by RuNyx .
Corvina felt a laugh bubble out of her. “So wait, am I going to the woods to be witchy or slutty? I’m confused.”
She saw Roy’s lips tip upward before she controlled them. “Just letting you know.”
Corvina studied the girl for a long moment, understanding dawning upon her. She was watching out for her in her own brash way.
“I appreciate that,” she told the other girl sincerely. “But anything I do or don’t do privately is strictly my business.”
With that, she turned and walked down to the library. Libraries had been her solace throughout her life, her most favorite place. It was the smell that greeted her first and foremost – the beloved smell of old paper, browned books, and musty library. It was a distinctive, comforting smell.
Taking the books out of her bag, she set them on the desk, intending to head to the back area to search for more. The librarian, an old woman with white hair and wrinkles and dark, knowledgeable eyes, a woman whose name she didn’t know, put her books away, watching Corvina.
“Need more?” she asked in her papery voice, and Corvina gave her a smile.
“Yes, I’ll be back with a few more hopefully.”
Corvina had already begun working on her paper for Dr. Kari’s class and needed more background on Freud’s theories and Jungian archetypes.
The Psychology section was right at the back of what had once been a ginormous dungeon of the castle. The university had completely redone the space, making it more luxurious than any dungeon had the right to be. Dark, almost black wooden shelves stood tall in neat rows at the back, differentiated by departments. A big fireplace adorned the west wall, the mantle above displaying a range of old swords that must have belonged to the castle. Six armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, looking comfortable with their deep green and brown covers. Long tables and chairs occupied the space between the armchairs and the main desk. Surprisingly, a very modern coffee machine sat in one corner beside the desk, the only thing out of place in the entire ancient dungeon.
“Go on then, before your classes begin,” the old librarian nudged her forward.
Corvina nodded and headed to the back of the mostly empty library, bypassing the History and the Literature sections, and turned in the Psychology, her fingers running through the old spines of the books. She stopped on Psychology of the Unconscious - Carl Jung and pulled it out, immediately shrieking at the pair of eyes peering at her from between the gap in the shelf.
Heart racing as the book slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a thud, she looked at the unfamiliar young boy looking at her with shifty eyes.
“They are here,” he told her in a low voice, looking around to see no one was coming.
“Excuse me?” Corvina whispered, matching his tone. “Who are you talking about?”
“The Slayers,” he fidgeted, speaking in a hushed voice.
“The what?”
Before either of them could say a thing, the sound of footsteps came shuffling towards them, probably after hearing her loud shriek from seconds ago.
The boy ran in the other direction, leaving Corvina standing there, completely perplexed. Who the hell were the Slayers?
She inhaled, shaking her head, and squatted down to pick up the fallen book, just as shoes appeared in the line of her vision – masculine, brown wingtip boots, with black jeans folded over their top. Corvina knew before she even looked up whom they belonged to.
She closed her eyes momentarily, calling for the strength to face him alone in this corner of the library and resist the heat surging through her after a week-long of stares and fantasies. She tilted her head back, her eyes going up the long legs and thick thighs, pausing on the bulge she saw at face level, continuing up his torso to those arresting mercury eyes. He looked taller, bigger from her vantage.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her on her haunches, and a sliver of something velvety coiled in her belly.
The sides of his square jaw clenched.
He extended his palm to help her up and Corvina studied his hand, that large, beautiful hand. His palm was calloused, the fingers slightly bent, especially the middle and little finger. Corvina hesitated for a second, before placing her hand in his.
The sensation of the graceful fingers and roughened skin sent contrasting little waves over her nerves. Her small hand felt dwarfed in his larger grip, sending her pulse skittering across her body. She felt a small tug, and then she was upright, her body flush against his, her free breasts pressed into his tight torso, her stomach nestling the bulge she had spied moments ago, her hand in his grip, his eyes roving over her face.
He paused for a moment, as though battling with himself, before he stepped to the side, taking her with him, pressing her back into the shelves, and shielding her smaller body from the view of anyone who happened to stroll by. The protectiveness in the move made something soften in her chest, not used to anyone doing something like this for her.
And then an ugly thought wormed its way into her mind. What if this wasn’t anything special at all? What if he did this for any girl who caught his eye? What if she was blowing up something simple into something special because of her inexperience with the opposite sex?
His eyes continued to move over her entire face, his hand holding hers not letting it go.
“Did you corner Alissa in the library too?” the words left her lips before she could call them back, hanging between them.
She saw his dark brows furrow slightly, his gaze steady on hers. “Alissa? The girl who died?”
Corvina nodded, her throat tight.
“Why would I corner her in the library?” he asked her, tilting his head to the side, his fingers flexing around hers, the other arm coming to the shelf on her side, cocooning them in a dark bubble.
She felt a warm flush climb up her face in his close proximity. “Because you were together?”
A slight chuckle escaped him as he leaned closer, making her pulse flutter as his nose touched it. “I was with her one time, little crow,” he spoke against her neck. “That was before I knew she was a student. I haven’t come this far to risk it all for a random fling.”
