Page 9 of The Devil's Hunt

The class chuckled in response.

"I think the story was romantic," a grinning girl from the front row interjected.

Archer scoffed, drawing the attention of the class back to him. "Romantic? Charlotte wants to be wed to whatever poor schmuck is financially stable enough to support her. Lydia runs away and opens her legs to every man in the royal army. Charlotte is too meek to pursue true happiness, and Elizabeth is looking for a man of reputation. This story has little to do with love or desire and everything to do with money and betrothals. It's unrealistic and lacks substance."

"Austen did not write romance in the conventional sense of today's norms. She didn't fill her pages with dramatic pining, gushing declarations of love, or heated kiss scenes." Burning fervor rushed through my veins. "Her stories portray societal issues and human nature. While you may not find the pages saturated with midnight rendezvous, youwillfind deep and thoughtful character arcs and a problematic but genuine love story. As Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth, ‘In vain, I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ How's that for romance, Mr. King?" I snorted, crossing my arms and leaning back into my seat.

I refused to look at Archer as I finished my speech, keeping my gaze trained on Professor Hazel instead. His lips curled up into a small smile, satisfaction coursing through me as he nodded in approval.

The bell rang, and the class started gathering their belongings to leave. As I stood to leave, Professor Hazel gestured for me to come down to his desk.

"Mila, can I have a word with you for a moment?"

I nodded, feeling a sudden sense of dread. By the time I reached the aisle, the rest of the class had already filed out—Archer included. I was nervous that I had said something wrong or was in trouble for my argument in the middle of his class. I followed him to his desk, biting my lip anxiously.

"I was impressed with your analysis today, Mila. You have a real talent for literature, and it's important that you continue to cultivate that talent. Have you thought about applying to be my teaching assistant this year? Applications close next week, and I think you would be an asset to my classes."

My heart beat faster at the suggestion. "I thought you had to be a senior to apply?"

"Typically, yes. However, if a student like yourself exceeds the expectations of their undergraduate courses, exceptions could be made, but it would require you to take on an additional senior literature course."

"I would love to apply, Professor. Thank you for considering me," I beamed, my heart pounding as I felt a flush creeping up my neck.

"Excellent. I'll send you the details on how to apply to your email." He smiled at me before turning back to his desk.

I turned to walk up the stairs to the exit.

"Oh, and Mila, don't let Mr. King's opinions discourage you. Austen's works are a treasure in English literature, and your perspective on them is valid and valuable."

"Thank you, Professor." I smiled gratefully.

As I left the room, my eyes lingered on Archer's empty seat, wondering what he really thought about our argument. I made my way across the quad, the sun beating down on me. I tried to shake the feeling of Archer under my skin. I reached the library and headed inside, seeking refuge in the stacks. The faint smell of old, musty books enveloped me as I walked through the aisles. I trailed myfingers along the spines, searching for something to occupy my mind and calm my racing heart—anything to take my mind off Archer. I picked up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice from the shelf and flipped through the pages, pausing on a passage that caught my eye.

"Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again." She wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin? I can comprehend your going on charmingly when you had once made a beginning, but what could set you off in the first place? I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

I smiled to myself, feeling my cheeks flush as I read the words. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over me, and I gasped when a voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Grey."

I turned to find Archer leaning against one of the bookshelves, his arms crossed.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice laced with annoyance.

His eyes flickered to the book in my hand, and he smirked. "Ah, Austen's masterpiece. After our little debate today, I see you're finding some solace in literature." He grinned, taking a step closer to me.

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore how his voice made my skin tingle. "I don't need to justify my reading choices to you, Archer," I replied, stepping back.

"Of course not," he drawled, his eyes never leaving mine, and he took another step closer. "But I have to admit, I'm intrigued. Do you find yourself relating more to Elizabeth or Mr. Darcy?"

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I fought to keep my composure. "Why do you care?" I retorted, feeling my heart rate pick up.

"Because I'm curious," he said, closing the distance between us.

The last time he was this close to me was in the alley outside my townhouse. "Come on, little rabbit. Indulge me. Do you see yourself as the sharp-tongued, independent Elizabeth or the brooding, misunderstood Mr. Darcy?" His eyes were now dark with amusement.

I felt a shiver run through my body as I looked at him. I gritted my teeth, feeling a mixture of anger and attraction coursing through me. "I don't see myself as either of them. They are fictional characters, not real people." I tried to step away from him, but he blocked my path, his hand resting on the bookshelf behind me.

"Of course, but that doesn't mean we can't draw parallels between ourselves and them," he said, his voice low and tempting.

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