Page 22 of Promised in Blood

As I expected he would be, President Ollenshaw is waiting outside my office when I arrive. He taps his foot impatiently while muttering something under his breath, but upon seeing me, he offers a tight smile and pushes his wire-rimmed spectacles up his nose.

“Alexandros.” He says my name almost apologetically. “I heard reports of…” He clears his throat.

“A fire?” I offer.

He nods, seemingly grateful to have been saved from his temporary discomfort. Jerome Ollenshaw might be thepresident of Montridge, but he is merely a figurehead—a fact of which he is acutely aware. An unremarkable man in his late fifties, if only in appearance, is a much easier sell to the humans and their families than a wolf with a temper as fragile as his ego or a six-foot-eight demon whose eyes glow red when he gets pissed—as were the case with the previous two deans of Montridge.

“I wouldn’t bother you with such matters. Only… People will talk, Alexandros. Uncontained fires on campus grounds are not permitted. Not since the incident in the woods.” He winces as though troubled by the memory, but I suspect he is giving me a warning of sorts. At least as close as he will ever come to censure when it comes to me. Vampires were responsible for that particular fiasco too.

With a curt nod of acknowledgment, I remove the key from my jacket pocket and unlock the door. The smell of smoke still lingers, clinging to the scorched books and charred wooden shelves. My desk remains untouched by the flames, sitting stoically in the center of the room as it always has.

Jerome shuffles into the room behind me. “Is this something I need to worry about?”

I stoop to pick a book up from the floor and run my fingertips over the blackened leather binding. An unexpected knot of regret unfurls in my chest. The books themselves held no particular value to me, but this is a reminder of what I did. Of the danger I put her in.

Jerome clears his throat once more, and I shake my head. “There is nothing to be concerned about. I simply had a visit from an old fire demon acquaintance of mine.”

“Did you have some kind of altercation?” His tone is tinged with suspicion.

My eyes dart to the deep fingernail scratches on my desk, the ones made by my own hands when I was inside her. The beastinside me flickers to life with a low growl when I recall how good it felt to finally claim her. My blood heats at the memory, most of it hurtling toward my cock as the recollection—her taste, her scent, her submission—almost overwhelms me.

“No.” There is a crack in my voice, and I have no doubt he hears it.

He steps toward my desk and runs his forefinger over one of the deep grooves in the wood. “It was a pleasant visit, then?” He fails to suppress a chuckle.

I twist my neck from side to side and draw in a breath, trying to rid my mind of the images of her sitting on my lap while I fed from her and fucked her. But they are burned into my consciousness for eternity and refuse to budge. My fangs protract, and I unconsciously flick my tongue over the tips. I want to sink inside her right now. Need to feel her skin on mine. I burn to taste her, have both her blood and her cum coating my tongue.

“Alexandros.” Jerome’s voice cuts through my inner thoughts, and I realize he has been talking to me.

I give him my full attention, managing to push thoughts of Ophelia to the side, but I am unable to rid myself of them entirely. “Apologies, Jerome. I was distracted. You were saying?”

His gray eyes twinkle with amusement. “I was asking if you enjoyed your friend’s visit, but I guess from your distracted state and the mess in your office that it either went very well or terribly. Which is it? I have known a fire demon or two in my time.”

My eyes narrow. I have known Jerome for forty years, ever since I personally chose him to take over from his predecessor, but we have barely spoken two words that were not directly related to the curriculum during that entire time. And now is not the time to start bonding over sexual conquests. I want him out of here so that I can focus on thoughts of Ophelia withouthaving to endure his small talk. “It was pleasant enough. But I will ensure this mess is taken care of, and I can assure you that this will not happen again.”

He nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line now as he slips back into president mode. “I appreciate that, Alexandros.” He places his hand over his heart. “I know that your family built this institution, and it is a great honor to be the president of this fine university. But that doesn’t mean I can play favorites. I have parents and the student body and the school board to answer to.”

“I am aware of that, Jerome.”

“Of course you are. I’m sure it’s no different from the days when you held my esteemed title.” He raises his eyebrows, clearly trying to remain friendly, but there is an edge to his tone now that always creeps in when he is reminded of the fact that I once held his position. The role was undesirable to me then and equally so now, and I stepped down after two short years. However, he is well aware I could take it back if I so chose, and that never fails to make him feel threatened in my presence.

“You are doing a fair job, Jerome. There will be no more incidents like the one which occurred last night.”

He raises his hand like he is going to clap me on the back, but he quickly drops it again, having wisely thought better of it. “I will leave you to deal with this mess. Good day, Professor.”

I give him a curt nod. “Good day, Dr. Ollenshaw.”

I knewshe would be in here, sitting in her usual spot—two seats from the end of the second row—but I am still unprepared for what the sight of her does to me. I have always found it difficult not to watch her. Not to stare at her beauty as she listens tome so intently, her brow furrowed in concentration. Not to let my gaze linger on the pale skin of her decolletage, or the way her breasts strain against the thin material that covers them. She sees me, and her bright-blue eyes widen, brimming with excitement and hope when they land on mine.

Hi, she says, speaking freely through our bond.

All the blood in my body is already heading south. The enduring memory of what we did last night, of how incredible it felt to sink into all the parts of her, is enough to have desire coursing through me like it is my lifeblood. I avert my gaze from hers and bark an order for the students still standing to take their seats.

Ophelia’s resulting sadness is acute. I do not need to look at her to know that her eyes are brimming with tears. Her blood still flows through my veins, and it calls to me now, demanding that I taste her again. Our bond is a new one, but it is stronger than any I have ever felt before. In ancient times, when there was little to do but fuck and fight, I would have taken her to my bed, and we would not have left it for weeks except to get her sustenance. We would have taken our fill until the beasts inside us both were sated.

But times are different now. We have so many responsibilities. And I suspect the beast that Ophelia Hart has awoken within me will never be sated. So all I can do for now is avoid looking at her, block her sweet voice from my thoughts, and not think about any of the things I would like to do to her once I get her home.

After class, I wait until most of the students have filtered out before raising my voice enough for her to hear me. “Miss Hart, may I speak with you about your paper?”

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