Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
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.
I press my fingers to my cheek, vaguely aware my thigh is burning from hot coffee as I stumble through bodies, scanning the room.
No one is freaking out. They just sit there deathly fucking still.
I’m literally the only one not stuck on stupid.
Creed’s laughter rings out and I freeze, looking to him.
He shakes his head. “Immune to my control, Little London,” he says.
I blink when he appears directly in front of me.
My heart leaps into my throat as his eyes begin to change, growing cloudy like his brother’s had, until there is nothing left but a marbly white, the pupils nowhere to be seen.
He cocks his head. “What are you hiding?”
I inch backward and he keeps coming up the stairs, the entire room oblivious to the two of us, still spun in their seats, staring at one another.
“What am I hiding?” A humorless, panicky laugh leaves me. “What the fuck are you people hiding?” I run a few feet, almost at the door, but I whip around when I feel the heat of his body, my legs locking once again when suddenly he’s right fucking there. “What the hell are you?!”