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Mack’s eyes sparkle as she looks over Hellebore’s bio. “He’s like a Fae male version of me. Overachieving bastard. I hate him.”
I peer at the photo, strangely intrigued. “What are his powers?”
“Beyond what we saw today? I don’t know. Whitehall students don’t have to declare their powers third year like Evermore, so we can only guess. But I heard a rumor.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Spill.”
Her eyes light up. She’s definitely going to make me work for it.
“Mack,” I whisper-growl.
Grinning, she jerks her chin toward Hellebore and his sister. “Don’t you wonder why their seats are set away from the others?”
I shrug. “Because they’re too good to sit with the rest of the peasants?”
“Well that. But also, the prince is rumored to have some sort of carnal powers of persuasion.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Wagging her chocolate eyebrows, she runs her tongue over her lips, looking more like she’s seizing than trying to be sexy. Lord help her if that’s how she flirts. “Supposedly, with a single touch, he can make you wild with desire. I heard that they only accepted him here after he agreed to wear some spelled jewelry that prevents him from touching a mortal without their permission.”
Only the Fae could turn desire into a weapon.
I peer at the prince’s photo again. If what Mack says is true, humans are even more screwed than I thought. As if the Fae don’t already have an advantage with their flawless looks and cunning nature, now they can use magic to seduce us at will?
In what world is that fair?
A sudden idea has me screenshotting the page. Enlarging the photo capture, I quickly edit it. When I’m done, I flip the masterpiece for Mack’s viewing pleasure.
She claps a hand over her mouth as she takes in the arrows pointing to his piercing blue eyes with the words, shoots laser beams of lust. For his mouth, I’ve written, weapons of mass destruction.
His ears are the best. Small ears=small you know what.
When she gets to the revised achievements section, she doubles over with suppressed laughter.
Self-proclaimed winner of the hottest douche canoe contest.
Lifetime achievements include staring at his reflection the longest, filling out his overly expensive jeans, taking selfies in exotic places, and filming his workouts.
Once voted most in love with himself.
Won the award for best spray tan two years in a row.
Head of many organizations including his own fan club.
“Miss Solstice, Miss Fairchild.” Professor Lambert’s voice drags me from my joke and square into reality. Crap. “Care to share with the class what’s more important than my lesson?”
“No.” Heart smashing itself against my ribs, I shake my head, to the laughter of the room. “I mean . . .” Crapcrapcrap. “If that’s an option?”
In answer, a burst of lilies and copper fills the air as Professor Lambert sends his magic hurtling across the students toward us. I go to slam the laptop shut, but the professor’s magic is too powerful and it whips the MacBook into the air.
Whelp. I’m screwed.
Mack and I watch in horror as the laptop floats toward Lambert and settles on his desk.
Without even looking at the content on the screen, he plugs an adapter into the port, hits a button, and projects Hellebore’s new and improved picture and bio onto the huge white projector screen.
As Prince Hellebore’s giant face comes into focus along with my edits, the classroom erupts in snickers.