But Jade told her that Alissa had been hooking up with him, or at least that’s what she’d told Jade. Had she lied to her roommate? And if so, why? What the hell had she been involved in to kill herself afterward? Or was he lying to her?
The nose scenting the line of her neck brought her back.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t stop, hoping his nose continued to feel its way up her neck. But what was the harm? Who would it hurt if she followed this thread of lust only this man inspired?
“No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed, thankfully not stopping. “I need to stay away from you. I don’t know what sorcery this is,” he whispered to her, his words floating over her face as he leaned closer, “but I have to stop.”
She needed to stay away from him too, for so many reasons, none of which she could remember right in that moment. Her mind was muddled. All she knew was his scent, that scent of burning wood and heady brandy, and his voice – that deep, gravel voice that pebbled her nipples – and those searing silver eyes – those eyes that made her breath catch and lips tingle. She was nothing but pure sensation in that moment, from the roots of her wild, loose hair to the tips of her curled toes, and she was only pressed into him.
His face came closer, along with his whispered demand.
“Stop me.”
Her lips parted.
“Fuck,” he cursed, his mouth inches away from hers, hovering. She inhaled, her chest pressing deeper into him just as he exhaled, exchanging the same breath of charged air between them, the static pulsing between her legs, throbbing, making her wet and swollen and needy.
His hand left hers, going to the side to grip her skirt, his gaze ensnaring hers.
“I told you not to give me those eyes,” silver met violet in a dark corner of the library, “Your eyes have such hunger. Your sou
l is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?”
She did.
Her entire being felt seen, splayed open before him, the cracks in her soil visible, waiting for him to quench its thirst.
“One taste. That’s it.”
Yes, she wanted one taste. He was close, so close, and she was dying to let his taste penetrate her.
He stayed exactly where he was, shielding her with one arm on the side of the shelf, keeping their gazes locked as he slowly began to inch her skirt up. The fabric rustled over her legs, exposing them to the air on one side, adding to the sensory overload in her body, and Corvina felt her breathing stutter.
His hand – his big, naked, skilled hand – brushed over her hip, her thigh, glancing his fingers over her the wet, needy spot between her legs, discovering nothing but flesh.
His breathing grew ragged as his finger made contact with her wetness. “No panties?”
Corvina shivered. “I don’t… don’t like underwear. I skip them sometimes.”
“You’ve ruined me with that knowledge.” His middle finger circled her opening once, and she leaned back into the books behind her, thrusting her hip forward involuntarily, needing more pressure, more contact. But he removed his hand, bringing it out from under her skirt, making it fall back into place.
Eyes on her, he rubbed his wet finger over her lower lip slowly, coating it with her moistness, then leaned forward, licking the juice he’d smeared there.
Her walls clenched.
“Ambrosia,” he muttered, giving her lower lip another soft lick, her head dizzy with the sensations. Their noses brushed, chests heaving, his pupils blown wide, his mouth parted as hers.
“Witch,” he muttered, there, right there, so close she could almost feel his lips.
“Devil,” she murmured back, seeing his eyes flare with molten fire, feeling the heavy bulge of him pressed against her stomach, right where heart coiled deep.
The sound of something crashing in another aisle had them both jerking back.
He scanned the area quickly, blowing out a breath, running his hands through his hair. For a long moment, he just breathed, as though trying to rein himself him. And then he stepped back, a mask falling over his face as his jaw tightened.
“We cannot let this happen again, Miss Clemm. Do you understand?”
Corvina gulped. “Yes, Mr. Deverell.”
Without another word, he turned on his heels and left, taking the electric air with him.
Corvina collapsed back against the shelf, putting the hand he’d been holding over her chest, trying to calm her racing her, trying to ignore the tingle in her mouth, trying to clench the muscles between her thighs. She didn’t know him, didn’t know who he was. He could be evil. He could be responsible or connected to the disappearances. And he was her teacher. She couldn’t risk it all for him, just like he’d said. This was her new start, and with her history, she couldn’t risk anything. Not now.
Verenmore was her clean slate, and Vad Deverell was her writing on the wall.
CHAPTER 7
Corvina
“Let’s talk about death, shall we?”
Mr. Deverell walked around his table to the board at the front of the class, a marker in his left hand uncapped. He raised his hand, continuing to speak and write at the same time. Corvina was surprised to observe that he was left-handed. Perhaps, it was because of the way he’d used his right hand the other day in the library on her that had made her unconsciously think he was aligned towards it.
“D-A-N-S-E. M-A-C-A-B-R-E,” his deep voice enunciated the alphabets he wrote in bold, block letters on the board, and turned to face the class. “Danse Macabre. Can anyone tell me what this is?”
One of the girls at the front raised her hand hesitantly, and he nodded at her. “Yes, Miss Thorn?”
“The Dance of Death?” she said in a tone that was more questioning than responding.
“Correct,” he swept his gaze over the sunlit classroom and the students. “The idea emerged in the Late Middle Ages. The idea that there is universality in death, the regardless of who you are in your life or your station or how much you possess, you will have to dance with death in the end. Kind of beautiful, if macabre, isn’t it?”
