I sigh and Luca gets it, squeezing me around the middle. “This is just the beginning, princess. I promise you.”
* * *
I stopon my way to my first lesson with Ian of the term and grab our usuals from Ciel, but pause when I knock on the open door and see that Ian’s not alone.
An alpha mage, silver threaded through his mahogany-brown hair, is pacing opposite Ian but pauses when he sees me lower my hand after knocking.
I peek at my watch and start to duck back out of the room. “My apologies. I must be a bit early.”
Ian rolls his eyes and waves me in. “You know you’re right on time, as always. Come in, come in. Professor Cadigan and I were just discussing the Mark of Baphomet and how the spell to cast the hex may have changed over time.”
The older man looks over his shoulder at me, skepticism sinking frown lines into his otherwise handsome face. I catch traces of woodsmoke and damp earth, but his scent is dulled, the scent of a mated alpha.
“Ian, you shouldn’t be so open about your research in front of the girl.”
Ian quirks a dark brow. “The ‘girl’ has been helping me with research for weeks. She’s the one who determined the Mark was used prior to the Legion of Baphomet’s use of it.”
I make myself small when Professor Cadigan turns on me again. “Professor Reinhardt gives me too much credit. He practically led me to the conclusion.”
“Hardly. Miss Rose’s appetite for scholarship and her capacity for reading between the lines in historical texts are to be commended. She’s quite unlike her older brothers and sister in that regard, Sean.”
Professor Cadigan’s expression softens, somewhat, but there’s an acrid tinge to his muted scent that belies the affable words that follow. “A blessing. One of your brothers gave me most of my gray hairs. Well, I’ll leave you two to your lesson. Ian, do keep me apprised of any further developments you and Miss Rose come across.”
The alpha professor strides from the room, giving me one more considering look as he pulls the door shut.
Ian flips through a new tome as I take my seat across from him.
“How many times do we think the Mark has reemerged?” I muse, looking through my notes.
My alpha professor rifles through a stack of his own notes and traces his index finger down the column of a chart, shaking his head. Ian snaps the folder shut and disappears from his office without a word. I stare after him, eventually poking my head out of his office, but he’s gone.
When he doesn’t return after a few minutes, I start digging in historical registers, trying to track the Mark through history. My Latin has improved, and I’m gratified at how much more I’m able to make sense of, but if there is a discernible pattern to the Mark’s reemergence, I don’t have enough information yet to uncover it.
Finally, I shove the book away, just as Ian comes storming into the room with all the dark energy of a thunder cloud.
He rages like a storm. “I’ve been so fucking blind! We all have. Saints, it’s not just the Mark that’s reemerging! You’re dismissed, Miss Rose. I have work to do.”
I startle, my scent bitter with shock.
He softens, but his eyes still crack like lightning, bright and dangerous. “I very much hope I’m wrong. Please, I’d like to speak to Mr. Haley. Would you get him?”
I slowly close the ledger I’d been working through and set it back on the cart before retrieving Marcus from the café.
“Something’s happened,” I say. “Something that has him very upset. He wanted to see you.”
Ian is tugging at his dark hair, his expression thunderous, when we come back into the room. “Haley,” he barks, alpha command slipping into his voice. “Do not let your charge out of your sight unless you’re within the residence wards. Not even for a moment.”
“Professor,” I say, a soft whine to my voice. “What is it?”
His eyes, when they meet mine, are sharp, but sorrowful. “I hope to the fucking saints, I’m wrong, but if I’m not… just promise me you’ll be safe.”
* * *
Rad fallsinto step beside me as I’m climbing the stairs to Saint Guinnette’s library on my way to Peer Advising, his hand going to the back of my neck, squeezing until I’m sure I’ll bruise.
I send Marcus a quick shake of my head, because I can handle Andrew Radcliffe if all we’re doing is talking. Even if his hand at my neck makes me want to vomit.
I duck my head and look up at the alpha through my lashes and for the first time, I smile upon seeing him. Because Andrew Radcliffe got the absolutepissbeaten out of him sometime after the New Year and before the start of term. He’s covered in bruises, just like the ones he’s leaving on my delicate skin as he glares down at me. His brow is split, held together by magical tape, and his right eye is still swollen. His face is a mottled mess of black, blue, purple, and green, surrounded by sickly yellow where more bruises have already healed.
