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I make myself look away. “No, Sindri.”
“Sex is good, sex is fun.” He sounds like he’s laughing.
“So you want to have sex with me to control your magic?”
“Yeah, why else?” Sindri says.
And for some reason, this feels like the last drop in a glass overflowing with confusion and doubt.
“Right,” I whisper and take a deep breath. “Got it.”
“You’re an idiot,” Ashton hisses, thumping Sindri over the head.
“No, at least one of you is straight with me.” I get up, smooth down my wrinkled clothes. “Thanks, Sindri.”
He clucks his tongue. “Mia…”
“I’ll go to class and then be in the library,” I say, “look for an alternative way to help you, one that doesn’t involve getting naked with you.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” I hear Emrys say as I storm out of Jason’s room.
Not going to think about that.
17
MIA
The boys don’t come to any of the classes we have together.
Which, in retrospect, makes sense. They must still be affected by the moon and the rogue magic it raises in them.
I shouldn’t think of them—especially after Sindri’s comment that hurt me more than I care to acknowledge—and I try hard not to, not to think of the four of them, lying together in Jason’s room, limbs tangled, a beautiful jumble of hunky boys.
And… I fail spectacularly. It’s all I can think about, all I see in my mind. Memories from last night assault me as I go from class to class. The way they’d looked on the bed with Jason and me, the way they’d been so hard.
Forme.
Especially the look on Jason’s face as he’d sunk into me, that look of strain and bliss, and then, when he’d dipped his head to kiss me and lowered my bra, lips trailing over my skin until they had closed over my—
“Miss Apollinari,” the teacher snaps. “Are we boring you?”
“What?” I blink and find the whole class staring at me. “No.”
“Then why are you playing with… Are thoseflowerson your desk?”
I look down and flinch.
A flower is growing from my notebook. Its roots spread over the page. It’s a daffodil, yellow and small and delicate, its scent sweet.
I rip it out of my notebook and throw it to the floor and clench my shaking hands in my lap.
“Well.” The teacher comes to stand over me, arms folded over her chest. Her blond hair is severely pulled back in a bun at her nape, her glasses black-rimmed, her fingernails red and long. “Daffodils, huh?”
“What about them?”
“Symbols of rebirth,” she says. “Now, why would you choose them?”
“I didn’t choose anything. I… The flower was just there. I didn’t know what it stands for.”
