Stranger Series Box Set

by Heather C. Myers

  “Yes?” she drawled. She couldn’t keep the suspicion out of her voice if she tried.

  “Well, it would seem that I was a tad bit inconsiderate during our last meeting and after discussing it with someone, I came here to apologize,” he said, looking pointedly at his feet during every word.

  “A tad bit inconsiderate?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  His left eye twitched. Apparently this was not the way he expected her to react. “Yes, well you can’t really blame me since the pursuit of knowledge is my goal in life, unlike you,” he said, locking eyes with her. “I can’t help it if my passion overrides my limited ability to humor you and your nonsensical reasons for not partaking in my experiment.”

  “And this is supposed to be an apology?” Jane asked through gritted teeth. She was starting to get that feeling, the same feeling she got this morning with Depogare and Friday night when she moved the desk.

  “Listen, social convention says that in order to re-establish an equal standing between two people when they disagree, the person at fault should apologize. In this instance, I am that person and I apologize.”

  The soccer ball, just off to the side, started shaking, but Calvin’s words caused her to pause. He really was trying. Maybe she should give him a chance, no matter how annoying he was.

  “It is my experience that in this situation, the person being apologized to forgives the person apologizing,” he continued.

  “You know what, Calvin? It’s not all about you, and I’m not about to forgive you right now.” She paused trying to get a hold of herself, at least to try and reign in her patience. “Thank you, though, for actually doing so.”

  She grabbed her ball in order to stop it from physically moving and left the field. She needed to get away from Calvin or else something besides a harmless soccer ball might start to move.

  For some reason Jane refused to analyze, her feet led her to Depogare’s office. Without knocking, she burst inside, shutting the door behind her before taking a seat in front of him. He was reading from the red book again and the only reaction she got was one raised eyebrow.

  “I always know it’s you, Miss Cabot, because you can’t seem to find it in you to knock,” he said in his low, silky voice.

  “Don’t start with me,” she snapped. “I’m not in a great mood. Did you tell Calvin to apologize? Because if you did, you forgot to tell him what apologizing actually means.”

  The corner of his lips twitched up. “Why are you here?” he asked her, keeping a level lock with her eyes.

  “I, uh—” She cut herself off, looking down at the culprits that led her here in the first place. So much for him not knowing whatever it was that she felt for him. “Calvin was aggravating me to the point where the ball,” she nodded at the soccer ball in her lap, “moved back and forth, so before anything worse could happen and before I lost my energy, I came here. I can’t explain it, but whenever I’m around you, I feel … calm.” Her face set on fire at the admittance, her hands played with the soccer ball, and her eyes stared at the black and white pattern rather than in those eyes that knew and would know everything.

  When the silence dragged on longer than Jane could stand, she forced herself to look up at him. She was surprised to see him looking at her, his features softening. He looked even better than she originally thought, looking at her that way.

  At her sudden attention on him, his eyes dropped back down to the text. “I suppose anything to help you control yourself,” he murmured.

  Jane leaned back in her chair, her eyes shifting over to the only window in his office. There were so many things to go over in her mind, but she was afraid that doing so with him close by that it might allow him have the impossible ability to read her thoughts.

  It was Sunday, yet Depogare insisted she meet him at exactly nine in the morning to start their first training session. On the one hand, Calvin wouldn’t be at these since Depogare would actually be training her. Calvin wasn’t yet receiving such training. But on the other hand, Jane’s mind was preoccupied with two different things: the start of the Anaheim Ducks hockey season and the kiss that Cillian stole from her Friday night.

  Jane had already written down every game scheduled in her planner, and while some conflicted with her school schedule, she was hoping to talk to Depogare about the precise time of their sessions, both the ones with Calvin and the ones without him, in order for her to plan when she could hear the games broadcasted live online. She already had tickets to a couple of weekend and holiday games she was planning to attend with her grandfather.

  When it came to Cillian’s kiss, Jane tried her hardest not to overanalyze it. She had been kissed by her ex-boyfriend, who she refused to think about because they had broken up on bad terms and because, in all honesty, she was still afraid of him. Still, the kiss Cillian had given her wasn’t exactly special. The fact that he kissed her at all was what she couldn’t get over. There were no sparks, no rom-com moment a girl and her true love were supposed to experience. Time didn’t stop, the stars didn’t align. In fact, if anything, the kiss was rather awkward. Because Cillian never gave her any kind of warning that he wanted to kiss her in the first place. It took Jane a moment to realize what was happening exactly, and by the time she finally closed her eyes and proceeded to kiss him back, he broke it off.

  Why would Cillian want to kiss her anyway? They barely knew each other and Jane was certain that he could kiss any girl he wanted. Why her?

  That same question floated through her mind as she walked to Depogare’s classroom. Why was the professor making them train so early on a Sunday morning? Why did she have to make the desk topple over in the first place? Why did she have to be in more danger than other peculiars? Why couldn’t it be Calvin?

  Was that last thought too mean?

  Jane knocked on his classroom door to indicate that she was present and let herself in without waiting for an answer. Depogare didn’t even look up at her as she closed the door, his black eyes focused on a stack of papers he was in the middle of grading. They had to be the essays he made all mentals write about mental weakness.

