Page 86 of Tempest

Ardyn

I’ve somehow collectedmy bearings enough to pull my wet hair back, get dressed in a denim maxi skirt and top, and wander into the campus clinic to purchase tampons, chocolate, Coke, and a non-descript emergency contraceptive underneath. My obvious disguise is unnecessary—the check-out lady doesn’t even blink. While I’m there, I also make an appointment with the ob-gyn to get tested and checked out.

I’m nothing if not prepared. After the fact.

Tempest’s caused all sorts of idiot moves on my part. The worst part? I want him to do it again. And again.

Once finished, I make it to occult studies with two minutes to spare.

Clover’s already in her seat, and I fight against the blush of shame creeping along my cheeks as I sit next to her and use all my concentration to take out my notebook.

If only my butt would cooperate. My dirty deeds are outed when I plop down with a wince.

“You okay?” she asks like any good friend would.

I suck. I’m a sucky human being. A terrible friend. I should tell her the truth. “Yeah, I decided on a quick yoga class at lunch, and I think I’m regretting it.”

Sucky. Friend.

“Omigod, really? Text me next time. I’d love to join.”

Nodding enthusiastically, I try to find a more comfortable position without being obvious.

“Greetings, my disciples!”

Professor Morgan breezes in, his angular face flushed from the outside wind. Clover, me, and the rest of the class greet him with quiet hellos and too wide smiles. His charisma and passion for occult and Wiccan culture are charmingly addictive.

His boyish good looks mixed with an insane amount of tattoos doesn’t hurt, either.

Clover rests her chin in her hand and sighs as he approaches the table, and I stifle the urge to smack her on the back of the head to snap her out of it. The image stays in my mind, however, and I can’t help but laugh at the abject horror that would cross her face if I actually did it.

“Something funny, Ardyn?”

My cheeks heat with more shame when Professor Morgan closes in. When I meet his eyes, though, I don’t see anger, but mirth, instead.

“Do let us in on the joke,” he says.

Clover turns her head toward me inquisitively. I cough. “Oh—no. It’s nothing. Really.”

Dear floor, swallow me whole, now please.

“No? I assumed it was due to your uncontainable joy in coming up with the perfect topic for our main essay this semester.”

“Of course!” I say, showing my teeth with a pained smile.

He tilts his head, his amber irises glinting with gold behind his glasses. “Might you let us in on your exemplary idea?”

“Well…” I draw out the word, scrabbling for something to say.

“Ardyn and I have decided to join forces,” Clover says beside me. She rests an arm on the back of my chair, leaning toward me with the likely intention of off her cleavage to the professor.

Morgan raises his brows and falls back on his heels but doesn’t deny us.

“We want to learn more about the Anderton witches,” Clover continues.

“We do?” I whisper.

Morgan’s impressed brow-rise lowers. “Hmm. I can’t say that the idea’s a creative one.”

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