the past forty-eight hours.

It’s not a bad thing. And it never hurts. It just makes me feel heavy.

Dropping my hand, I reach into my bag and feel around for my fuzzy key chain.

We spent the rest of Sunday and all of Monday lounging on the couch, watching Volik’s favorite movies. I napped. Volik made me sandwiches. I watched him begin work on my new desk and chair. And then I lost myself as he turned those talented hands on me.

It was perfect.

So perfect I was tempted to take him up on his offer to never work again.

But, as I unlock my door and step into my classroom, I’m glad to be back.

Dropping my key back into my bag, I resume rubbing at my chest.

I don’t know that I’ll want to work until retirement age. Whatever age that is now that I have Alt magic in my blood. But talking to May this weekend was the perfect reminder that teaching the next generation of journalists how to find truth is important.