Once again, all eyes returned to the hockey player in our mostly fangirl midst, and I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d get out of being put on the spot by Clara Quinn herself.
“You are correct,” he confessed. “I am never reading any of the ‘Seasons of the Fae’ books.”
There wasn’t one look of surprise to be had around the table.
“Then why are you taking this class?” She squinted. “Please tell me you’re not one of those walking stereotypes who believe taking a course like this is an easy way to meet girls.”
“You are correct,” he answered with a careless shrug, and a collective gasp went up that he’d boldly admit his ulterior motives.
But then he frowned and said, “Sorry, that is not correct wording. English is my third language.”
Artyom sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Youwerecorrect--this is what I mean to say. You were correct when you said you were robbed of Hugo.The Galaxy at the Universe’s Endis my favorite book by you, Ms. Quinn. And I wonder to myself often when you will finish thisseries.”
Instead of looking annoyed this time, Clara Quinn’s lips twisted into a pleased smile. “That book’s my personal favorite, too. But unfortunately, the publishing powers only want Fae books from me. That’s what sells these days.”
She heaved a weary sigh, then turned to the heavily pierced brown-skinned woman with a curly neon-green mohawk sitting on the other side of Artyom.
“And you, young lady? Let me guess,The Autumn Fae?”
“Hell yeah!” the co-ed answered, throwing up devil horns—probably to represent the underworld Fae villain who became the unexpected hero of Book 2, only to die more tragically than a sincereGame of Thronescharacter in Book 3.
Without thinking about it, I glanced at Artyom to see how he was reacting to everyone in the class preferring Clara Quinn’s Fae books to her sci-fi adventures—at least, I meant to shoot him a quick look. My eyes crashed right into his, and I found myself magnetized by his malevolent gray gaze.
He hated me, and judging from his stone-cold expression, he wanted me to know it.
The realization hit like a punch to the gut, and my stomach churned with the weight of my guilt. Of course, he hated me. After everything that happened in Berlin, he had every right to. I’d tried to drug him. And worse, I had accepted his tenderness—his kindness—only to bolt like a coward, leaving no explanation in my wake. The thought of it sent a nauseating pang of shame ricocheting through me.
The rest of the students’ responses faded into the background, and the next two hours were an excruciating frying pan of anxiety. I didn’t dare to look Artyom’s way again, but I couldfeel his gaze sweeping over me like a brand, searing his silent condemnation into my skin.
Was it normal to actually feel it when someone disliked you? I’d spent my entire life trying to be a people-pleaser, so I wouldn’t have known until now.
Until Artyom Rustanov.
What felt like years later, Clara Quinn finally dismissed us with a dire warning that she’d consider it a personal insult against both herself and her hero, Octavia Butler, if any of us came in next Tuesday without having finishedDawn.
“See you next Tuesday,” Artyom said with an amused sneer.
My heart stuttered as a terrible suspicion flickered to life.No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
“Did you…?” I shook my head, struggling to reconcile my growing suspicion with the part of me that always assumed I wasn’t worth that much attention. “Did you take this class just to fuck with me? Because of what happened in Berlin?”
Instead of answering, Artyom just stood up. Then he sauntered out of the classroom, casually, as if he hadn’t just completely wrecked the first day of the class I’d been so looking forward to—so obviously on purpose!
Anger surged hot and fast, erasing the guilt that had weighed me down just moments ago. Before I could think better of it, I raced to catch up with him in the hallway, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“What the hell, Artyom?” I had to jog to keep up with his long stride, and I cursed myself for already breaking my New Year’s resolution to go to the gym more often. I was breathless by thetime I followed up with, “What do you think you’re doing, just showing up in my seminar? Is this, like, some kind of head game you’re trying to play with me?”
He didn’t answer, just walked even faster toward the building’s outer doors.
But I refused to let him get away with this. I was so confused and pissed at that point, I was perfectly willing to chase him out of the building if that’s what it took to get my answers.
“And did you have anything to do with what happened to Julz’s arm?” I demanded, running to keep up with him just as he reached the door. “Because if you did, that’s so messed?—”
Instead of reaching for the door’s push handle, he body-checked me into a small alcove I hadn’t even noticed when I first walked into the building.
Suddenly, I had a cold, narrow window at my back and an even icier Artyom Rustanov at my front. “Did you really think there would be no consequences for your actions? You are fucking me over, Lydia.”
He placed a hand on the wall on either side of my head, trapping me against the window. “You are fucking me over so Paul Carrington can win some bet. How are you thinking this school year will go after that?”
