Page 2 of Blood on the Ice

Holy. Mother. Forking. Shit.

The guy behind the counter is beautiful, and I don’t say that lightly. His long blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but somehow, it doesn’t look douchey. Paired with his patrician features and thin silver framed lenses, he projects the air of a student, but not a new one. My guess is a grad or doctoral student and this is his side hustle. The muscled forearms and powerful hands tell me he’s not just a bookworm, so I ponderwhat discipline this lithe, gorgeous supe is studying. When I finally drag my eyes back to his, the aqua color of his is mesmerizing.

“Can I take your order, ma’am?”

Yikes. That destroyed my brief fantasy.

“Um, yes, sorry. It’s been a long day. I’d like a triple espresso and a club sandwich, please.” I feel my cheeks heating not because I was staring—he’s got to be used to it—but because I got caught checking out one of the students.

It’s not forbidden at State U, but I am the murdering bitch with ice in her veins that’s here to destroy everything the university stands for. Or, so the article in theState U Reviewsaid last night. There’s no way this gorgeous coffee-serving man doesn’t recognize me and I’m sure I’ll get an earful about my evil ways once he’s done making my order. In fact, I should continue watching to make sure he doesn’t mess with my food for revenge.

Yeah, that’s why I want to watch him.

“I don’t blame you for coming here. It’s not one of the campus hot spots. Mostly we get professors, arts kids, and the occasional normie who wants to hide from the masses.”

I blink, realizing he’s nailed my reason for choosing this shop without even trying. “I think it’s rather cozy.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Dean LeCiel.” His pretty eyes meet mine again and I feel that heat creeping up my spine. “I’m aware of how contentious your appointment was. It doesn’t bother me, honestly. I’ve been a student through much of your ex’s reignand since the music department was of little concern to him, I don’t have any allegiance to the former administration.”

Definitely a doctoral candidate. His thesis is probably massive.

Covering my mouth as the unintended double meaning of my words occurs to me, I wait until the urge to giggle like a teenager fades. It would be extremely unprofessional of me to comment on his… attributes… especially since that kind of bullshit helped bring Magnus down. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not wondering now…

“Dean? Hello?” The hot barista is waving his hand as he looks at me curiously.

“I’m sorry to be so rude. I didn’t catch your name?”

There we go. That sounded totally normal.

“I’m Slade,” he replies with a slow smile.

That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, and I wonder if he might be part Fae. Not giving me his real name is part and parcel with them, and so is the ethereal beauty. “You may call me Morgana when I am here. I think titles are dreadfully stuffy, but…”

“Set boundaries early because you have mutinies to deal with.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. “You aren’t reading me with magic, are you, Slade? Even during my ex’s time, that kind of invasion of privacy wasn’t allowed.”

“No, no!” He stops making the sandwich and gives me a sheepish look. “I inferred it. I mean, I don’t run with the undergrads or the popular crowds, but I hear things. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you’re at the hole in the wall shop so you don’t have to beon stage while you eat or that you’re going to make big changes because of all the charges against the former dean.”

I nod, observing him. “I believe you, though I probably shouldn’t. Betrayal hides in obvious places; I’m living proof of that.”

His features look sharper as he smirks. “There are those of us who don’t believe what you did was unjustified, Morgana. Living here at State U will provide you with plenty of evidence to give the Council that will mitigate your actions.”

“That’s both my desire and my deepest fear, Slade. There’s only so much bad PR this place can take before the Council shuts it down and moves on.”

A coffee cup and a plate with my sandwich slide across the counter as he murmurs, “You’ll have to decide if that’s what you want when the time comes.”

“I know.”

who are you, really

Idon’t know why I said so much to the eerily tall woman who now runs our university. Normally, I barely speak to customers unless they’re regulars because I don’t want to fight the urges. Ignatius says I have excellent control, but I’ve never been able to believe that. All the incidents in my childhood tell a different story, and it’s why I pursued music as a career. Ican feel the delicious chords and notes race through me with an instrument and it lessens my need for the song.

That’s what I tell myself, at least.

Morgana took her order with a sad smile, and I could feel the emotions pulsing around her, begging me to lure her in so I could taste them. I expected her to be icy and unforgiving—that’s how she’s been portrayed in the media. Given she hunted her fiancée down and killed him, that’s not a shock, but the descriptions of her made the new dean seem like a monster. After meeting her, I don’t think any of the profiles are doing her justice.

She’s definitely larger than life and dressed to kill, but there’s something about her that makes me think the story she told at the highly publicized trial isn’t entirely true. As a siren, I frequently hear, see, and taste the emotions of others; it helps my people know what to sing to lure our prey. But what I got from Morgana wasn’t a calculating killer or a psychotic ex-girlfriend—I felt the weight of an immense burden and a blinding rage that has yet to be quenched. That’s why I hinted she should look for secrets and evidence that the former dean was into more than the Council knew.

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