Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  After a few seconds, I snap out of it. “By the grace, Serena, you’re bordering on stalker material now.”

  I swallow the Advil and chase it with water just as the front door swings open, hitting the wall with a loud thud.

  “You had me spelled?” Rulf storms in.

  Wide-eyed, I take in his completely disheveled appearance. His sable hair is sticking up in all different directions, and there are heavy dark bags under his slate eyes, which are narrowed at me.

  He’s pissed.

  Really pissed.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say, smirking.

  Rulf’s expression turns even more furious. “You had a witch hex me last night so you could run off and what, Serena? Party? UNPROTECTED!” he roars.

  A feeling of guilt crawls up my throat; I instantly push it away. “Coffee?” I ask in a light tone.

  “One of these days, princess,” he purposely uses the nickname that turns my blood cold, “you are going to have to face reality and stop acting like a petulant child.”

  “Rulf, it’s not as if I walked into a demon’s den,” I grumble. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a tad?”

  His eyes grow wilder. “I am here to GUARD you!”

  I clench my jaw. “I never asked you to.”

  “You’re my assignment. My responsibility, per a royal decree established by your aunt and uncle. Who happen to be the king and queen. Stop being reckless and pretending that your bloodline and oaths mean nothing.”

  I hold his angry gaze and my shoulders fall. I’ve never seen Rulf this enraged with me before. Normally he’s annoyed, agitated, and sometimes huffy, but not like this.

  “They don’t!” I shout back.

  “Not this again,” he rubs his hands over his face.

  “What if my fate has a different ending?” I ask.

  “There are no alternative endings to your destiny when you are the royal heir. Your fate is inescapable, Serena.” His expression and tone soften. “It would do you well to start accepting that.” He turns and slams the door behind him.

  I stare at the empty space he was standing in for a moment, before collecting myself and heading to my first class. Regardless of my lineage, he is wrong. I know, within the deepest part of me, that my destiny isn’t entirely sealed.

  The whole way to my lecture, I replay Rulf’s words in my head. When I finally get to class, I yank open the theater door, causing it to echo in the silence of the marble hallway. At the disturbance, fifty pairs of eyes swing my way. I ignore their judgmental glares and step into the room, before meeting my friend Ireland’s wide-eyed stare.

  She flicks her strawberry blonde ponytail over her slender shoulder, and her gray-and-emerald-flecked gaze shifts from me to the front of the room.

  Oddly, Ireland’s normally pale, freckled complexion appears more ashen than usual. I take a hesitant step toward her and give her a what’s up look.

  Her brows draw together tightly in warning.

  “Miss St. Michael.” A familiar voice carries across the seminar room. “Nice of you to join us this morning.”

  At the sound, I freeze. My world tilts a bit and all the air in my lungs disappears. Astounded, I turn and meet the equally familiar face, currently wearing a scowl.

  “Um . . . ,” I manage. The heat in my cheeks flares.

  Ireland coughs loudly, regaining my attention. I glance back to her and she flicks her eyes to the empty seat next to her, imploring me to sit my ass down.

  I study the chair for a moment, before awkwardly shifting my attention back to Tristan, standing at the front of the room. He’s wearing dark gray jeans, his motorcycle boots, and a black Henley.

  Why his attire matters? I don’t know. I’m so confused.

  What’s happening?

  “Take a seat, Miss St. Michael,” Tristan demands.

  Baffled, I drag away my stupefied gawk and stumble toward Ireland, clumsily sliding into the seat next to her.

  “I don’t like tardiness. If you’re late, don’t bother coming to class at all. That is your first, and only, warning.” Tristan’s voice booms throughout the hushed lecture hall.

  My gaze darts around, and I watch the other protectors in the room share secret nervous glances with one another.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper.

  Ireland’s boyfriend, Ryker, leans down from behind us.

  “How excellent of you to piss off Professor Gallagher before we’ve even started the semester. Way to go, Ser.”

  Ireland turns and glares at him. “Shut up, Ry.”

  “Professor Gallagher?” I repeat, confused.

  Ireland scoffs at me with a side look. “Didn’t you read the syllabus and class description?”

  I press my lips into a flat line. “Do I ever?”

  “Well, had you, you would have noticed that Gage Gallagher’s son, Tristan, is our guest instructor this year.”

  I sit upright. “Wait, Gage Gallagher has a son?”

  She nods and slides her focus down to Tristan.

  “Apparently, a sexy, dark, broody one,” she purrs.

  “I’m sitting right here,” Ryker whisper-shouts.

  Ireland rolls her eyes, without taking them off of Tristan. “I see you,” she huffs.

  Gage Gallagher is a longtime acquaintance of my uncle Asher. He owns several architecture firms across the world, including the one that helped build the Academy.

  He’s well known within the supernatural world for being a nonconformist and ladies’ man. When his human mate, Camilla, was murdered, her death completely broke and gutted him. To my knowledge, Gage hasn’t had another serious relationship.

  This doesn’t make sense.

  I sit pinned to my seat. Tristan is my instructor? I thought he was a student.

  “Since Miss St. Michael seems to be carrying on her own private lecture this morning, perhaps she’d like to join me at the podium?” Tristan barks through my reverie.

