Ignoring his question, I snap my attention back to the front of the lecture hall just as Professor Davidson ends my humiliation by dismissing us for the day.
Haphazardly, I throw things in my messenger bag and hurry to escape, only to find the six-foot-plus Adonis already blocking me in by leaning against the door frame in a casual stance.
I breathe out sharply, partly in surprise and partly in nervousness. Shit, he’s even hotter standing up.
He’s also abnormally fast. I look back and forth between our seats and the doorway, wondering how the hell he got down here so quickly. Eve, attempt to focus, I internally scold myself.
I move toward the exit. Not trusting my voice, I release the breath I’ve been holding and give him an excuse me look.
He motions his hand, encouraging me to walk through.
“After you,” he says, his smooth voice warming my cheeks again.
I walk through the door, rolling my eyes at his dramatics and my lack of vocal control. Once outside, the fresh air hits me, clearing my head and offering relief from the embarrassing exchange.
“No need to thank me. It’s truly my pleasure.” I hear his condescending voice come from behind me.
I spin around in front of him, causing him to stop abruptly to avoid walking into me. Not expecting my sudden movement, his hands grasp my upper arms to steady himself and prevent me from stumbling backwards.
Heat pools on my skin where he touches it. Against my will, I close my eyes at his close proximity.
His scent fills my senses—a heady, masculine combination of smoky wood and leather. I inhale and sway, slightly light-headed from the whiff, which ignites warmth in my veins.
The good-looking guy leans in closer and his lips softly brush my ear. His minty breath comes out in a cocky whisper, “Falling for me already?”
This snaps me out of my daze. I look up and give him my best what the hell look. He watches me for a second as confusion crosses his face, then he releases my arms abrasively, as if I burned him.
We study one another, each waiting for the other to say something or make a move. Both of us are in a defiant stance with our arms crossed.
I speak first, clearly a mistake.
“What the hell is your problem?” I bark, narrowing my eyes.
“The siren speaks,” he says, feigning awe. “I was beginning to question your familiarity with the English language.”
One side of his mouth tilts into a smirk. It’s obvious he’s pleased with himself and his lame answer.
“Charming,” I reply, annoyed. “I happen to be well versed in the English language.”
He places a long finger to his closed mouth in contemplation. “That’s astonishing, considering that earlier, I caught you openly gawking at me.” Indigo eyes scan my face as he leans in and lowers his voice to a sensual tone. “Pink lips parted, beautiful hazel eyes locked onto my chest, drooling as if I were a piece of chocolate.” He pauses for effect. “Yet not a single word flowed through that pretty, pouty mouth of yours,” blue eyes retorts, staring at my lips, waiting patiently for my response.
I swallow. Between his scent and his nearness, my body is overheating. “Shows how much you know. I prefer salty over sweet,” I throw back at him, proud that my voice sounds strong.
It would be in my best interest to gather my dignity and just walk away. This infuriating guy is getting under my skin, distracting me with insults that appear to be compliments.
He snorts and gives me an insolent smile. “Yeah, I can tell sweet isn’t your thing, sweetheart.”
My jaw tightens. “I have a name, and it’s not Sweetheart,” I snap.
He crosses his arms, amused at my outburst, and gives me a crooked smile. “What would that name be?”
“Eve Collins,” I offer in an even tone.
“Eve,” he says in a husky voice.
The way my name rolls off his tongue does crazy things to my body. I secretly curse his good looks for causing my stomach muscles to clench and the butterflies to take flight.
“Eve,” he repeats, as some form of understanding sinks in. “Without doubt, a suitable name for you.”
The cute guy stands taller and puffs his chest out in some sort of proud posture.
“Meaning?” I question tersely.
“Wasn’t Eve the mother of mankind? Of course, she was also seen as weak, allowing evil to succeed in tempting her to the forbidden.” He challenges me with his eyes.
I pull my brows together, confused by his bizarre statement. “Are you implying I’m weak?” I question, with a slight octave change.
