Page 10 of My Defiant Mate
I blink. Professor Albright is staring at me, one eyebrow arched. The whole class is looking. Shit.
"Sorry, what?" I manage.
"I asked if you could identify the counterpoint technique in measure sixteen."
I glance at the empty page in front of me, then at the board. The musical notes swim, meaningless squiggles. I haven't heard a single word she's said.
"I… don't know."
She lets out a long, theatrical sigh, the kind teachers use when they've decided you're a lost cause. "Perhaps if you were paying attention instead of daydreaming, Mr. Alarie, you might have a chance at passing this course."
A few kids in the front row snicker. I don't give a shit. Their laughter is just more distortion.
Normally, I'd have a comeback. Something sarcastic and shitty that would make her regret calling me out. But I can't summon the energy. There's this hollow feeling in my chest I've never felt before. Like I'm missing a part of me I didn't even know existed until yesterday.
When the bell finally rings, I shove my empty notebook into my bag and get the hell out of there. The hallways are a nightmare, a river of bodies and noise. People bump into me, their scents all wrong—too sweet, too floral, toonot him. Every accidental touch makes my skin crawl.
What the hell is happening to me?
I need coffee. A lot of it. Maybe the caffeine will burn through this fog.
The Daily Grind is a small cart near the student union, run by a gruff, bearded guy named Marcel who looks like he'd be more at home brewing moonshine. The line is short, thank god. I don't think I can handle a crowd right now.
"The usual?" Marcel asks when I get to the front, not looking up from the espresso machine.
"Yeah. Double shot."
"Rough night?" He glances at me, his eyes taking in the dark circles under mine.
I almost laugh. A rough night doesn't even begin to cover it. A life-altering, world-shattering, terrifying night.
"Something like that," I mutter.
Marcel slides the cup across the counter. "On the house. You look like you need it."
I nod my thanks, surprised. Maybe I look as wrecked as I feel.
I'm about to leave when I hear a voice that makes ice slide down my spine.
"—disruptive influences like Alarie are precisely why we need stricter enforcement of housing policies."
Henderson. That thin, dry voice is unmistakable. He's standing a few feet away, talking to some woman in a university blazer. An administrator.
"He's been written up multiple times," Henderson goes on, his bony fingers gripping a paper cup. "Music at all hours. Complete disregard for community standards. A problem resident, through and through."
The woman nods, her expression sympathetic. "Have you considered disciplinary action?"
"Oh, I'm building a case. One more violation, and I'll have grounds for immediate removal from housing."
I grip my coffee cup so hard the lid pops. Hot liquid sloshes over my fingers. I barely feel the burn.
Henderson turns at the sound. His watery eyes land on me. There's no surprise on his face, just cold, dismissive contempt.
"Mr. Alarie," he says, his thin lips pulling back in something that's supposed to be a smile. "Enjoying your day?"
A growl builds in my throat before I can stop it. My hands clench into fists, coffee forgotten.
Henderson isn't just some annoying asshole with a clipboard anymore. He's a threat. He's trying to mess with my life, myplace here. Which means he's messing with my ability to protect Toby.
