Thorn scoffs. “Because saying that you’re regularly gang-banged by two shifters and a vampiredefinitelydiscounts the ‘whore’ accusation.”
My face heats. “I don’t get gang-banged!”
“So they take turns?” Gemma’s eyes glitter like emeralds bathing in sunlight. “At least tell me so thatIcan be the one to imagine it. You won’t mind if it’s me, will you?”
My plan—albeit, not very thought out—has completely backfired. Someone brushes their fingertips along the curve of my neck, their touch cool against the burn warming my skin. I tip my head back to find Revyn staring longingly at my flesh, his half-lidded eyes pinpointing the exact spot he once bit.
Our eyes meet, and his rugged beauty steals the air from my lungs, like he’s done a thousand times before. I quickly tear my gaze away and clear my throat. That rogue silver streak in his hair—the one I love—has fallen over his eyes, and I clamp my hand around Gemma’s wrist to resist the urge to brush it back.
“There’s nothing to imagine. I’m not sleeping with any of them.”
Technically.
“Right, because sleeping next door to Alistair Dire is hard enough without having orgasmic sex with the bastard, too.”
I nearly crush Gemma’s manicured toes, their tips a soft jade peeking out of her sandals, as I trip over my own feet. “How doyou know he’s next door?” A flicker of panic that someone saw us on the balcony jolts my heart. I pointedly ignore Callum’s hand at my elbow as he steadies me for our descent into the next lecture hall for Hardwicke’s class. Everything in this castle is built on slopes, with this classroom being no exception with its unforgiving forty-five degree inline from one row of seats to the next.
“Please.” Gemma pulls me into the seat beside her and drapes her legs over the bench below ours. Crossing her ankles, she spreads her dress delicately across her thighs. “I’m a witch, remember? We gossip more than the gulls on the beach. I bet I knew he was your neighbor before you did.” She hands me a leather notebook and a thin stick of writing charcoal from her bag. “Here. You take notes better than I do.”
That’s not true at all. I scrounge for discarded or abandoned scraps of paper every time we study together in the library, and I’ve not once brought a notebook in class.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she fusses, arranging the notebook and charcoal in my lap for me. “You always look so frantic when we study. This way, you won’t embarrass me anymore.”
If I weren’t so moved by her kindness, I might take offense to that comment. Overwhelming gratitude brings silly tears to my eyes. I blink them away and wrap Gemma in a one-armed hug. “Thank you.”
Hardwicke begins class as soon as the hour is set, today’s lesson focusing on our performance in the Mating Games, just as Aesir’s lesson had not an hour prior. “You cannot hope to find a mate if you cannot attract one,” Hardwicke announces to the room with a disappointed shake of her head. “Aesir tells me that your combat prowess leaves much to be desired, but I’ve seen the holos of your interactions with each other outside of combat. They are equally as alarming.”
Thorn scoffs. “What, are we getting lessons on courtship, now?”
“Precisely.” Hardwicke nods to confirm his statement. “And you, Thorn Mason, should not be seated in this classroom. Or shall I tell the headmaster that you’d like to repeat your first-year lessons?”
No one in their right mind would repeat an entire year’s worth of study?—
“I’d appreciate it, Professor. Thank you.”
Gemma turns to glare at him in the same moment Hardwicke scowls. “Request denied. Get back to your second-year studies, Mr. Mason, and leave Miss Rose to her own.”
Thorn bristles as he stands, not challenging Professor Hardwicke but clearly not happy about it, regardless. “See you after class, Gem.”
She ignores him, but I watch Thorn leave, curious about his increased attachment to her. Once Hardwicke continues the lesson, I lean into Gemma’s side. “Why is he so clingy today?”
“Hells if I know.” Gemma purses her lips. “Actually, I think he’s angry that he’s the sibling stuck babysitting me, but I never asked him to! He’s just—gods, he’s suffocating sometimes.”
Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder at Revyn, I murmur back, “I know the feeling.”
Although Revyn and I are ex-lovers with a complicated relationship. Gemma and Thorn are—what, exactly? Close siblings? Friends? More than that?
I bite my lip to keep from asking her while we’re in public. I’ll have to steal her away soon to get the full details of their relationship. She may not want a mate for reasons I have yet to riddle out of her, but Thorn definitely has more than friendship on his mind.
“He’s trying to protect you,” Callum interjects, his voice as soft as his statement. “Do not be angry with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Gemma snaps, twisting in her seat to glare at Callum. “Did I invite you into myprivateconversation?”
Professor Hardwicke claps her hands loudly, interrupting us and simultaneously gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “Unlike shifters, who tend to mate with their own species,” she continues from whatever lesson she’s attempting to give, “witches are free to mate withallmagical races on account of their receptive genetics. Witches are perfect conduits for any number of magics, which is why they’ve survived as long as they have. Adaptability breeds survivability.” Leveling Gemma with a stern look, she gestures for her to come to the front. “Gemma Rose, if you’d join me at the front, please.”
Oh gods.
Gemma curses under her breath but plasters on a smile as she stands. “Of course, Professor.” Carefully navigating the rows of seats, she weaves through the other students to the front of the room. Once there, she clasps her hands behind her back. “Would you like for me to demonstrate my magics?”
