Page 167 of The Sea Witch's Son

MARLIN: The file is locked with an external firewall. I can’t find anything within our national school systems or police reports.

I frown, pulling up the document he just sent over.

The Cartier Mansion was recently purchased by a Mrs. Cruella Deville. Former supermodel and current fashion designer, Deville specializes in the fur industry and boasts a portfolio of animal products that are banned in most parts of the world.

“That explains why she wants a house full of dead animals.”

Vector glances at me, “I didn’t sign up for dead animals.”

“Not even for a fur coat?”

“No fucking way.”

Snickering to myself, I return my attention to the report.

She had a string of husbands who supported her extravagant lifestyle. Old and rich, they were all two to three decades past her age. All of them died shortly after the nuptials and none of them secured their assets with a prenup.

“Everyone, can I have your attention.”

The professor’s voice breaks through my concentration. I cast a glance up, noting Florian’s annoyed expression and quickly open my messages.

ME: A gold digger with an ambition. I think I like her.

MARLIN: Don’t speak too soon. I just figured out why I couldn’t find information on the son.

ME: Well? Don’t leave me in suspense.

MARLIN: He’s not from around here.

ME: What do you-

My message never gets sent because Florian’s voice suddenly tunes back in.

“…please give a warm welcome to Mr. Deville.”

I look up and dark hair is the first thing I see.

Dark,darkhair.

The kind of dark I could paint over my soul and not an ounce of colour would bleed through. The kind of dark I could run my nails through and watch them disappear in a pot of ink. It’s long and shaggy and falls into eyes that are even darker than his hair.

My birthday most definitely came early this year.

“We’ve never had a devil in Wolf Hollow before.” My voice slices through the auditorium, drawing those delicious eyes up to mine, “Have you come to confess your sins?”

Snickers echo around the room. The new guy just looks at me with a smirk that I want to lick right off his face.

Florian chuckles, “Your sins are no heavier than the ones already present, I’m sure. Please take your seat.”

The new guy swings his leather jacket over his shoulder and starts walking towards the first row. I watch him pause at the bottom of the stairs before he keeps walking.

And walking.

And walking.

My panties are fucking drenched by the time he comes to a stop at the desk in front of me. Throwing his jacket down on the chair, he turns around and places his forearms on the edge of my desk.

Up close, his eyes are a couple of glittering obsidians. His jawline is sharp and dusted with stubble so dark I want to shave it off and keep it for myself.

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