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She was perfect for us, not least because she was fixing Ransom. He wasn’t ready to see her quite yet. We’d need a few more scent tests to make sure he was stable.
I peered down at the notebook Shatter had on her lap, cracked open so she could take notes on the lecture out of Dusk’s sight. She was crammed right at my side, as far away from him as she could reasonably get without sitting on my lap. Not that I would mind. I wonder how much of a prick Dusk would have to be to get her to do that?
I could just ask; she was supposed to do whatever we said. It seemed too…free, no matter how the thought warmed my blood.
I’d use it sparingly.
Below us, the Professor asked a student near the front to come up and complete the equation. As they made an attempt, Shatter began muttering to herself—something about a five instead of an eight when a female alpha aura was concerned.
“Is that correct?” the Professor asked, looking around the hall. Shatter’s hand shot up like an arrow, eyes wide. Then she tore it back down to her lap, shooting Dusk a resentful look, her cheeks bright pink.
Dusk, cheeky bastard that he was, raised his own hand.
“Yes, Varis,” the Professor said, when no one else volunteered.
“No. The five on the first line should be an eight.”
“So, the answer is?”
Dusk paused, folding his arms, but Shatter seemed unable to contain herself. “Fifty-six point two seven, and for the bottom, four-fifths to carry over,” she whispered.
Dusk repeated it, a smirk twitching the edge of his lips.
“Very good. Very good. Glad to see the foundation is here. Next we’re going to be…” I tuned the Professor out again, eyes trailing back to Shatter. Her hands were clasped together tightly.
“Did you do that in your head?” Dusk asked.
“Uh…” Shatter glanced up at him, clearly thrown. “No…” She raised her pen in answer, and then tried to close her notebook. As if I didn’t already know the last two pages were strictly doodles of foxgloves and mushrooms, and none of this crazy Arkology math at all.
Shit.
She was smart.
Likereallysmart.
And I’d been so fucking right about the two of them.
They were pure entertainment. At one point, Dusk switched his pen out for another—an artsy, expensive-looking one—and Shatter went rigid. I could practically feel the rage rolling off her in waves, her eyes tracing every movement of the pen in Dusk’s hand. For some reason, it was really bothering her.
“Put it away,” she growled at last, and if she levelled that kind of demand at me, I’d be powerless to resist.
“Gareth gave me a gift, and you want it to go to waste?” he asked. “We’re supposed to be making an alliance with them.”
Finally, we went on break and Dusk leaned back, a grin on his face. “Maybe I’ll ask him if he has another. I can get one for Umbra.”
She lost it, letting out a precious snarl that sent blood rushing to my cock, and grabbed the pen from Dusk’s hand, flinging it wildly from our booth.
We all watched it fly through the air and clip a pair of neat black dress pants.
The trace of Shatter’s whine serenaded my ears as Flynn Lincoln—who looked to be halfway to the bathroom—bent down and picked up the pen, eyes finding our table. His gaze landed on Shatter, who remained halfway over the desk of the booth from the full body throw.
Well,shit.
Along with a low undercurrent of humour, I did feel faint concern from Dusk in the bond. We needed to upkeep the alliance their pack was trying for.
It was important, Dusk insisted. For some stupid (probably smart) reason or another. I tried not to get too caught up in the details when I didn’t have to.
Dusk slipped from the booth, straightening his shirt with a sigh, and I had to grab Shatter by the back of the neck as she tried to dive under the desk entirely.
