by Tee, Marian
Until he ends up staring straight at me.
Shit.
A mocking smile slowly unfolds over the professor's thin, beautiful lips, and my jealousy quickly turns into apprehension.
"Come out, Ms. Mariposa." His voice is a little too gentle, and a chill settles down my spine. How does he know I'm here?
"I know you're hiding behind the bushes."
Shit.
"If you don't come out on your own," he drawls silkily, "I may have to do something you wouldn't like—-"
I jerk up to my feet. "I'm out." The professor doesn't strike me as the type to bluff, so I don't see any point in making things worse for myself.
Veiled dark eyes follow my movement as I reluctantly start walking, and the wind seems to pick up as the inches between us disappear. By the time I'm standing in front of him, the air has become bitingly cold...and more fragrant. But this time, the scent is different. This time, it's not the roses of the Erotes I detect scenting the air.
It's something else instead, and for a moment I can't help but look around, wondering...
"Carolina rose." The professor's voice is silky, and at first, it's just the sound of his voice that makes me shiver. Every time he talks, every time he looks at me, I always feel like I'm really nothing but a living toy to him.
Another gust of wind ripples past us, and my nose itches as I catch another whiff—-
Oh.
That's when it hits me. This scent...it's exactly what the professor said. It's the scent of Carolina roses, and no wonder it's familiar. Just this afternoon, my Naturae professor had the whole class sketching and making our own guidebooks. We're tackling the language of flowers for the entire semester, and the Carolina rose in particular is believed to be a warning from the divine.
Human beware, for dangerous love lies in your path.
Chapter Ten
It's my second day in Rosethorne, and I find myself once again in Professor Lucious' class. He's looking swoonworthy as always, maybe even more than usual. Waistcoats and bowties outside ballrooms can be rather gaudy, but the professor somehow makes it work, even with a mere schoolroom as a backdrop.
He goes into lecture mode right away, and although the stuff he's teaching us about advanced shapeshifting abilities of the fully divine is interesting, my mind keeps flashing back to last night's Fifty-Shade-ish incident. It's frustrating to say the least, and I know I've promised myself to stop obsessing with how surreal things are in this place, but how do you focus on what's normal when it's just one bizarre thing happening after another?
Case in point—-
I found a beast in a labyrinth, but said beast then turns out to be a pervy god with a talent for invading my dreams.
The girls in this school hate me for supposedly flirting with the professor, but they don't seem to care I've been suspected of mass murder.
And the professor, well...
Where do I even begin?
The jerk says I'm certain to eventually bore him, but he keeps dashing to my rescue like a preppy-sexy knight. I catch him crawling out of the woodwork (figuratively, of course) with a half-nymph smooching his knuckles to death, but here he is now, his dark eyes gleaming every time our gazes accidentally clash.
The gall of him, really.
Maybe I was wrong to have run away like I did last night. Maybe I should've just stayed and told him to his face that I—-
Would like to know what the hell was that secret entryway for?
Was jealous as hell?
Wished it were me playing those kinky S&M games with him instead of Isabella?
Yuck, yuck, yuck!
I'm so disgusted at the turn my thoughts have taken that the moment his class ends, I'm out of my chair in a flash. All I want is to be as far away from the professor as possible, and I force myself to keep walking even as I feel his gaze following me.
The rest of the day proves to be a struggle, with annoying memories of Isabella and the professor persistently popping up in my mind again and again. It's a shame, really, since classes in Rosethorne are proving to be a lot more interesting than any of the subjects I've had in my older school. P.E. used to be just the usual ball sports, but here in Rosethorne we're actually scheduled to go scuba diving next week. I've never been much of a water baby, but if what the other kids are saying is true, then the school's lake is supposed to be this underwater world of mystical beauty. It's definitely something to be excited about, but thoughts of it sadly take second place to stupid flashbacks of the guidance counselor playing Anastasia to the professor's Christian Grey.
Nia and I meet up for lunch, and my roommate notices right away something seems amiss. "You look horrible, dude."
"That's so sweet of you to say, thanks."
"I'm just being honest, and you're welcome."
Grr. I wish I had the energy to tell Nia how awful she is, but all I can do is glower and tear another chunk off my sandwich.
"But seriously, you do look horrible."
I nearly groan. "You don't have to keep repeating it. I got it the first time."
Concern flashes over her features, and the other girl leans forward to whisper, "Did he punish you or something?"
I stare at her, bewildered. "Who's punishing whom?"
It's Nia's turn to look perplexed. "Your divine benefactor. I figured that's why you look so awful—-"
"Shit." I groan out loud, and I'm so pissed and frustrated that I actually end up knocking my forehead against the table. "Shit, shit, shit."
Nia asks me what's wrong, but all I can do is shake my head. I can't believe I've forgotten all about the god! He's the reason I went out last night in the first place, but thanks to that gorgeous sexy dazzling jerk of a professor—-
Shit, shit, shit.
By the time classes finally end for the day, my head feels like I've got gorillas thumping their chests inside of it, and all I want is to dive into my bed and sleep. But because this is shaping up to be a really unlucky day, raindrops strike my face the moment I step out of the building's front doors—-
Yikes!