He just stands there, calm and unfazed by my growing temper. For some reason, his lack of reaction makes me even more irate.
“I can assure you that’s not the case,” I say. “As a matter of fact, I could punch you right now and you’d be seeing stars for weeks, followed by a plastic surgeon to reset your nose, pretty boy.”
Clearly unaffected by me, he laughs deeply, placing his hands up in mock surrender while backing away from me. “There’s no need for threats of physical harm, Eve.”
His gaze locks onto mine, assessing me, probably waiting to see if I’ll actually punch him. I angle my head to the side in annoyance and continue to watch him watching me.
As soon as he finds what he’s searching for in my eyes, he nods, seeming to have had some sort of internal dialogue with himself. His face turns impassive.
“Your lack of knowledge with regard to your name means nothing,” he says, casually shrugging me off.
I feel a migraine coming on. This conversation is nonsensical and it needs to end. “I don’t think this is working.” I motion between us while giving him an irritated glower.
A mischievous grin forms on his face. “Do we need couples therapy already?”
My frustration is now off the charts, so I exhale loudly, hoping he’ll get the hint. “That’s not what I meant.”
He leans into my personal space and narrows his eyes, attempting to intimidate and fluster me more than he already has, and for the love of God, it’s working.
“Would you please stop? I can’t think with you in my face,” I grumble.
At this, he leans away. “I make you nervous?” It’s a question with a hint of curiosity.
“Ah, no. Far from it,” I answer, still a bit shaken.
“Your unconvincing tone says different,” he retorts.
I’m just about to offer my witty comeback when his eyes snap up, quickly scanning the area behind me before redirecting his focus back to me. He frowns.
Before I can glance at what caught his attention, blue eyes speaks, ending my inquisitiveness.
“As delightful as this conversation has been with you, I have somewhere I need to be. Try not to walk into anyone or anything,” he mocks, as he begins to walk away.
“Whatever,” I mutter, and add under my breath, “ass.”
He stops and turns back toward me, stalking me slowly, like a predator. “Tsk. Name-calling is very unbecoming of you, Eve.” My name comes out like a dig. “Perhaps you should consider your choice of words within the English language with more care when conversing with others.”
I just stand there, glaring at him, racking my brain for a smart-ass response. Unfortunately, he has me all tongue-tied and at a loss for witty repartee.
Hotness, of course, wastes no time conquering the silence. “I’ll be anticipating your retort, siren.
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Serena
MY EYELIDS SLIDE CLOSED AS THE tiny drops of water cascade from the darkened sky. The warm beads hit my face, trickling effortlessly across my cool skin. The sensation of being alive wraps around me, as my spirit connects to the energy the weather bestows. Strength bleeds into my body, penetrating each layer until the energy drifts throughout my veins.
I ignore the dull ache making its way into my neck, a result of tilting of my face skyward. Instead, I lift my arms and, withou
t thought, twirl and embrace each tiny droplet of water as the rain soaks the crenulated coastline around me in a fierce assault.
The elements heighten my supernatural powers, causing my core to hum with vitality. My lips form a small smile as I pirouette my way through the mist-shrouded, endless emerald hills. Each rise is crisscrossed by tumbledown ancient stone walls. My laughter floats in the wind. It’s the only other sound encircling me, aside from the rainfall.
I loved doing this as a child. Spinning so fast I’d become dizzy and disoriented, until the earth around my feet would simply slip away, and breathlessly I would collapse onto the blades of grass. I miss the carefree days of my youth. There’s something freeing—liberating—about standing in an open field, with your arms extended, allowing the rain to wash away your inhibitions. Not that I have many hang-ups, but the ones I do—they wrap around my heart like chains, squeezing until the simple act of breathing becomes almost impossible.
