Page 3 of Irrevocably

It’s very difficult to resist Rowan when she’s in one of her insistent moods, but I try anyway, since I’ve got far too many other things to do. “Ro, I’d love to come, but Dad⁠—”

“No,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “I will not be taking any refusals at this time. The only acceptable answer is ‘yes, Rowan, I’d love to come’ period.”

Shit. I need to finish my English assignment tonight, because it’s due in a couple of days, as is the one I need to do for chemistry.

The balloon inside me begins to inflate again, an insistent pressure against my lungs that makes my chest constrict, so I focus on the cut on my wrist, using the dull ache to equalise things.

“Ro, I⁠—”

“Please.” She gives me puppy dog eyes. “Mike is going to be there, and I need a wing-woman.”

Mike is the guy she’s currently pursuing, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t actually need a wing-woman, but she’s my friend and I don’t want to let her down. Besides, she’ll nag at me until I say yes, and I’m already too tired of my own internal nagging to put up with hers as well.

It’s just one night. I can do the assignment afterwards. Sleep is for the weak.

“Okay,” I say, hoping the reluctance doesn’t show in my voice. “Yes, Rowan, I’d love to come.”

Rowan grins. “Excellent. I’ll drive. I’ll come by yours at eight.”

“Where are we going?”

“A party.” She glances down at her watch then curses and starts backing away. “Eight p.m., Astrid.”

“What kind of party?” I have to throw the question at her retreating back since it’s clear that I’m not the only one who’s having issues with punctuality.

“An amazing one,” she tosses over her shoulder before disappearing into one of the lecture halls.

It won’t be amazing. It will be loud and awkward, and I’ll spend most of it thinking about all the other stuff I have to do instead of enjoying myself. But I’ve said I’d go now, and I’m someone who keeps their promises.

I’ve got a shelving shift in the afternoon, and normally I like my shifts. It’s quiet in the library, and doing a good job is easy. All I have to do is put books on shelves in the right place and in the right order, nothing too stressful, but the prospect of the party is making my chest tighten up again.

Come on, you’re in college. Live a little.

I can’t afford to live a little, though. Not yet. I’ll live once I have a degree under my belt and an MD after my name, and Dad notices that while he might have lost his wife, he still has a daughter.

I’m pushing the book cart around the end of one shelf, thinking about how I’m going to handle this party, when the cart stops dead, as if I’ve pushed it up against a brick wall.

I jerk my attention from my ruminations, focusing ahead of me and see that to my horror, I’ve pushed the cart not against a wall, but a person.

Shit.

“Oh, my God,” I say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t⁠—”

“Again?” The voice is deep, dark and very male. Familiar, too. “That’s the second time today.”

My horror deepens as I process just who I’ve run my cart into.

Blue eyes. Inky hair. Dressed in black. Beautiful…

My breath catches. He has his hands on the other end of the cart, his long fingers curled around the edge, showing off the tattoos inked into his skin. Arcane symbols on each finger while roses and skulls climb the back of each hand.

It’s the guy that I ran into earlier. The guy who picked up my damn tampon and handed it to me.

My face gets hot and I try to think of a witty comeback – any comeback, really – but all the thoughts have vanished from my brain, crushed beneath the pressure of his cold stare.

He lifts one black brow, apparently waiting for me to speak, but my voice isn’t working. In the corridor I sensed something dark about him, and I sense the same thing now, a violent aura that scares me on some fundamental level.

This man isn’t the hero of the story. He’s the villain.