  “What did I get?” Jane asked, taking a seat in the front of row. Her eyes zeroed in on his bare forearms, the sleeves to his white collared shirt rolled up to the elbows, putting his cross tattoo center stage for all to see.

  “I haven’t gotten to you yet,” he said. It was only after he finished with the current paper he was grading did he finally regard her with a glance. “Before we get to our lesson today, Miss Cabot, there is something we must address.” He stood at the moment, in his uniquely graceful way, and walked around the desk until he was in front of it, leaning against the dark oak. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to look at Jane with a level stare.

  Jane wasn’t sure how long he’d been quiet, but his intensity caused her to sit up straight and tighten her muscles lest she start to fidget. Depogare’s presence was intimidating, but that unwavering gaze and his Southern accent only heightened the effect.

  “Yes?” she prodded, wanting to get this over with. What could he possibly want to talk to her about?

  “One of the things you must work on, Miss Cabot, is your patience, as illustrated just now by the fact that you can’t seem to sit and wait for me to relate the issue with you in my own time,” he explained.

  Um, what? He was going to try and curb her impatience? Her mother constantly nagged her about it and that hadn’t worked. What did Depogare think he was going to do that would make any difference?

  “Now,” he continued, “I have it on good authority that you and some friends went out last night for some drinks—”

  “I don’t drink.” Her voice was firm, her eyes locked with his. Jane had no idea why it was so important that he knew this, but it was.

  Interestingly enough, he didn’t argue with her. He paused for a moment, and then, after collecting his thoughts, said, “Even so, you put yourself in a vulnerable position.” Jane was about to qu
estion what he meant by that but the look on her face must have given her away because he elaborated. “You went out at night with friends who were drinking.”

  “That’s what girls my age do,” she said, still not understanding the point he was trying to make. “We go out and have fun. I went with friends. I didn’t drink and made sure to keep an eye on them as best as I could. We all got home safe. I don’t understand the problem.”

  “That is precisely the problem,” he said, and though he hadn’t raised his voice, it did get more strained. “You look after your friends, leaving yourself vulnerable. You need to watch out for yourself, first and foremost. What if someone used your friends to get to you?”

  “Nobody besides you and Calvin know what I am.” Jane felt herself begin to get angry. “And if someone did try to use my friends to get to me, I’d do everything I could to save them.”

  “Even at the risk of yourself?” His voice was flat, but the look on his face suggested he was curious as to what her answer would be.

  “No matter what the risk,” she affirmed, meaning every word.

  “You foolish girl!” he exclaimed through clenched teeth so it came out as a hiss rather than a yell. “Do you have no understanding of what you are?”

  “I’m a quis!” she said, her own voice rising as she narrowed her eyes. “I get it. I’m in danger. But so are you and so is Calvin.”

  Before Jane realized it, Depogare walked over to her, leaned over her desk, and placed his hands on the edge of it so his face was inches from hers. “You are the only female quis known to us,” he said in a dangerous whisper. Jane didn’t know how it was possible, but his eyes got even blacker. “Do you know what that means?”

  Jane shook her head, unable to speak, unable to breathe.

  “You may be the only one who passes the gene down to future generations,” he explained. “Not me and not Mr. Joseph. If people found this to be true, you would face terrors you cannot even fathom.”

  “So I can’t go out dancing ever again?” Jane asked. “I can’t have fun ever again? I have to make sure my head is down and my legs are shut?” She placed both hands flat on the surface of the desk. They were shaking with how upset she was.

  “It is best that you are safe rather than sorry,” he said, his voice returning to its low, silky timbre. His eyes latched onto her hands.

  “That isn’t fair,” she ground out.

  “Life isn’t fair,” he said.

  It was upon hearing those words that the desk began to shake underneath her hands, completely beyond her control. Without warning, Depogare placed his hand over her left one. It was cool, soft to touch, and much bigger than hers. Probably twice the size. There was something brimming between them, something Jane couldn’t explain. It was in his touch. She wondered if other people who physically interacted with him felt it too.

  The action caught her by surprise but inexplicably calmed her. Her hands stopped shaking. The desk stopped shaking. Jane wasn’t upset anymore, and it was all because of him.

  “That,” he said, looking at his hand over hers, “is what we need to work on. Your impatience. Your emotions.” His eyes shifted back to hers, filled with a mixture of darkness and wonder. “Your control.”

  Jane couldn’t help herself. She swallowed.

  25

  October saw a chill take hold of Catalina Island. Tourism dropped extensively which the majority of the locals liked. Sophie was still getting adjusted to her school schedule: training with Will, history with Ethan, and tutoring with Jared. She could barely keep awake during classes—especially in Anatomy and Physiology, which was bad since Murdoch kept an eye on her—and when she managed to do so, retaining that information was practically impossible. Ethan had yet to actually experiment with her physicalness unless it was one of those things where he was experimenting on her without her knowledge. That worried her. She brought it up to Will, hoping he might have some clue as to what Ethan’s overall plan was.