Another childish laugh escapes me as my body tumbles and collapses onto the soaked ground. I stretch my lean limbs and sink into the sponge-like soil, becoming one with the aged earth below my undressed body. My wet, auburn hair falls messily around my face and some of the long pieces stick to my dampened skin.
I don’t care.
For the first time in days, I feel alive again.
Lying on the ground, I simply stare at the dark sky above, as the world spins around me. For a fleeting minute, the dizziness offers a brief reprieve from the musings that constantly cloud my head.
My free-spirited revel ends abruptly at the sound of a throat being cleared. I release a half moan, half sigh, knowing my moment of serenity has come to an end.
Rather than sitting up to face Rulf, the royal guard assigned to protect me, I pout like a child. My unhappiness overtakes the bliss I was feeling seconds ago.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy Rulf’s company. It’s just that his presence reminds me of my royal bloodline, my duties, and my obligations.
Knowing the gargoyle’s temperament, he’s probably standing with his arms crossed, aggravated by my lack of acknowledgment while he continues to get wet.
“Go away, Rulf.”
“You’re naked.”
The statement comes from an unfamiliar, seductive, masculine voice, filled with an inherent confidence.
Definitely. Not. Rulf.
Unaware of who this stranger is, I remain still and strategize a plan of attack, should I need one. Though I’m without my weapons, I’m not concerned. Years of training with the best protectors have made me a skilled opponent. If all else fails, I always have my supernatural powers to help me kick this guy’s ass.
I clear my throat and remain motionless.
“Your ability to state the obvious is mind-blowing.”
The stranger releases a dark chuckle, unnerving me. I shiver in response, and my slight grin falls. My lips press together in annoyance at my reaction to something as simple as his enthralling laughter. It’s like silk.
Cool.
Sensual.
Designed to pull you in and entrance you.
“I guess I missed the clothing optional portion of the Academy’s handbook,” he counters.
My stomach clenches in response as his velvety voice drifts over my exposed skin, caressing it. I swallow, in an attempt to keep myself in check and my tone even.
It is an epic failure.
“Something to work on, then.” My voice is shaky.
“What’s that?”
“Reading.”
“Reading?”
“A prerequisite if you’ll be attending the Academy.”
A beat of silence passes between us before he speaks.
“Is nudity a habitual behavior of yours?” he questions, with an amused lilt to his tone.
At the sound of his deep voice, I roll onto my stomach, lift my gaze, and meet his curious expression.
He’s breathtaking, in a dark and unrefined manner, if you’re into that sort of thing. By the way my breathing has become erratic and my heart rate is spiraling out of control, I guess I’m into it.
“Yes,” I reply.
A knowing smirk appears on his full lips. “Nice ass,” he compliments, while his stare runs the length of me.
I don’t shy away from his open perusal. I’m comfortable with my curves. Self-assurance comes with my title.
His eyes roam across my body, leaving imprints everywhere they go. I blush uncharacteristically at his heated intensity. My poise cracks as raw desire slithers inside me, crawling into the crevices, choking me.
Confused by the way my body is responding to him, I pinch my brows. He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. There’s something captivating about the way he’s looking at me. He’s drawn to me, but can’t figure out why.
I notice his self-confidence start to fade. Taking advantage of the fact that he’s lost in his own thoughts, my focus shifts to his mouth, and I stare at a tiny, sexy scar on his upper lip. His breathing is smooth and soft.
Unlike me, with my unsolicited need to have him whisper dirty things to me, he seems unaffected. Cool and calm. Eerily controlled.
The stranger runs both of his large hands through his caramel hair, pushing the long pieces on top back in a sleek and sexy manner. The rain has soaked every perfect strand, and they keep attaching themselves to his sun-kissed face. It’s almost as if they never want to let go.
I narrow my eyes at the wisps. They’re eliciting a pang of jealousy within me. For some unexplainable reason, I feel an overwhelming sense of ownership over him. It’s me who should be the one to touch his slightly scruffy, chiseled face—not those pieces of hair.
