Page 12 of Depraved

A little voice in my head tells me I’m a hypocrite for haranguing him for his duplicity; I’ve concealed my true identity, too.

The difference is that he looked me up. He dug into my private life without permission, and he became fixated on me in a way I never knew.

He’s in love with me.

I crave the man I’ve come to know since moving to York, Rand, but I don’t know him nearly well enough to truly love him.

The imbalance is unsettling.

His utter devotion was obvious in every desperate word he said yesterday.

The only thing that scares me more than his obsession is how much I want to accept his promise of unconditional support.

“Hey, Lena.”

I jolt when Amala speaks to me. I didn’t notice that she’s occupying the seat beside me.

“Are you okay?” Her large eyes search my face, easily reading my turmoil.

I anxiously twirl a lock of hair around my finger, hating that I have to lie to my friend. “I didn’t sleep well. I think the stress is getting to me.”

“You spend too much time at the library,” she admonishes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for a study buddy, but you need to have a little fun sometimes. Will you come out with me tonight?”

I suppress a cringe. The last thing I feel like is dancing.

“I don’t know,” I equivocate. “I have so much reading to do. And I want to write a chapter of the book I’m working on.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh yeah, your novel! I almost forgot you want to be an author when you finish our course. Will you tell me about it? What’s the genre?”

“Romantic fantasy. But it’s very much a work in progress.”

“That’s amazing!” she enthuses, refusing to allow me to downplay my creative passion. “I love romance novels. We should compare our TBRs. Just one drink at the pub, nothing crazy. Please?”

She’s far kinder than I deserve, considering how I’ve kept her at a distance ever since we met. I can’t keep rebuffing every invitation to socialize.

And I could use a friend, even if I can’t tell her anything about my complicated life.

Talking about books is a safe enough subject.

“Okay,” I agree, offering her a weak smile. “But I’ll need to get an early night. I really am tired.”

She beams at me. “We don’t have to go to a pub. There’s a dessert bar that’s open into the evening. We could get cheesecake. I’ll bring my eReader.”

It sounds so wholesome that my eyes sting with gratitude. I blink quickly before my frayed emotions overwhelm me.

“That sounds wonderful. Thanks.”

“We can make a plan after class.” She covers her mouth and says in an undertone, “Professor Arsehole looks particularly moody today.”

My head whips around, and I find Rand staring at me as though I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

I shrink back in my seat as his intense attention presses down on me like a tangible force.

He notes my diminished posture, grimaces, and tears his gaze away.

Class crawls by, and even though I can’t help hanging on to his every word, nothing he says about Viking history sticks in my mind. I’m completely fixated on him, studying the way his massive body shifts in his tweed jacket. Those sleeves are covering the tattoos of my face.

By the time his lecture is mercifully over, I’ve only scrawled a few unintelligible notes. If I continue like this, I’ll fail my course.