Page 22 of Of Bone and Ash

He’s a rabbit shifter.

“T-two doors down on the l-left side of the hall,” he stutters, and I nod, stepping back so I don't terrify him more than I already have.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and give him a small smile before I rush out of the classroom and jerk to a halt. There are no students in the hall; no one is rushing toward a classroom. I glance down at my phone and curse. I’m five minutes late to class. “Fucking hell,” I growl as I stride for the closed classroom door and slowly open it, hoping I can sneak in without anyone noticing.

Wrapping my hand around the cold brass knob, I slowly press the heavy wooden door open and step inside the dimly lit classroom, only to jerk to a stop when an angry pair of brown eyes clash with mine. Almost like a magnet, my eyes stay locked with his, my magic flickering to life as we stare at each other. My mind spins, and every damn thought leaves my brain as I stare at him. There is something familiar about this guy—something about the magic lingering around him that sets my teeth on edge and makes me feel like something is out of place.

A look of confusion flickers across his beautiful face as my magic curls around my fingertips. My eyes widen in shock, and I immediately yank it back into me, but the damage is already done. The man’s confusion slowly melts to anger as he stares at me, and I have to force myself to look away when he takes a step back, putting distance between us.

Okay… so not a fan of Reapers. Not that I should be surprised. This is a common reaction to my presence. Wait. What the hell? Why do I care what this douche thinks of me?

“And you are?” the man asks before I have a moment to look around. The only thing I know is that this damn door leads to the front of the classroom, not the back, and I can feel at least a dozen or more pairs of eyes on me.

Looking up, my eyes immediately fall on Adam’s bright red hair as he sits up straight at his desk, a worried look in his eyes as he glances between the man and me. He then jerks his head to the empty desk next to him, his eyes widening as if to say, ‘Move your ass.’

I take a step forward, wanting the attention currently on me gone, when a snapping noise makes me pause and turn back to the man. I’m careful not to meet his eyes, not wanting to have another brain malfunction, but I do look him over.

He’s wearing a white button-down shirt that stretches over impossibly broad shoulders. He has a gold tie knotted perfectly at his neck, the color offsetting the soft, light brown tones of his shoulder-length hair. His square jaw, which is dusted in a short layer of facial hair, clenches as he glares at me, his head tilting to the side as his eyes flick up and down my body. The corner of his eye twitches as he looks back up at me, an unimpressed look on his God-like face.

Shit, this guy is beautiful; too bad he’s ruining his good looks with the expression he’s currently wearing. He looks like he just sucked on a sour lemon. To be fair, I look like a bitch ninety-five percent of the time, so I guess I can't judge.

The man, who I’m assuming is the infamous Professor Ambrose, is holding his hand out, ring finger and thumb held together as he glares at me.

Did… did he just snap at me like a damn dog?

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer if you’re going to rudely interrupt my class, young lady,” he snaps. His voice is smooth, the pitch almost melodic, with his soft British accent, as he questions me. Thick but perfectly sculpted brows draw down as he takes another step back, his disgust at my presence evident on his face the longer he stares at me.

I inhale slowly, looking over the professor for a moment as I try to decide whether I want to reach out and touch his soft-looking hair that doesn’t look real or tear his soul from his body. Both, I imagine, would be equally fun.

“Serafina,” I respond coolly, looking at his face but making sure my eyes don't move above the man's nose. There are hushed whispers as the class looks from me to Professor Ambrose. The girls giggle and blush, not giving two shits about me, their attention solely on the man at the front of the class, and the guys are all shooting me sympathetic looks.

“Serafina…who? And why are you standing in my class?” Professor Ambrose snaps, annoyance clear on his face as he tilts his head to the other side, studying me so closely I can feel my skin itch under his perusal.

“Serafina Covington, and I’m standing here because I’m a student in your class,” I snap back, my annoyance growing at this man's attitude. Sure, I was a few minutes late, but he’s the one who is now stalling the class—not me. And the way he’s looking down his nose at me like I’m dirt under his perfectly polished shoes makes me feel self-conscious. Something I haven't felt in years. The professor sniffs and wrinkles his nose like I smell bad.

Gah! The nerve of this man!

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Adam smack his forehead as he slumps down in his seat, wincing at me as the class falls eerily silent.

“Covington,” Professor Ambrose drawls as he places his large hands on trim hips. “Of course you are,” he scoffs, and I can feel my magic creep forward, its interest in this man suddenly gone. This time, I have zero qualms, staring the professor in the eyes as he sneers in my direction. “Just because you are a Covington doesn't allow you to be late and interrupt my class. Find your seat and try not to disturb my class further.” Professor Ambrose waves his hand in the air, dismissing me without another glance as he turns and heads back to the podium at the front of the class.

I grind my teeth together as my hands ball into fists at my sides, turning on my heel and stalking to where Adam is side-eyeing me hard.

“What?” I hiss under my breath when I sit beside him, and he keeps looking at me.

“Are you okay?” he asks under his breath, darting a scared look at Professor Ambrose before looking back at me. I nod, my temper high, as I reach into my bag to grab my laptop, slamming it on my desk as the stupid professor starts talking to the class. I don’t miss the lethal look the professor shoots my way at making too much noise, and the urge to flip him off is strong.

“Bastard,” I grumble under my breath, glaring back at him when he moves to the whiteboard and starts writing what we are learning for the day. Adam chokes a little when he hears me, his eyes wide in shock, but a devious smile crosses his face as he nods in agreement.

“Page four hundred and thirty-one,” the professor snaps, clicking a pen he’s holding in his hand in rapid succession. He waits impatiently for the students to get their tablets, books, and computers to the correct page before he finally starts talking again.

I glance at the title of the lesson and snort a little when I see rare and extinct Fae typed in bold letters at the top of my screen. Atlas thinks I need to be in this class? I was literally raised by one of the most rare Fae and his wife, who was thought to be an extinct race.

“Miss Covington, do you care to answer the question since you find it so humorous?” Professor Ambrose grinds out, making me look up from my computer to find him glaring daggers at me. Damn, this man is the very definition of resting bitch face. If looks could kill, I’d probably be dead right now. I look past him to the question he wrote on the board, where the words ‘Who are the rarest Fae living?’ are written in perfect cursive. I nod, keeping my cool and trying not to sound like a bitch as I answer his question.

“The rarest in current history is a Ractori Elementalist. Before that it was the Reaper and Kraken shifters,” I answer in a bored tone, leaning back in my chair as Professor Ambrose’s lips thin in frustration.

“That's correct,” he finally mutters, just as a boy in the front row raises his hand.

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