From the back of the room, Grey moans, a contented sound, like a baby mewing in a crib.
“You’re welcome!” I call back, yanking the door open and joining the stream of students shuffling through the halls.
I ignore the heads that turn as I hurry down the steps of Harpy Hall and out onto the cobblestones.
I don’t have time for their stares, even if it does make my skin crawl. Trinity Hall, though plainly visible from just about anywhere on campus, is at least a ten-minute walk. And in these shoes, it’s usually fifteen. Between that and the first-years standing stock-stiff in the middle of the walkway, I’m going to be late again.
I shoulder my way around them as they idle in place, blocking the flow of traffic and staring at the clock tower.
If I weren’t in such a rush, I might feel some sympathy for them. It took me an entire term to shake the awful feeling every time the old iron bell rang. Even now, there’s a quiet chill on my arms as I catch the giant eye glaring down at me.
It blinks, blood red and watching, before transforming back into the clock face and displaying the time. But the first-years do not move.
To curry favor with their “watchman,” they are told to hold still if caught outside when the bell rings. It’s a silly superstition that has become more of a tradition than anything else. But tonight, it is nothing more than a nuisance as they wait for the bell to chime its final note before continuing on their way.
I pick up my pace as the crowd starts to move, but I don’t get very far before there’s a dog nipping at my heels.
“Ashbourne!” a voice calls after me.
I don’t slow. Mostly because I don’t have time. The clock tower now reads 11:45 PM. But I also know that voice. He can keep up if he wants to.
“Ashbourne! Wait up!”
Behind me, footsteps quicken, and soon after, a fluffy black tail wraps around my hips, and an arm drapes over my shoulders.
“Are you ignoring me now, princess?”
His arm tightens around me, crushing my face to his chest.
“Ugh!” I wedge my hands between us and push him off. “I’m late, Cross. I don’t have time for your baseless flirting.”
“Baseless?”
He feigns offense, clutching his pearls, which, in his case, is a string of silver chains and pendants wrapped around a leather choker with the Cross family crest engraved in the center.
“Baby,” he coos. “You insult me. You know you’re my favorite succubus.”
His head juts into my line of sight, a slick grin spread across his face.
I promptly shove it aside.
“Every succubus is your favorite succubus. And I told you to stop calling me that.”
He shrugs off my rejection.
“That’s not true. I only have room in my heart for one.”
I groan as his arm comes back around me.
I might be flattered by those pretty words if they weren’t coming from Elliot Cross, Highcrest campus playboy and resident Crescent man-whore.
From the tip of his tail to the top of his ears, Elliot is almost 6’6.” A height I can’t even match in my platforms. Add in his midnight complexion, face full of piercings, and glittering smile, and he’s undoubtedly the finest thing lurking around this campus. Unfortunately for all of us, he’s fully aware of this. Which means he also flirts with anything that moves.
If you’re smart, you give him a ‘No’ and a ‘Goodbye.’ Preferably in that order.
But four years in, it’s a bit late for that.
I let out a heavy sigh.