I quickly jump back under the portico and stare incredulously as an afternoon rainstorm turns the skies overcast.
Note to self: You're not in sunny Cali anymore, Dorothy, so start acting like it.
Everyone but me seems to have their school-issued umbrellas with them, and seeing me stranded outside Anise Building has the other girls making a show of snapping their umbrellas open before flouncing off.
Whatever.
Were they eighteen or eight? Did they really think I'd feel like a loser just because they had umbrellas and I didn't? It's not like I couldn't make a run for it if I wanted—-
"Forgot your umbrella, Ms. Mariposa?"
Holy Greek heavens!
Hearing his voice suddenly purr into my ear makes me start, and I see the professor's lips curve into a smirk.
"Am I making you nervous?"
I lift my chin and don't hesitate to lie through my teeth. "Nope."
"Glad to hear that," the professor says just before suddenly clicking his umbrella open above our heads. "Shall we?"
Hell no!
But because I've already told him he doesn't make me nervous, I keep my chin up and say brightly, "We shall."
The professor places a hand on the small of my back as we descend the steps, and I nearly trip over my own feet in shock.
"The steps are slippery," he says silkily.
Riiiight.
"But I can take my hand away if you're feeling nervous—-"
"I am not nervous," I practically growl.
"Good girl."
"Shut up—-" I remember too late who I'm talking to, and I add lamely, "Professor."
But he only chuckles, and the sound is just too sexy that it makes me wonder if Rosethorne has somehow managed to turn me into a slut. I've never even dated before coming to this place, but here I am now, having wet dreams with a god while crushing on the professor during the day.
"You have no need to fear any kind of repercussions from me, Ms. Mariposa."
It's not something I expected to hear at all, and I can't help looking at him suspiciously. "Are you saying that because of what I saw last night?"
"What did you see last night?" he asks blandly.
'You and Isabella getting your freak on' is what I'm dying to snarl out, but because that would only make me sound like a jealous cat, I force myself to shrug and say just as blandly, "I have no idea."
The professor's lips curve into another smirk. "You can just ask me, you know."
I know I can, but if I do, that's only going to make me seem like I care, so...
"It's your business to do whatever you want—-"
"But what if I want it to be your business?"
My heart skips a beat even as his words have me choking back an incredulous laugh. "Have you forgotten you're a professor?"
"If you ever bothered to read the handbook—-"
"No one ever bothers reading the handbook!"
"—-then you would've known from the start that Rosethorne allows relationships between professors and students."
I start to laugh, but when he only gazes at me, my laughter fades. "You're not serious, are you?"
"Rosethorne is under divine protection," he says with a shrug.
And in Post-3rd, that basically translates to Rosethorne being outside the jurisdiction of all human laws.
"Will you admit it now?"
"Admit what?" I ask flippantly.
The professor's steps come to an abrupt halt and he grabs my wrist when I attempt to keep walking. "Why do you bother hiding what's obvious?"
He sounds genuinely curious, and it would've made me laugh if I weren't so infuriated. "You're seriously asking that?"
"Yes."
"You said you'll eventually get bored of me," I hiss under my breath.
"So?"
"So?" I nearly yell the word out, and I probably would've if we weren't still out on the streets and students all around us weren't dying to eavesdrop on our conversation. "You really are a jerk, aren't you?"
"Yes. I am." The professor's tone was sardonic. "But you still like me in spite of it, don't you?" He starts to reach for me, but this time I finally have enough sense to jump back.
"Don't touch me!"
Dark eyes gleam at me in cold amusement. "Or what?"
"Or the god I belong to," I hear myself say, "will make you pay for it."
Chapter Eleven
Eww. Eww. EWW!
I start gagging the moment I shut the door to our suite behind me, and the sounds I make has Nia glancing at me curiously from her bed.
"Are you alright?"
I try to answer, but self-disgust still has me wanting to throw up, and my skin hasn't stopped crawling ever since I've uttered what I uttered.
Seriously, Halyna Ziel Mariposa!
How gross can you get?
The professor had been maddeningly cocky, yes, but I could've said so many other things! Any other thing but-—
The god I belong to will make you pay for it.
The sickening memory proves too much this time, and I find myself crouching on the floor as my hands cover the heated cheeks of my face.
I hear Nia's bed squeak followed by the sound of her padding barefoot towards me. "What's wrong?"
Nothing! Everything!
"Are you pregnant?"
The words are enough of a shock to make my head snap up. "Seriously?"
But my roommate only crosses her arms over her chest. "Pregnant women are always sick."
"I've never even had sex!"
"Oh." Nia shrugs unapologetically. "Sorry." Then she looks down and raises a brow at me, asking, "What's wrong then?"
I hold my hand out, and Nia rolls her eyes even as she takes my hand to help pull me up.
"Professor Lucious and I had words," I tell her reluctantly.
Nia suddenly looks intrigued. "The dirty kind?"
"Nia!"