  “Um—”

  “That is your second um of the morning, Serena. I do hope you’ll be using the rest of your vocabulary this semester,” he mocks.

  At my expense, a light rumble runs through the class, and I make a mental note to kill him later, in his sleep.

  “Wow, he really hates you,” Ireland points out.

  I tap my finger on the desk. “Are you just here to state the obvious?”

  “No,” she pouts. “I’m also the fun friend.”

  “None of this makes sense,” I say, flatly.

  “I hate repeating myself,” Tristan throws a hard glare my way. My mouth falls open at his words, a reminder of last night. “That said, I’ll make an exception today. And only today. I’m Professor Gallagher. You are in Protector History 302. If you aren’t supposed to be here, get out,” his tone is cutting. “Come to class, get your shit done, be on time, and we won’t have any issues. Questions? No? Good. Let’s begin,” he speeds through his sermon.

  Professional.

  Taken aback by the abruptness of his words, I raise my hand. Or maybe it’s my constant need to be rebellious.

  Tristan’s eyes meet mine in an almost curious manner. As if he can’t believe I have the balls to ask a question.

  “Serena, my questions were rhetorical.”

  Annoyance grips me at being dismissed by him.

  Again.

  That is something that my family does often, which has become sort of an anger-management-trigger for me. I arch a challenging brow and stand, crossing my arms.

  “Pro-fes-sor,” I draw out. “Gallagher is it? You seem young to be a guest lecturer. I was curious as to your age.”

  Tristan’s expression remains blank. “My age won’t be on any of the tests that you’ll be required to pass this semester. Therefore, it’s none of your business.”

  At his flippant tone, I fight the urge to drop to the floor into a fetal position. Instead, I lift my chin and take my seat, feigning dignity and meeting Ireland’s shocked expression.

  “A
re you insane?” she hisses.

  “Tristan is my new roommate,” I choke out.

  “What?” she whisper-screams. “You’re living with him? That’s so hot and totally unfair,” she sulks. “I move out and all of a sudden the fun starts. This sucks.”

  “Stop it,” I snip loudly, causing the room to swing their attention back to me. Again. “Sorry,” I mutter to no one in particular.

  “Serena, see me after class,” Tristan snaps.

  Yeah, that sounds about right.

  I nod and take out my iPad, pressing the dragon dictation button so it records the words falling out of my lecturer-slash-roommate’s mouth.

  My eyes follow his every movement obsessively.

  There’s something tragic about him.

  And lonesome about him.

  And so familiar about him.

  What in the hell is going on?

  Tristan

  In a foul mood, I twist toward the window in my temporary administrative office. In order for my presence to appear realistic, I knew I’d have to take on a teaching and training role here at the Academy. What I did not expect was the magnetic pull toward my charge, who is also a student.

  Or that I’d be living with her.

  I’d woken this morning and walked out of my room to find Serena where I left her. Passed out. On the floor.

  It took everything I had in me not to pick her up and put her into her bed. After witnessing Rulf cater to her tantrums on more than one occasion, I’ve decided to take a different approach with Serena’s protection.

  He sympathizes with her need for normalcy, and look where it’s gotten him. If I want to keep her safe, I have to be the bad guy. This is probably my first mistake.

  Thinking I can control Serena.

  Images of this morning flood my mind.

  Magali walks over to Serena, touches her forehead and places Serena’s cell next to her, after setting the alarm.

  “You don’t cover her?” I ask, concerned that she’s cold.

  “She’ll just kick the blankets off,” she signs.

  I observe the pretty gargoyle as she makes her way into the kitchen and pours cereal into a bowl, without milk.

  My face scrunches at the oaty dryness sitting in the dish.

  Magali waves in front of my face to garner my attention.

  “Adding milk will just make it soggy,” she explains.

  “Ah.”

  She takes out orange juice and pours it into a tall glass, before reaching into a cabinet and grabbing the Advil bottle.

  On autopilot, she places two pills next to the juice and writes a note, as if this is a normal daily routine.

  “This a common occurrence for her?” I ask.

  Magali smiles, but it’s forced. “It’s complicated.”

  Right. Complicated. I get complicated.

  A few minutes later, I watch the door silently close, before my gaze rests onto Serena’s sleeping form. Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.

  In that moment, I decide there aren’t going to be any free rides for her while she’s under my protection.

  It’s time for her to become who she is meant to become.

  So instead of taking care of her, like an asshole, I ate her breakfast and stepped over her tremoring body.

  At some point, I’m not sure I’ll be able to continue to fight the urge the bond creates to safeguard and take care of her. Hence my unmerited anger at her when she strolled into class, freshly showered, smelling like spring flowers.

  Late.

  My heart thuds against my chest and for a second, I regret what I am about to do. Regardless of how I feel about it, or how hypocritical it is, she will fulfill her destiny.

  I exhale and enjoy the quiet, pondering how long I’ll be stuck in this world—a world I don’t belong to, and one in which I didn’t grow up. Regardless of who my father is, the Academy isn’t my home. A protector isn’t really what I am.

