Trevor’s hand wraps around my bicep. Something explodes behind my ribs, causing my chest to jerk, but I swallow beyond it, yanking against his hold.
He’s relentless. His lip curls up. “Do you really think some trust fund kids think you’re worth any more than an easy lay?”
“As long as they think I’m a good one.” I manage to tear myself from his arm, shoving his chest slightly for messing around, and hurrying in the café doors.
A gust of wind comes out of nowhere, flows in behind me, blowing my hair in my face, and I swear it acts as a tornado, yet soft as it whirls around me once. The tension leaves my body instantly, and I spin around to see if Trevor’s following, and my jaw drops at the sight.
Trevor is on his knees, blood pouring down his face, his nose busted and split open, but there’s no one around.
Moments after I notice, others begin to as well, and people rush to his aid.
My brows pull and I step up to the glass door, pressing my hand against it as I stare, my mind reeling, and then heat presses back at my palm, warmth wrapping around my fingers and down my arm until it penetrates beyond my skin.
My stomach erupts with a million little lightning bugs, their wings tickling and teasing from within, and a small smile forms on my lips before I can stop it.
When I lower my hand, my print slowly fades from the glass, but as I take a step back, a larger one stares back at me.
I suck in a sharp breath, pressing my hand to my chest. My eyes flick beyond it, to find Trevor being carried away by a campus cart, and when I look back, the print is gone.
Suddenly, I’m hit with a crippling wave of loneliness.
It’s irrational, yes, but it’s real. Strong.
Unsettling.
I need my fucking coffee.
You would think a basic psychology class would, at the very least, be entertaining, only it’s nothing but lecture after lecture of an old man voicing his opinion rather than anything else, so to say I’m dreading the hour and fifty minutes of nonsense is an understatement.
I decide to down an extra shot of espresso at the café to help settle my nerves. So what I am looking forward to doing is slowly sipping on my extra-large, hot latte and getting lost in the nutty, sweet flavor, while ignoring every word spoken by the middle-aged man who needs to stop dying his hair by himself. At this rate, I’ll be kicked out of the university before next semester. I’m going to have to suck it up and ask Ben for some hardcore tutoring if I want to have even the slimmest of chances in meeting the bare minimum allowed GPA required to keep the scholarship I somehow landed here. Honestly, that’s probably the biggest accomplishment I’ll ever reach, and that’s pathetic.
Lowering onto my seat, I kick my boot out in hopes that no one will decide to sit in front of me; but even though I choose the very last row at the very top of the auditorium-style seating, nearly all the way against the wall, it doesn’t work, and some guy drops into the chair. Why? I don’t know. He’s wearing glasses, and while my vision is damn good, even I can hardly make out the lines of a man sitting at the desk below.
It doesn’t take long for all the students to arrive, and then the doors slam closed, our professor pushing to his feet with his nifty little headset that looks like it belonged to a telemarketer fifteen years ago.
“Today, we’ll be going over chapters fourteen to seventeen, so please pull out your notes and—”
He’s cut off when the door nearest him is thrown open, and I nearly choke on my drink at the man who walks inside.
I jerk upright, lowering my paper cup to the small tray beside me, my eyes flicking all around the room, searching every other entrance and snapping back up front, over and over again.
None other than what I guess is the oldest brother, Creed is his name , saunters over to the professor with an air of confidence no man, especially one as hot as him, should possess.
The professor looks annoyed, moving forward and with jerky steps, but then he holds his movements all at once. I watch Creed closely as his lips move, and the professor’s spine straightens.
Creed lowers his chin, and the professor walks around him…straight out the door.
I sit back slowly, sinking lower and lower into my seat, hoping maybe if I make myself small or hit the ground completely, he won’t see me, but then his eyes slice up, locking with mine.
My throat runs dry, but I try to hide the way my limbs begin to shake by lifting my coffee and sitting firm in my seat.
On the outside, I hope I look completely unaffected, almost annoyed by his presence. If the way his lips curl to one side tells me anything, I’m not fooling anyone.
Well, not fooling the guy who may or may not be a mythical being of some sort.
If they are magic, what could they be?
“Welcome,” Creed’s deep voice booms across the lecture hall, despite his lack of a microphone. “I will be leading the class today.”
Unease wraps around me, but I can’t deny the way I perk up. I guess since there is no hiding, I’m all for this little visit, even if I’m almost sure it has a fuck ton to do with little old me.
“Everyone face forward. I want your eyes on mine.” He walks closer toward the rows of students, very slowly looking from one seat to the next. He doesn’t skip a single soul, and when his eyes reach me, he winks.
My throat runs dry and I wait until he turns away to swallow.
“I am not here,” he says. “You’re in Psychology 101, which is a pathetic excuse for a class, in my opinion, but we won’t get into that.” My jaw drops, and I look around, but no one else seems to be reacting to his shitty words, so I focus on him once again.
His dark hair is combed and styled, but intending to look a little messy. I can’t see his scar from here, but I know he has one just over his eye. His jeans fit him well, as does the dark hoodie he wears, the sleeves pushed up almost to his elbows, and I remember the way his veins are pronounced on his long forearms from when he cornered me at the party.
The party with floating fucking people, and floating fires and—
Wait.
Fae dust.
Holy fucking shit! FAE DUST?!
Like, actually Fae??
I’m instantly picturing these beautiful beings with colorful makeup and wings, and I’m probably so far off it’s insane. But I mean, is it really far off when two days ago I would have sworn they were nothing but a fairy-tale creature from FernGully, or are fairies and Fae not the same?
Jesus fucking Christ, am I seriously searching for logic here?
The friend, Silver, he seemed odd when he saw me with it, almost shocked it was in my hands.
Was I not supposed to touch it?
Was it supposed to be hidden?
“Hold your left arm up,” Creed demands and every hand in the room lifts into the air. “If you are in an even numbered row, turn around and face the person behind you.”
All at once, bodies twist in their seats, hands still lifted in the air like a bunch of fucking weirdos.
The kid in front of me spins, and my eyes narrow on him as his are blown wide, unblinking.
“Slap them,” Creed instructs.
My head jerks up. “What the fuck?”
A cold hand comes down across my cheek and I jolt to my feet, my gaze flying around as the sound of flesh smacking against flesh rings out in unison, catching heads whipping to the side as these people do exactly as they are told.