Page 10 of A University of Betrayal

My heart was racing and somehow not. I could hear it. As if it existed twice…

In that moment, I realized what the man in front of me had just said.

“How do you know my name?”

“You’re one of us now. Your name is part of the family tree,” he said tonelessly and strode to the window. He was so damn fast that although I was aware of him crossing the room, it was inhuman how quickly he moved.

“What family tree?” I asked, engaging in the bizarre dialog while I looked around for other possible weapons to defend myself if necessary.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he suddenly said, standing very close to me again. His look suggested that he was annoyed. Annoyed withme.

I took another step back.

“What is your name actually?” I continued to ask curiously because somehow, I had taken a liking to my dream. Maybe I could have some fun.

“For you, Bastien.”

So,Bastien...He pronounced it in French. I wonder if his name was similar in real life. I was sure I’d never heard it before.

“So, I don’t have to call youMr. DeLoughrey?”I grinned teasingly at him. He stared at me like he had earlier when he had walked in.

“You two actuallyarealike,” he sighed, but I couldn’t ask what he meant anymore because he walked over to one of the large closets. “There are clothes in here. You should change. What you’re wearing is a night robe.” He eyed me again, but only briefly enough to be appropriate.

“Didyouchange my clothes?” I laughed sheepishly, earning anAre you serious?look.

“Camilledid,” he clarified.

At first, disappointment spread through me, then my throat tightened because the thought that anyone could have seen my mutilated skin made me uncomfortable.

“Who isCamille?”

Bastien took a deep breath with his hands crossed behind his back.

I must be really annoying him.

“You’re about to meet her. And while we’re at it. You’re expected for dinner. So put on something decent. I’ll wait outside the door.”

“Dinner...” I repeated with a raised eyebrow.

My dream seemed to be so precise that I was beginning to doubt that I was dreaming. Everything felt so real. The panic returned. The feeling of being trapped and yet not dreaming.

“Where is Bayla?” was the next thing that popped into my head in my confusion. Apparently, I had piqued his interest because he narrowed his eyes – even looking handsome – and slowly approached.

“Bayla. What do you have to do with her?”

“She’s my best friend...” I began cautiously.

“Who are her parents?”

“Um… Why do you want to know?”

“Just answer my question...” he ordered impatiently, so I obeyed, even though I doubted my answer would do him any good.

“Diana Adams.”

He hesitated before he continued.

“And the father?” he went on as if my answer had been unsatisfactory.

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