Page 13 of The Invite
It sheds like asnake’s skin.
The only thing holding me up is my fingers automatically curling around the edge of my desk, needing support as I stare into the eyes that I can never forget even if I have dementia.
“Sorry for running late, Mrs.…” The boy beside him trails off, realizing I’m not his old teacher. It’s the friend with blue eyes and a scary metal chain, who bound me to a tree for his friend’s pleasure.
But I don’t look at him for too long.
My entire being—head to toe—is stuck to the quiet and menacing figure beside him. My sinister monster, who hasn’t stopped haunting my psyche since I ran from him last night. He is pristinely dressed in the red-and-blue school uniform, filling it out in all the right places with his lean yet muscular frame.
Oh my god.
My attacker is my student.
A student whose hand I shameless rode, who knows what my pussy feels like, and how badly I’m terrified of him.
Those black eyes, though—made of moonlight and nightmares—crinkle in the corners with recognition.
Even scarier is the truth shining in them that he’s pleased he found me.
His little runaway.
His perfect prey.
He doesn’t hide that he knows who I am. Or that he tormented me in cruel and wicked ways. He is gloating in it.
Somehow, my freedom was fleeting, because I have circled my way back to him.
My throat isn’t working, my tongue feels heavy, and my vision is turning hazy as I find it difficult to breathe and function properly.
Stepping forward as if he owns the room and everyone in it—including me—he says in a deep baritone, “I didn’t know we were meeting a new teacher.”
In broad daylight, his voice is silkier and rumbling and frightening because no one but me senses the danger lurking underneath it.
“Meet Miss Nessa Davenport, Augustus and Maverick,” reveals Scarlett. “She replaced Mrs. Perry.”
Augustus.
Greek. Immortal. Godly. Powerful.
A menace.
His gaze darkens at my name and in a bone-shivering voice, he greets, “Welcome. I can’t wait for you to teach us, Miss Nessa.”
My name rolls off his tongue as smooth as fine wine.
It slices through the stupor their presence sealed me in. I cannot lose it in front of this many people. Straightening, I cross my arms and chide, “Then don’t show up late.”
His lips tilt a fraction. “Blame it on the long night I had.”
I save my expression from flustering at the last second but I can’t control the shiver and goosebumps his words evoke. In my peripheral vision, I see others taking in the exchange with either humor, curiosity, or bizarreness. I need the energy in the room under my control before suspicions are raised.
The last thing I need floating about me is rumors. Least of all one involving my name with a student. It has disaster written all over it.
I’ll worry about handling them for the rest of the year later.
When I’m alone and not seconds away from blacking out.
“Both of you, take your seats,” I order and turn around, ending the conversation. Calming my racing heart down is a herculean task but I manage it. Behind me, I hear their footsteps climbing the aisle, chairs scraping as they obey.
