Bastian takes a step toward me, and that’s when—centuries too late—I realize that there’s no way I can win this fight. Not with strength. Not with violence. He’s bigger, faster, meaner. If he wants to hurt me, there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
I should be terrified.
“Get up,” he grates.
I plant my palm against the floor, forcing myself upright. My legs are shaking, but I refuse to cower.
“Want to make sure you don’t leave any witnesses behind?” I mutter, although fuck knows where I get the courage.
“He’ll live.” Bastian spits blood onto the stone. “But he’ll wish he hadn’t when I’m done with you two.”
“Fuck you.”
He smiles. It’s grotesque—all that blood turning his teeth pink, those gouges on his face still weeping.
“You drew blood.” He sounds almost impressed. “No one’s done that in a long time.”
“Not even Melissa?”
He pauses in the act of fingering his lip, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. “She came at me with a fire poker, actually.”
“Good for her,” I say, shuffling back a step when he comes closer. “Pity she didn’t kill you, though. Would have been doing the world a favor.”
“Careful, girl,” he murmurs, slowing his movements like he’s trying to approach a skittish animal he plans to trap. “Or have you forgotten I can put Kai away for years just like—” he snaps his fingers “—that.”
Resignation weighs down on me at his words.
The dean made it pretty fucking clear just how much influence Bastian has at the college. I assume the same could be said of every other organization in this town—law enforcement included.
We could have sent Bastian to jail weeks ago…if Kai hadn’t deleted the video off his phone. If Bastian hadn’t forced him to—because I know Kai wouldn’t have done it willingly.
Now the only ammo we have against our professor would be our word against his. And in a game of ‘he said, she said’, someone like Bastian will always win.
He notices my surrender, head tilting as he takes another slow step forward.
“Now that you’re done showing me your claws, I’m going to need you to spread your legs for me like the desperate little whore we both know you are.”
My face burns, but my cunt clenches.
I fucking hate him.
But I hate myself more.
“Wait. Just—just wait.” I hold up my hands, palms out, like I’m somehow going to stop the goddamn monstrosity that is Bastian Rooke. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk?” he scoffs. “You want to talk? After you fucking attacked me?”
“You were going to kill him!”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He says it so glibly, it knocks the air out of my lungs. I get machismo, but this isn’t Bastian proving how tough he is. Killing Kai literally wouldn’t mean a thing to him.
What about killing me? Would he be just as offhand about it?
I can’t believe that.
Or maybe I just don’t want to.
“But he—he’s your—“ I choke on the word. What is Kai to Bastian? A victim? A plaything? An annoyance?
