Page 61 of The Blood we Crave

“No biggie. You probably needed the praise from Professor Godfrey. God knows you don’t get a lot of it dating someone like Easton.”

Her face crumples, mouth dropping open that I even responded. Which is warranted. Three years ago, I would’ve kept my mouth shut and left. She isn’t used to me biting back.

It’s a sharp dig, one she deserves for stabbing Sage in the back the first chance she got and a lot nicer than what I really want to do to her. She should be thankful it’s only a dig and not a sharp knife. Loyalty is scarce in this town. Everyone watches out for themselves, and they aren’t afraid to step on the ones they love to reach the top.

Ponderosa Springs breeds selfish assholes.

That’s what this school’s crest should read.

Once I have my things, I’m ready to bolt from this class. I don’t have any classes for the rest of the day, which means it’s the perfect time to go pick up the first species for my new project.

I’ve been wanting to do a bee-themed dome for a long time, with preserved wildflowers and a few different species. I just need to see if I can work with something as tiny as a bee.

I’d inquired this summer with a local orchard about their population of mason bees. The metallic blue bee is native to Oregon and the fruit trees that populate the state. They would be perfect for a display, especially with that unique color.

Summer is over, fall is moving fast and we are heading into the colder months, I know the bees will have nested, leaving the older ones that are reaching their expiration date hovering around. Hopefully, I can find a few already dead and in good condition so I don’t have to play bee catcher.

“Lyra, hang back for a few minutes.” Godfrey calls my name as I try to duck out of the classroom, halting my steps. The crowd of students filters past me as I turn around, clutching the handle of my bag.

“Getting extra credit, teacher’s pet?” Mary whispers as she skims past me, hitting my shoulder as she does.“Make sure to really choke for that A.”

Bitch.

I stare at her, knowing girls like her need to have the last word no matter what. It’s easier to just let her go before I do something I’ll regret. In public, anyway. Once everyone has disappeared, the last student leaving the door open on their way out, I turn so I’m facing Conner.

“Haven’t seen you much of you lately at the mausoleum. No more bug catching for you?” I chide with a smile, knowing he’s been busy with classes but sort of missing the random afternoons when he’d join me in collecting insects. “How’s teaching?”

He laughs, leaning against his desk with a sigh as his arms cross in front of his chest. “I find it’s much more complex than consoling, way more time-consuming, and I suddenly have the desire to burn every tie I own.”

I walk farther back into the room, matching his stance as I lean against one of the long tables in front of him.

“Why do you do that?” he asks, a deep V creasing his eyebrows while he loosens the knot at his throat.

“Do what?” I offer.

“Twirl that ring on your finger. You’re always fiddling with it. Especially during class when you are zoned out, not paying attention to my very detailed lecture. Is my teaching that horrible?” His voice is light with a joke that makes me smirk.

I look down at the silver metal looped around my pointer finger. The oval amber gem in the center that traps a small spider inside was my mother’s favorite piece of jewelry.

She never took it off. Not for a shower. Not for work. Not for bed.

Not even in death.

It had been my tiny hands that removed it from her on the second day just before emergency medical staff took her away. I’d lain on the floor beside her, nearly stuck to the floor because of the blood, until our cleaning lady showed up and all I did was twist the ring on her finger.

Spinning it had become a habit, one I’d subconsciously done since it became my own. I think Professor Godfrey is the first person to notice or at least ask me about it.

“It was my mother’s. Guess it’s a comfort thing, something I do without thought.” I say with a shrug. “I used to watch her rotate it around for hours when I was a kid. You wouldn’t believe how jealous I was of this thing.”

I hold it out in front of me, wiggling my fingers. “For years, I begged to borrow it, but I’ve always been messy and unorganized. She was definitely afraid I’d lose it.”

“Or maybe she knew it wouldn’t fit you just yet.” His warm hand slides beneath my palm, cradling my fingers in his grip.

The action catches me by surprise but not discomfort, just the shock of being touched so abruptly. I look up at his creased forehead as he peers down, swiping his thumb across the ring.

“Fits you perfectly now,” he whispers lowly, a secret for only my ears to hear.

We are a respectful distance apart from each other, the length of his arm helping him reach me. Our hands are the only place of contact, and all I can think about is how little I feel about him.

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