Page 17 of Gift from the Tree

Don’t refer to these strangers as gorgeous.

Forcing my mind back to the task at hand, starting at whiskey eyes number one, his blank stare gives me nothing to go on. I can’t gauge anything from that look, but it commands my attention. While I observe him, he does the same, that intense blankness trying its best to pry into my mind.

His dirty-blond hair is clean and styled, shaved down on the sides, and the longer top is slicked back, not a single hair out of place. Something about the perfection of it makes me want to run my hands through it and mess it all up. My fingers even twitch, and I have to hold them together to stop that fucking absurdity.

He’s a mountain of a man as well, not as large as the green-eyed one, but he isn’t lacking, that’s for sure. I can tell he’s extremely fit by how his light blue suit fits snugly around his biceps where his arms cross over his chest and the barest hint of olive skin peeks out behind the top button that’s undone. When I look back up at his eyes, I swear they’re soft for a millisecond before the blank mask slams back in place.

On to whiskey eyes number two, the look of mistrust in his eyes is so obvious that I struggle to hold his gaze. For some reason, seeing that mistrust hurts. He obviously doesn’t know me enough to hold that level of distaste toward me.

He’s leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets with his foot propped, giving off the vibe that he’d rather be anywhere than here. Unlike whiskey eyes one, his hair isn’t kept, his dirty-blond, more on the darker side, and has a shaggy cut to it. His rugged five-o’clock shadow paired with skin littered with tattoos gives him an air of danger, your typical bad boy, but he has a darkness that calls to the demons in me, like they recognize the ones in him, and that thought fucking petrifies me.

So instead of ogling him like I did the other two, I move on to the crazy that’s currently still lying in the bed with me. His gaze burns into the side of my face, making me all too aware that he’s already looking at me.

His eyes hold humor in them, and the small smirk playing on his face causes me to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling back. Something about him is so inviting and warm, it’s hard not to be pulled in.

Staring into his eyes, I dive into a sea of never-ending cobalt blue. They’re even more striking against his tan skin and auburn hair that’s styled similarly to whiskey eyes one but wilder, freer. The kind of style that looks like it took the whole morning to perfect, but really, he just ran his hands through it a few times. Instead of continuing my tour down his body like I did the others, I meet his stare and smile.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

He responds with a dark laugh and a breathy, “You’re going to be trouble, little wanderer.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Nothing wrong with a little trouble,” he replies, winking at me, causing my face to flush and my mouth to dry out.

“Draken, that’s enough. Maybe introductions should be made before you begin flirting with our guest.” Whiskey eyes one’s voice, deep and just as commanding as his presence, booms through the room, causing me to flinch at the unexpected noise.

Embarrassed at my reaction, I look at Gaster for some help, only having to ask with my eyes. He stands from the bed and clears his throat.

“Of course. The gentleman over there is Tillman. He’s the Lead Instructor of the E.F. teams here on campus, and Leader of the teams on the field,” he says, pointing to the green-eyed giant.

Tillman.

E.F. teams? Like football? That’d make sense. He’s fucking massive.

“Standing there is Caspian.” Mr. Mistrusting eyes. “His role at the academy is more fluid. He does a little of everything. Scholar work, field training, instructing, and…so on.”

Caspian.

“You’ve met Draken. He has no boundaries obviously. He’s still undertaking his studies here at the academy.”

Draken.

“And finally, this is Corentin. He’s the headmaster of the academy.” Gaster finishes the introductions off.

Corentin.

Academy? Is that where we are right now? Why the hell would Gaster bring me to a school?

“Gentlemen, this is Willow.”

At the sound of my name, their eyes whip to me, making me squirm in place. It’s an odd feeling. Usually when I’m receiving this much observation from men, I get a sick feeling in my gut, but their looks don’t make me feel that way. They’ve got different expressions about them that say they’re conflicted about my presence here, all of them tinged fearful, almost. Well, except for Draken. He looks like he’s about to get down on one knee and propose to me.

“Willow, it’s nice to meet you. You must be hungry. I’ll get some food brought up and we’ll discuss what’s going on,” Corentin speaks, drawing all my attention to him. Just like his emotionless mask that sucks me in, when he speaks, I have no other choice but to give him my full attention.

His mentioning of food makes me think about when the last time I ate was. As if on cue, my stomach growls. “That sounds great. Thank you very much.”

He pulls his phone out and begins sending off a message. The tapping of his fingers on the screen is the only sound in the room. When the silence begins to stretch, I drift off in my mind, thinking about the events that’ve played out today or yesterday, whatever day it is. My body and mind are both so exhausted and wired, I feel jittery and dirty all over.

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