Wait, that isn’t right. I don’t even know him.
I scrutinize his thick eyebrows and attempt to compose myself. On most guys a brow piercing looks ridiculous. On him, it looks menacing and wild.
And hot.
So very, very hot.
I drop my gaze to the silver and hematite rings adorning his fingers. Like mine, every finger with the exception of his pinky is covered with them. I blink away the idea that our hands match, and instead concentrate on his broad chest, hidden under a white thermal.
The thin cotton is drenched, allowing me to take in his sculpted body. A pendant sits under his shirt, dangling from a black leather rope, which hangs from his neck.
Annoyingly, I can’t make out what it is.
I sigh internally as my eyes trail over his rolled-up sleeves. They’re pulled up to his elbows, showing off the leather-and-chain bracelets he’s wearing on each wrist. At the sight of the familiar adornments, all my internal alarms go off, and something inside of me sinks. I attempt to hide the awareness that has fallen across my expression, and instead fixate on his worn jeans and heavy boots, while planning my escape.
This guy reeks of danger, and trouble. The air of cockiness he emanates is one I grew up with. It matches my father’s and uncles’.
It all means this hot specimen is one hundred percent off-limits, and being near him is like being near a bullet that you never saw coming. It wounds you so quickly and deeply that you bleed out without even knowing you’ve been hit.
I meet his powerful cognac glare and a shaky breath escapes me. I’m startled by the way he’s staring at me.
Like I’m all he’s longed for.
A light chill brushes through me. I’m not accustomed to someone looking at me and seeing just me, not my bloodline. I need to get a grip on my erratic emotions.
Standing, I put my entire unclothed body on display, hoping to throw him off balance. Pushing some of my damp hair behind my ear, I lift a challenging eyebrow at him, daring him not to look at me.
Unfazed, he holds my gaze with an unwavering stare. A silent pause beats between us.
Who is this guy?
“Are you done assessing me?” he asks.
“You’re a protector?” I point to the shaded Celtic tattoo on his right forearm.
The symbol binds him to t
he Spiritual Assembly of Protectors, allowing him to accept divine assignments.
Of course he’s a protector—he’s here at the Academy.
Why can’t I think clearly around him?
The stranger’s expression falls, as if my accusation hurt him somehow. He doesn’t say anything, but dips his chin in response, confirming my theory.
I take a step back, empathetic to the heavy burden protectors carry. Nervously, my fingers find and play with my own piece of protector jewelry. The silver bracelet sits on my left wrist and is intricately designed with flowers and vines around the band, hiding my smaller, identical Assembly tattoo.
My aunt Eve gifted the bracelet to me for my eighteenth birthday. It was something her deceased mother Elizabeth, a jewelry designer, had made for her. Aunt Eve had the emeralds, my healing stone, added so they hang off the sides in a pretty and feminine manner. A small watch face was set on top in the hope that I would become more responsible about time management.
Not one of my strong suits.
Along with rules, motivation, education—anyway, you get the point.
It’s crucial that all gargoyles wear something containing their healing stone.
The mineral rejuvenates us, increases our powers, and heightens our restorative abilities.
It’s a necessary evil in my book. I despise the leather bands my family wear. They feel more like handcuffs to me than required protector accessories.
“Tristan,” he says, in a way that slices through me.
Another unwelcome shiver crosses my skin at the sound of his voice.
“Serena,” I reply thinly.
Tristan’s pointed look drops and travels over my body in a palpable manner, as he becomes intimately acquainted once again with my every curve.
“Are you always so . . . welcoming, Serena?”
When his eyes finally meet mine, my brow arches.
“Only to those I like.”
“So you like me then?” He attempts to hide his smile.
I hold him with a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Tristan cocks his head and crosses his arms over his chest. My focus strays to the streams of rain dripping off his face. He steps closer to me, so close that I trap a breath he’s exhaled in my lungs, when the bare portion of his arm brushes my own.
Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel Page 23