It was. Both terribly beautiful and horribly macabre, that death came to all in the end.
“The idea later impacted art, music, and literature,” Mr. Deverell continued, playing with the marker caught between his index and middle finger. “In literature, in particular, this became an allegorical device that inspired the use of many motifs to represent and even foreshadow death in stories. Now, close your eyes and think about death. What’s the first image that comes to your mind?”
Corvina looked around to see everyone close their eyes, just as his gaze came to linger on her for a split second, a heated, visceral, and entirely forbidden look in them before they moved on. Thankfully, Jade was on a bathroom break so she didn’t notice that.
“Mr. Morgan?” he asked a boy sitting near the window.
“Skulls,” the boy replied.
Mr. Deverell nodded, turning to write the word on the board with a bullet point. “Give me another.”
“Scythe?” someone piped up.
Mr. Deverell’s shoulders shrugged. “Depending on the context, yes. With the Grim Reaper, yes. Next.”
“Crows,” Jax offered, giving Corvina a wicked grin.
Mr. Deverell’s hand paused before he wrote it as well. “Yes. Crows are considered symbols of deaths in many cultures, considered to bring bad omens with them. They are mostly a gothic motif in literature.”
“Graveyards.”
“Yes. Next.”
“Skeletons?”
“Fits with the skull. Next.”
For the next few minutes, she took notes in her old, browned notebook and let the class do the talking.
Mr. Deverell finally turned back to the class once the board was full. “Death is fascinating. It’s the only inevitability of life, but one that most people spend their lives trying to outrun. Character death can be the most powerful weapon in a writer’s arsenal but one that needs to be used extremely carefully. For your creative paper, I want you all to write about death. Make it impactful. Make it surprising. Make me not predict it.”
He let his eyes rove over everyone. “Give me a natural death, a murder, a suicide, or anything else. Think. I want to see it and be moved. It’s due in four weeks.”
On cue, the bell rang and everyone began to wrap up. Corvina watched a girl from the front, one whose name she didn’t remember, walk to Mr. Deverell while hugging the books to her chest. She observed the rigid way he held himself, slightly away from her, the eager body language of the girl, and she knew simply from watching she was another one of his admirers. God, it felt like he had a buffet to sample and select from despite the rules.
Shaking her head at herself for silently lusting after a man half the school lusted after, she pushed her notebook in her bag and walked down the aisle, keeping her gaze on the door.
She became aware of his eyes on her, but she kept her head down and walked out. He watched her, all the damn time, and then he expected her not to be affected or to think with some rational brain cell when they collided. It wasn’t possible. Something between them – chemical, emotional, psychological, she didn’t know – came together like molten lava and hot ash, caused by an eruption unpredictable to them both.
It was another beautiful day, but her mind was muddled. She didn’t understand why he affected her so, why the idea of him standing so close to another girl made something fiery twist in her stomach. She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. But there was something there, almost sentient in the way it kept growing and bringing them together.
Gritting her teeth, she exited out to see Jax waiting for her, leaning against a wall. He was good-looking and playful, something she’d learned over the course of weeks that she’d hung out with Troy and his boys. Jax had a tenden
cy to say stuff with that wicked gleam in his eyes but in a well-meaning way.
“Yo, Purple,” he greeted her, pushing off the wall and joining her as she made her way to the gardens. She gave him a small smile, not really shy but not really wanting to talk. She was mostly an introvert, perhaps because of the way she had grown up with silence as her companion. Silences were comfortable but most people didn’t feel that way. She was realizing that most people had an unnecessary need to fill silences, a need she didn’t share. It made people uncomfortable around her, adding even more to her oddities.
“So, gloomy lesson, huh?” Jax filled in the silence.
Corvina shrugged. It had been gloomy, but beautiful. Death as an idea was fascinating, and her mind was already churning with how she would write her paper. Out of all her classes, she was learning she loved literature the most. While her Psychology elective was helping her understand the mind a bit more, it was purely for understanding and nothing else. With Literature, she could feel herself both analyze and imagine, both the rational and creative sides of her mind engaged fully with the subject.
“So, we’re going to the woods,” Jax slid a grin her way. “Wanna hang?”
“Where are we hanging?” Jade’s voice came from the side as she and Troy joined them.
Jax wiggled his eyebrows at her. “The woods.”
Corvina saw Jade’s eyes widen slightly. “Are you crazy?” she hissed, slapping Jax’s arm with her hand. “We aren’t supposed to go there. It’s dangerous.”
“Well, your roommate goes there often enough, so I guess she is the crazy one,” Jax retorted.
Corvina felt her teeth gnash at the word, her skin tightening as something hot, stinging entered her body. Anger. She almost didn’t recognize the emotion because of how foreign it was to her. Corvina had never been an angry person, but that word. That word, so carelessly tossed around, was her trigger.
Before she could say anything, Troy slapped Jax upside the head with a “Watch it, dick.”
Jade pointed a finger at the boys. “Don’t talk about her like that. If there’s anyone crazy here, it’s you boys for thinking about going in those woods.”