  I’m someone who safeguards lies. I have the reputation of a sinner. I am unable to escape my past, and evidently, my future.

  My focus falls to the door’s handle as it jiggles, alerting me to Serena’s presence. It flies open and she storms in, slamming it behind her. Dramatically, she huffs and throws her messenger bag on the floor, placing her hands on her hips. I watch her every move and keep my features schooled.

  “You’re a professor?” she yells out.

  “Yes.”

  “Since when?”

  “I accepted the position two months ago.”

  “Why would the school place an instructor in student housing?” she grits out.

  “I assume all the other housing on campus was taken.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Lecturers live off campus.”

  “Maybe this one prefers to remain on.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  She scowls. “Because isn’t a reason, Tristan.”

  “During Academy hours, it’s Professor Gallagher.”

  Serena inhales and takes two steps toward the desk.

  “That’s another thing. You’re Gage Gallagher’s son?” her tone is accusing.

  My expression remains blank. “Rumor has it.”

  “Rumor has it?” she repeats on a quiet tone.

  “My family ties are none of your concern. Just as I’m sure you’d prefer to keep your family relations private.”

  She places both her palms on the desk and leans toward me, narrowing her eyes. “Do I come across as one of those giggly school girls who will believe every lie that comes out of your sexy mouth? Because, Professor, I assure you that I’m not.”

  A silence falls between us. I need to change the topic away from my father. With a predatory glare, I stand and walk around the desk, stopping in front of her.

  “You think my mouth is sexy?”

  She swallows and lifts her chin, earning my respect as she feigns confidence. Her trembling bottom lip gives her away. I scare the crap out of her. That makes two of us.

  After a second, she takes a step back, putting space between us. Unable to help myself, I stalk toward her, closing each stretch of space she’s grasping for.

  I have no idea why I feel the need to constantly dominate her into submission. Maybe it’s her strong will. I’m not used to it, and it pushes all my alpha-male buttons.

  Eventually our dance lands her body pushed up against the door. I slam my hands on the wood beside her head, trapping her in my arms, and lean in, my lips almost brushing hers.

  “Who are you?” she breathes across my mouth.

  “No one,” I reply in a smooth voice.

  Her stare bores into mine, as if she’s trying to see inside of me. I flinch with each layer she successfully penetrates.

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispers.

  “I didn’t ask you to believe me.”

  Without warning, she lifts her hands and rests them against my chest. The bold move causes me to close my eyes. I ignore the burning sensation and the fact that I like her touch. Way too fucking much. It’s all-consuming.

  I swallow a groan and open my lids.

  “Everyone is someone, Tristan.”

  “Are you touching me?”

  No one touches me, at least not without permission.

  In my world, her hands would be removed from her body for this.

  Her eyes drop to her hands before she quickly meets my hard stare. “If you’re trying to threaten and intimidate me as a form of evasion, it won’t work.”

  “I threaten everyone, Serena.”

  “How nice for you,” she huffs. “I’m not everyone.”

  My tongue flicks out and slowly runs over my bottom lip. Serena’s stare fixates on the movement before she drags her focus back up my face, holding my glower again.

  “We’re going to be living together. Yet I know nothing about you,” she points out with a nervous edge.

  “And you won’t.” My tone is meant to sound cold.

  Her teeth clenc
h. I know this because I’m now staring at her pink mouth, wondering just how soft her tongue would be, tangled with mine.

  Before I can contemplate the idea further, our lips are touching. Shit! Did I move forward? Did she?

  What the—

  All rational thought escapes me as we stand frozen, with our lips pressed together but unmoving. A warm feeling spreads through my body and within seconds, I jerk away.

  Needing an escape, and angry at with myself for my lack of self-control, I reach around her and forcefully jerk the door open, bumping her away from it in the process.

  I storm out in an even worse mood than when I started this morning, because that one simple taste of her was enough to torture me for years to come.

  Serena

  STUNNED, MY FINGERS GLIDE ALONG MY still tingling lips. One slightest brush of our mouths and I’m officially addicted.

  How is that even possible?

  Stupid, illogical crush.

  I stand in Tristan’s office dazed and confused, taking everything in, attempting to try to pinpoint something that will give me a hint, a glimpse into who he is.

  There is nothing.

  His office is just as unrevealing as his eyes are.

  There isn’t even a book or piece of paper anywhere.

  Dejected, I watch the dust swirl in the rays of sunlight coming through the window. After a moment, I step toward the empty desk, turn and lean against it.

  I chastise myself for pressing my lips against his.

  Brilliant move, Serena.

  He was just so close. His scent wrapped around me, and when I touched him, it was like I never wanted to stop.

  I became overcome with the need to close the gap between us, so I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

  I rub my temples. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “Rough day?” Ryker asks from the open doorway.

  I force a lopsided grin. “Try a rough few.”

  He walks toward me and I study his outrageously good-looking face. As he nears, he runs a hand through his dark hair and pins me with his aquamarine eyes.

  I remember the first time we met Ryker. Ireland, Magali, and I were in our first year at the Academy.

  From day one, he quickly became a hot commodity on campus. He’s the only protector who, during training, was able to take me down in ten seconds flat, earning my respect and friendship.