  “Don’t know, kid,” Will replied after a grueling training day. “You should talk to him about it.”

  Sophie rolled her sapphire eyes at his unhelpful comment, crossing her arms over her chest as she attempted to catch her breath. Training was getting much tougher than Sophie had anticipated. She thought running would be the death of her, but now she was actually starting to like it. After stretching and a quick run, Will and Sophie spent the rest of the time going over fighting techniques. At first, it sounded fun until she realized that what it actually consisted of was the two of them working on individual moves and Will teaching Sophie how to control her strength. Sometimes, they’d only work on one move during the entire session, making her muscles stubbornly protest every time she moved outside of training.

  Interestingly enough, the pair had grown closer in the past few weeks, even with Sophie having knocked the wind out of him. In fact, she truly believed he had grown to respect her by the way his gold-green eyes looked at her at times. She still thought he was one of the most attractive men she had ever encountered, but she knew there was no possibility that the two would ever be together in that way. He was her instructor and practically two hundred years old. As such, her interests turned to someone she actually had a chance with and that was Jason Ryan. He hadn’t technically asked her out yet, but he always said hi and there were times when she caught him staring at her. He never blushed and looked away like she did when she was caught doing the same thing. Instead, he smiled at her.

  Just because she was interested in Jason didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the physical beauty that belonged to Will. The way he looked right now, right after training finished, was her favorite. His thick chestnut hair was completely disheveled, the locks going every which way. His eyes were gold, brimming with exhilaration at the physical activity. By some miracle, his clothes got tighter the longer he fought, but that was probably due to the sweat that also caused his smooth tan skin not to flush like Sophie’s, but to shine. The tightness of his wife beater—he seemed to live in wife beaters, plaid shirts, and jeans—emphasized his broad shoulders, his big arms, and his stout frame. While he wasn’t long and lean, his torso was compact and strong. The only thing that seemed to penetrate that armor, as far as Sophie knew, was her punch.

  She, on the other hand, probably looked worse. Her face was prone to turning red at the most inopportune times and her hair had no qualms with frizzing out. She probably reeked too, and for the umpteenth time wondered how Will could stand the smell of her after their workout.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said, taking a step toward her and looking at her with a serious expression on his chiseled face. “The full moon’s coming up.” He was quiet for a while, making Sophie shift her weight. Was this some kind of test? Was she supposed to know what that meant?

  “I’ll be gone for the week,” he continued when she remained silent, “which means I won’t be able to train you.”

  Sophie grinned. She could literally feel her eyes sparkle. Did this mean she got an actual break?

  The look he gave her was deadpan. “No, you don’t get to slack off,” he said. “Dianna will take over until she has to leave for her own change.”

  Sophie felt her shoulders sag. Dianna? The shifter was just too perfect and Sophie still wasn’t sure if Will and Dianna had ever been together, which for reasons Sophie didn’t even want to comprehend, bugged her. Although, training with Dianna did mean physical contact, and if Sophie accidentally lost control over herself and hit the dainty damsel harder than necessary, was that really her fault?

  Will read the twinkle in her eye like animal tracks in the dirt. “Hey,” he said, pointing a warning finger at her. “Behave.”

  Before Sophie could offer a decent retort, somebody interrupted them.

  “Hey Sophie.”

  She knew that voice.

  Craning her head, Sophie’s eyes widened upon seeing Jason in his school uniform, looking as attractive as ever. He was even wearing the optional vest that matched hi
s slacks—the color he chose to wear was grey—and made him look like a Depression-era gangster. All he needed was the fedora. It was at that moment that Sophie realized he had never seen her in anything but her uniform or workout clothes. How completely mortifying. Jason couldn’t smell her, could he?

  “I’m sorry, am I interrupting anything?” he asked, his eyes shifting over to Will.

  Sophie could feel how tense Will was, though she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as though Jason had interrupted their session. It was technically over. Before Will could scare him off, Sophie quickly said, “No, you’re not interrupting anything. Why? What’s up?”

  It was the first time she spoke to him without stuttering.

  “I wanted to talk to you …” He let his voice trail off, looking at Will expectantly.

  Alone. He did mean alone, didn’t he? She glanced over at Will, hoping the look on her face would project how desperately she wanted him to leave at that minute. Instead, he pointedly ignored Sophie’s look and continued to stare at Jason with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps even bigger.

  “Well?” Will asked, raising a skeptical brow. “Go ahead. Talk.”

  What was Will doing—besides ruining her chances with the most popular guy in Ignis? Jason was Ignis. Shouldn’t that prompt Will to support whatever it was that she could have with Jason? And why was he glaring at the poor kid? It wasn’t like Will was her boyfriend or anything. There was no need for him to intimidate Jason. Not that any of this was Will’s business in the first place.

  Sophie was about to suggest they go somewhere private, when Jason spoke, “Sophie, I was wondering,” he appeared nervous. Why would Jason be nervous? This was all Will’s fault, “I was wondering if maybe, I mean, maybe if you’re not doing anything—”

  “Just spit it out,” Will growled under his breath.

  Sophie shot him a look that resembled sapphire daggers.