The other girl's expression turns disappointed. "It's not then?"
"No," I growl. "It's not."
Nia throws herself back on her bed. "So you had a fight."
"Not exactly." I also throw myself on the bed and regret it right away, with the sudden movement making my headache worsen.
"Then what?" Nia insists on asking.
"He pissed me off," I admit reluctantly, "and I ended up saying something stupid."
"Like?"
I mumble my answer in a low-key attempt to make my words incoherent, but it's no use. Nia's ears seem to have a sixth sense for the juiciest stuff, and hearing her gasp subsequently tells me she's heard me just fine.
"You said what?" But it's a rhetorical question since she's already started laughing her head off.
"It's not funny," I growl.
"Belong! To! A! God!"
She's gasping the words out like she's run out of breath, and when I take a peek at her, my roommate is actually rolling around while clutching her stomach. ROFL in the flesh, except she's in bed, and she laughs even harder when I tell her to shut it.
Grr.
I grab one of my pillows and cover my face with it.
Whatever.
The chest-thumping gorillas inside my head have just tripled in number, and I have no energy left to snarl and snap at my good-for-nothing roommate. I just need a bit of shut-eye, I think wearily as my eyelids start to droop.
Just a quick nap, and once I wake up, I'll have a clear enough mind to think about the consequences of saying what I've just said.
Just a really quick nap...
It's my last thought as I find myself shutting down, and in my exhaustion I forget that there's a god waiting for me at the other side of sleep.
I'M DREAMING AGAIN, and this time I find myself seated on a rug, inside a stone cabin of enchanting beauty. A chandelier with arms bearing actual glittering candles, heavy, intricately woven rugs laid over gleaming wooden floors, and luxurious cushions of dark brown leather positioned in front of a cozy-looking fireplace. There's a golden lyre poised next to a grand piano in one corner, a rolling ladder resting at the edge of book cases reaching all the way up to the cabin's high ceilings, and equally tall windows that perfectly frame a beguiling vista of lavender clouds and luminous butterflies circling around moonlit trees.
It's very, very romantic...except for one thing. I'm not sure if there's any divine power responsible for directing this whole fantasy-like setting, but—-
"Why do I always have to be naked when I'm dreaming?"
A chuckle tickles my ear, but before I can even look up, a wind blows in from nowhere, and the entire cabin plunges into darkness as all the candles go out.
If we had to bother with clothes inside your dream, I might as well have visited you in your world.
"Can't you?"
I feel the sofa behind me dip, but all I can see is a large shadow settling down just before strong hands gently clasp my shoulders to pull me back until I'm leaning against the sofa and my head is resting on the god's knee.
It is not yet time for you to see me.
The god starts stroking my hair, his touch so gentle that it helps soften the sting of his refusal.
I have the kind of face that makes girls cry.
I don't answer right away. This time, I can't stop thinking about how elusive this god is, with the way he keeps everything about him a secret. His name. His face. And even his voice. This is the third time he's visited me in my dream, and yet he still insists on spelling his thoughts out in my mind instead of speaking to me.
"Do you have something to hide?" I ask finally. "Have you done something so terribly inhumane in the past, and that's why you don't want me to know who you are?"
No.
He answers so readily and firmly that, stupid or not, I find myself instinctively trusting him.
It is not like that at all.
The fingers on my hair drift down until he's cupping my chin, and he's lifting my face until I c
an feel our gazes meeting in the dark.
I have already told you before, do you not remember?
I want you in the way a man desires a woman.
But it is also as I said: it is not yet time for you to see me.
A nice girl would probably just bow her head and submit to the god's decision, but too bad for both of us, I'm done playing nice, and I find myself scowling in his direction. "Don't I get to have a say about this?"
You don't.
"And that's it?" I sputter.
Yes.
"But that's unfair!"
It is.
His high-handedness should've been a huge turn-off, but instead I find myself struggling to keep my lips from twitching. Gods like him are often painted as anything between unreasonable tyrants and petty spoiled brats, and I'm sure if it had been any other god, my defiance would've long earned me divine punishment.
But since he is proving to be a different god, all he's been doing is answer me with a lazy sort of complacency, and—-
I suppose I should have expected you to be bothered by this.
Shall I take it as your reason for spending an inordinate amount of time with another man?
The sudden question catches me off guard, and I can't help but tense. "Uh..."
Were you trying to make me jealous?
I tell myself I have nothing to fear, but a telltale quaver still manages to worm itself into my voice as I ask, "What exactly have you heard?"
Enough.
Shit.
You have nothing to say in your defense?
"I...got into trouble a few times," I muttered, "and he always happened to be around to help me."
Have you made it clear to this man that you belong to me?
I know the answer to that is yes, but my throat somehow refuses to let the words out, and instead I hear myself ask, "I never said I belonged to you."
Are you rejecting me?
"I'm not a possession."
Indeed you are not. But this does not make you any less mine.
"I never agreed to—-"
You know very well that is not how this world works any longer.
A certain heaviness accompanies the words as the god spells them out in my mind, and it makes me want to believe there's still hope.
