“Sounds as if you are mistaken,” I said, fighting back a smile.
She groaned and dropped her forehead into her hands, her voice muffled. “I cannotbelieveI have to studythiswith you being so. . . so insistently annoying.”
“I will find motivation to maintain alertness throughout this activity.” I let my voice take on a professorial tone, deliberately invoking dry academic language. “As I was growing rather bored waiting on you to finish your futile attempt at escape.”
“Don’t be an ass.” She lifted her head, and despite her scowl, I caught the ghost of a smile. “But that’s actually a decent way to describe the Yerkes-Dodson principle.”
I smirked. “I know. Shall I continue explaining arousal theory’s application to our current situation?”
“Talking about your arousal?” She flushed deeper, the color spreading down her throat into places the darkness in me craved. “I’d rather not, but since you seem well-informed, let’s discuss Yerkes-Dodson properly.”
“With pleasure.” I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table.
“Please. . . just don’t.” But she was smiling now despite herself, her eyes sparking with reluctant amusement.
I laughed, the sound carrying across the quiet courtyard.This, I thought.This is what I’ve been missing.
Not the physical proximity, though I craved that too. But the verbal sparring, the intellectual challenge, the way she met me word for word and refused to back down, even when I clearly had more knowledge on the subject.
We spent the next two hours dissecting theories of motivation and emotion, her asking questions and me providing explanations that ranged from textbook accurate to deliberately provocative. By the time we finished, her notebook was covered in notes and diagrams, and the tension in her shoulders had eased into something approaching relaxation.
Small victories I cherished, given the tension in the school.
The school’s murder remained unsolved despite the heavy police presence that had transformed the campus into something approaching a surveillance state. Officers patrolled in pairs, their uniforms dark blue and official, their expressions projecting competence they didn’t possess. Students felt the weight of their presence—conversations quieting when cruisers rolled past, movements becoming more cautious, more contained.
It was a false sense of safety.Security theaterdesigned to comfort rather than protect.
I had been meticulously careful to avoid the police during my evening reconnaissance after dropping Violet at her dorm. I’d spent hours scouring the grounds for clues the authorities might either miss or—morelikely—overlook as a clue entirely. After all, the police were looking for a human suspect and wouldn’t even notice anything that would have suggested a supernatural explanation.
Since my meeting with the vampyress in her oak tree sanctuary, I had not encountered her again. But the fragment of information she’d provided was enough to confirm my suspicions that something beyond mortal evil had taken that student’s life.
Last night’s scouting had given me time to learn the campus geography with intimate detail. Every building, every path, every shadowed alcove. Even the stables where Violet rode had become familiar territory after Aaron confirmed my relationship with her through Levi.
I had been genuinely surprised when Levi gave his blessing for me to access the equestrian facilities. Surprised and grateful, two feelings I was unaccustomed to feeling towards him. Little did Levi suspect that those moments watching Violet ride Hyacinth had become something I looked forward to with an intensity that should have concerned me. How her body moved in perfect synchronization with the horse, the way her face transformed by genuine peace and joy—it was the only time she ever seemed to be truly at ease. The sight tightened something in my throat every time.
Despite the short time, somehow we’d fallen into something approaching comfortable silence around each other. Close proximity would do that, I supposed. It was as if we were both studying each other intimately without wanting the other to know. We’d learned each other’s rhythms, our tolerances, the precise moments to speak and when to simply exist side by side.
Still, our tempers flared from time to time.
Such as right now,I thought, staring at her plump round ass walking away from me.
“I need you to lay the fuck off, Rowan!” Her voice echoed in the stone corridor as she rushed from the communal showers back towards her dorm, her hair damp and smelling of expensive floral shampoo I unconsciously smelled for, her shower caddy clutched against her chest like a shield. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and shorts that hugged her ass in ways that made my hand twitch.
It was nearly eight p.m., and students were beginning to settle for the night, mindful of the ten o'clock curfew that hung over campus like a guillotine blade. Doors closed. Voices lowered. The building took on that particular quiet of enforced containment.
“Go home, for fuck’s sake!”
“I plan to,” I said, matching her pace easily despite her attempts to outdistance me. “But I thought you wanted to grab dinner before I left—"
“I can walk one hundred yards to the cafe, Rowan!” She whirled on me, and I saw genuine distress beneath her anger. Her eyes were too bright, her breathing elevated beyond what the short walk warranted.
She was upset, and I could not determine why. We’d had a pleasant enough day—studying together, walking between her classes, sharing a quiet lunch where she’d actually laughed at something I’d said.
“People are going to start thinking things if you keep walking me all the way to my room,” she said, her voice dropping lower as two girls passed us in the hallway, their curious eyes taking in our proximity.
Oh. Really?
“What kind of things, Violet?” I kept my voice neutral, genuinely curious what assumptions bothered her enough to trigger this reaction.
