Page 66 of The Hunt of Night

As I reach the open door of Bozzelli’s office, I signal for the guys to wait outside and I step into the room, not bothering to knock. The dean’s gaze finds mine immediately, and I watch as it narrows with distaste.

“I do believe I summoned Miss Reagan,” she states, steepling her fingers together on her desk as Professor Fairbourne, the professor to the fae, stands behind her. A small grin spreadsacross his face at my arrival, and he nods as though his approval matters to me.

“And I do believe you gave the wrong order,” I bite back, kicking the door shut behind me as I saunter across the room and take the chair across from her.

She looks down her nose at me while I try not to cringe at the garish neon green dress and matching blazer she’s wearing. She’s a goddamn walking highlighter. For a vampire, she sure doesn’t dress as a dark and mysterious weapon that lurks in the night. She demands attention, and her attire projects that.

“I’m struggling to see how you think I care what you believe,” she states, cocking a brow at me, and I shrug.

Tilting my head at her, I narrow my gaze. “Is it because you were worried you might upset my father if you called me here?” I ask, watching as she balks at the accusation, but I see the smallest flicker in her eyes that confirms my assumption. That, and the fact that she wanted some bullshit excuse to have Addi in her grasp.

Fuck that.

She shakes her head with a sneer. “I would never?—”

“Are you sure?” I interject, leaning forward as I match her sneer. “You don’t look sure,” I goad, watching her eyes widen, her jaw ticking as her irritation comes to life. Getting under her skin is easier than I thought.

“Mr. Kenner. I am the dean of this academy because I do not waver to anyone else who believes they should make the rules,” she snaps, rising to her feet as she presses her palms flat against the desk that separates us.

“If you say so,” I muse, rolling my eyes as I lean back in my chair. Fairbourne remains tight-lipped from his spot behind her, but the amusement on his face is clear.

“Don’t push me,” Bozzelli warns, and I shrug.

“Let’s stay on track then, shall we? Am I here because of the duel I took part in at lunchtime?” I ask, getting straight to the point, only to have her tsk me as she straightens her suit jacket.

“Need I remind you, Mr. Kenner? You were not called for.”

My gaze narrows. “Why would you require Miss Reagan’s presence?” Intrigue coils around me, waiting for whatever bullshit she’s about to come out with.

“That is no business of yours.” Or no bullshit at all, it seems. Should I have expected her to share?

“I think it is,” I push, ready to prove to this woman what it actually looks like to be unaffected by others’ attempts at power.

“I’ve already told you: I don’t care what you think,” she grinds out through clenched teeth, and I wag my finger at her.

“No. No. No. You said you don’t care what Ibelieve,” I reiterate, and she huffs in irritation.

“They’re the same thing but different words.”

“You seem flustered, Dean Bozzelli. Are you okay?” I feel every inch the gaslighter I am in the moment, and it feels so fucking good to worm my way under her skin. She fucking deserves it.

“Get out of my office. Now. And send for Miss Reagan immediately.” She directs the latter to Fairbourne, waving off my presence with a flick of her hand.

Like the fool he is, Fairbourne stands tall. “Yes?—”

“No,” I interrupt, and Bozzelli spins around to give me a deathly stare.

“Do you need a reminder of who I am?” There’s that fire, the exact one I saw in her gaze before she hurt Raiden the other day. But she’s never been punished at the hands of my father. I don’t fear anything she may try and throw at me, and I think she knows it. That’s why she doesn’t want me here; she wants Addi.

“There we are. Do you get off on throwing your weight around? Is that why you wanted Addi? Is that why you appliedfor this position? Does it make you feel good?” Every word that leaves my lips comes out darker as my eyes narrow.

“I’m not engaging in this conversation with you,” she states, lifting her hand to stop my pestering.

I stand, matching her stance. “Understandable, but I’m still intrigued by why you’re calling for Miss Reagan,” I persist, and Bozzelli throws her arms out wide.

“Because she will pay for her actions today,” she blurts, no longer able to contain her anger.

“She didn’t take any actions.” It’s a fact and she knows it, but she gives me a pointed look nonetheless.

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