Page 84 of Dirty Little Saint

Riot tilts his head to the side in that way that he does to appear warm and inviting. It’s rare so I enjoy witnessing it when it happens. It’s like his soul isn’t completely black after all. “Do you have everything you need here, Felix? I want you to feel at home.”

Felix smooths his hands over his poetry book again. “It’s better than the graveyard,” he teases.

I laugh. “How are your students reacting to you?”

“Well, some of them started eye-fucking me even harder. And others won’t look at me at all. Maureen sits as far away from me as possible to avoid the gossip, but it’s already out there. The only other professor who will acknowledge me in the faculty lounge is Dorian Harker.”

It didn’t take long for students to spot Felix coming out of Nocturnus House. And then there’s the new sigils on his neck… he’s not really a turtleneck-wearing kind of guy. Rumors spread like wildfire in this place. Everyone knows he’s one of us now.

Riot snorts. “I’d expect nothing less. Harker’s got some skeletons of his own. He’s got no business judging you. Fuck the others. No offense, Val, but your uncle has about as much charm as a plank of wood.”

He’s right about that. “True. But he’s mostly keeping his distance because of us, not you, Felix. If anyone’s watching him, they need to see that he can be trusted with information from the elders. Hanging out with us is not going to do him any favors.”

Felix nods. “Makes sense. Now, I don’t feel so bad about him slighting me.”

While I lack human empathy mostly, I can’t help but feel sorry for Felix. He came here on a whim with hearts in his eyes, got dragged into a feud between psychos, and quickly became the talk of all of Tenebrose for sleeping with a student, who now barely gives him the time of day.

“Be patient with our firecracker,” Riot quips as if reading my mind. He probably actually fucking can now at this point.

“She likes impulsive gestures,” I add. “Try a different approach.”

Felix gets up from the table. “Thanks. I’ll work on it.” He winks and heads upstairs. Now that guy is full of fucking charm. I’d drop my pants for him in a second if he asked me to. I can only imagine how he is in the classroom getting all passionate about poetry and fated mates and shit.

Riot snickers. “I can smell your desire from over here, Val. He’s got you wound up a bit.”

I tug at my collar in jest. “Fuck, who doesn’t wanna be scolded by a hot brooding professor.”

He nods in agreement. “I guess he’s got us all wound up. Especially Maur. She’s going to need to lean on his power.”

“She will. I saw the way she looked at him after he stopped her meltdown in the church. She trusts him. But I think that scares her.”

Maureen is our firecracker, our dark queen, but she’s also a twenty-five-year-old girl with an abusive mother, a grandmother who abandoned her, and a drunk for a father. She’s stronger than she once was, but she still holds onto that scared little girl. The one who ran for her life through the woods last year in Wickford Hollow. The girl who Riot found half-naked and broken in the bathroom.

Riot nods again. “He has a way with her.”

We’re her cage. Her ruin. But that’s what she craves. Felix gives her too much space. If he can figure out how to lock a piece of himself inside her, then she will give him everything. I just hope it happens soon. We’re gonna need his bond when we crash the elders’ party. It’s going to take all of us to win.

Maureen

There’s something about spring that makes everything seem less tragic. The shadows shrink back a bit, revealing new growth and light. I can’t help smiling as I walk across campus, drinking in the sight of new violets pushing up between the cracks in the walkways, basking in the scent of the bougainvillea winding around the iron spires as it creeps up the stone walls of Tenebrose.

I wish I could bottle it up and give it to Villette as a peace offering. Every time I look at Felix, I think of how much she hates me. It breaks my heart over and over again. I need her to forgive me. To be my friend again. With Libra still out galivanting somewhere and Bailey thousands of miles away, Villette is—was—my only friend here. And with all the shit that’s coming our way, I need her more than ever.

My stomach knots as I enter the black church, taking away all the hope of spring and new beginnings I felt on the walk over. It’s the last week of classes before the summer break, but I wish I could skip it all. Every single one of my classmates either hates me or fears me. Especially the redhead and her posse of pick-me girls. All anyone can talk about these days is how I manipulated a professor into fucking me and joining Nocturnus. Ugh.

I take my usual seat in the last pew where I don’t have to feel their eyes burning holes in the back of my head. And I can be far enough away from Felix so that it’s more difficult for people to see the fire between us.

I know he can feel me pulling away. And I hate it. But ever since the night of his initiation, I’ve been racked with guilt. I’m ruining his fucking life. He should have stayed in Ever Graves, far away from our depravity and violence. Then Villette and I would still be friends, and he would be an esteemed and respected professor somewhere else. Some place where ravens aren’t trying to attack his students.

“Good morning, everyone. We’re going to read something different today. It’s a poem that I wrote.” He hands a boy in the first pew a stack of papers. “Please take one and pass it back.”

My heart races. Of course, he writes poetry. The man is obsessed with it. I should have asked him before. I’m suddenly overcome with a need to read his work. To climb inside his mind and sit for a while.

There’s an echo of excitement, oohs, and aahs as the stack of papers gets thinner on its way back to me.

My fingers tremble slightly as I hold it. I don’t look down yet. I want to hear the words from his lips.

Once the shuffling of papers stops, he takes a deep breath and wipes a bead of sweat off his brow. “I don’t usually do this, but someone told me there’s joy that can be found in impulsive gestures.”

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