Book TRK
Chapter 11
Malachi lies on my bed with his hands locked behind his head, the result of which is his already tight T-shirt straining at the seams of his tattooed and incredibly muscular biceps. He sings softly to himself. It sounds like an Irish folk song, sad and soulful and entirely distracting. Just like him. I pick up the unicorn plushie that’s fallen on the floor and throw it at his head.
He catches it and tucks that behind his head too, flashing me a grin. “Sorry, was I distracting you when you’re trying to study?”
I wave my textbook in the air. “Um, yes.”
“What are you studying with such ferocity on this fine evening, Ophelia?” There’s a playfulness in his tone that makes me want to smile. But I don’t, because he’s not here out of the kindness of his heart.
“Psychology.”
His eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Is that going to be your major?”
I glance at my textbook. I really do need to study. “Yes.” I turn back to my desk and scan the pages of my book, but I’m unable to focus on the words.
“And what will a sweet girl like you do with a degree in psychology?”
I roll my eyes. Is he genuinely interested, or is he mocking me? I swear I can’t tell with all that smooth vampire charm he has going on. “I’m going to be a social worker.”
“A noble profession. Not going to make you rich though.”
I snort a laugh. Rich! Not everyone is motivated by money. Maybe I just want to help little kids who have nobody to look out for them. Nobody to be there when they’re alone and scared and … I choke back a sob and don’t tell him any of that. “Have you considered that I don’t want to be rich?”Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.
“I guess I’ve seen a lot of greed in my long life, Ophelia Hart.” The sorrow in his tone pulls at my heartstrings. But I can’t let whatever this thing is get any more comfortable to me than it already is. It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.
“What are you even doing here, Malachi?” The ease with which he lets himself into my dorm room and makes himself at home is astonishing. This is the third time this week I’ve come back from class to find him in my bed, reading my well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights. I don’t even bother voicing my annoyance any longer. At least he isn’t a douchebag like Axl and Xavier. He’s actually kind of nice to talk to.
“Just keeping an eye on you, sweet girl.”
I sigh. “Like I’ve already told you all, your secret is safe with me, okay? I’m not about to go drawing more attention to myself by telling people about the three vampires I met on campus.”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“You’ve met the professor.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I’m pretty sure they must reach my hairline. “The professor’s a vampire too?”
The deep, throaty chuckle that rolls out of him makes goosebumps prickle along my forearms. If it’s not bad enough that him calling me sweet girl turns my insides all warm and mushy, he has to hit me with that sexy-as-hell laugh too. “Yeah, he’s a vampire. He sired me. Axl and Xavier too.”
I spin my chair all the way around and give him my undivided attention. “What was that like? Being sired? How old were you? Did it hurt? Did you want to be a vampire?”
He sits up, frowning, and his green eyes appear darker than usual. “You ask a lot of questions, Ophelia Hart.”
I suck on my top lip and resist rolling my eyes. “Well, this stuff is fascinating to me. I mean, you’re a fricking vampire. I am sitting in my dorm room, chatting with a creature I only ever read about or saw on TV. One that I assumed was complete fantasy until a little over a week ago.”
He remains silent but goes on staring at me. My stomach ties itself into a knot. “If the professor’s a vampire, does that mean some of the other professors are too?”
He shrugs.
I’m taking that as a yes. “And are there any other kinds of creatures I should know about?”
He arches one eyebrow, a hint of a smirk back on his lips now, which causes his adorable dimples to make an appearance. “Such as?”
“I dunno. Werewolves? Witches? Unicorns?”
“Yes. Yes. And no.”
Putting aside my disappointment about the unicorns, I shriek, “What?” Then clamp my hand over my mouth when he frowns. “Sorry,” I whisper. “But … for real? Werewolves and witches are real?”
“As real as I am.”
I lean forward, my heart rate increasing with each passing second. “Are they here at Montridge too?”
He scrutinizes my face with such intensity that my skin flames with heat.
“You can trust me, Malachi. I swear even if I thought someone would believe me, I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
“And why should I trust you, sweet girl?” The deep smoothness of his voice warms my insides.
“Because …” I swallow hard. His eyes burn into mine, and I can’t lie. “You’re the only person I talk to.”
His expression softens, and he blows out a breath. “The societies at Montridge represent different factions of supernatural beings. Each faction has four societies; vampires have Ruby, Onyx, Lapis, and Opal Dragon. The witches have their own four, and so do the wolves.”
“So, the societies named after four of Jupiter’s moons have to be the wolves, and the witches must be the vales, then, right?”
“You know astronomy?”
He knows astronomy? Wow. Could he be any more perfect? Well, aside from the whole vampire thing. “I know about a lot of stuff. I read a lot.” That’s an understatement. I read way more than a lot.
The way he looks at me, like he’s impressed by my hitherto useless knowledge of Jupiter’s moons, has my cheeks heating. Before I can ask another question, Malachi tosses my unicorn plushie back to me. I catch it and hold it to my chest, immediately regretting it when his scent wafts into my nose. Malachi Young smells every bit as good as he looks. Fresh and citrusy with a hint of spice. The impulse to lick his skin has me wondering what on this earth is wrong with me.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“One hundred and twenty-eight.”
“And not a single wrinkle. You should be in skincare commercials.” I snort a laugh at my own joke.
He rolls his eyes. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
Another unexpected laugh bubbles out of me. “I do, actually.”
“Then you’re the only one in this room who does, Ophelia,” he says, but there’s no malice in his tone. Not like the cruelness of Axl’s and Xavier’s taunts when they happen to bump into me, usually quite literally, which has become a daily occurrence. Malachi’s teasing is friendly almost.
“How old were you when you became a vampire?”
He sighs. “Twenty-two.” Then he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and fixes me with a glare that makes my core feel warm and tingly. “No more questions.”
“Aw, just a few more? Please?”
He narrows his bright-green eyes and a few seconds later says, “One more.”
“Two?” I suggest hopefully.
“One.”
“Fine.” I press my lips together and try to think of the best one. But so many race through my head that I can’t focus. Finally, I blurt, “Are you really repelled by garlic?”
The booming laugh that explodes out of his mouth makes me giggle. I put my hands over my eyes and shake my head. Of all the things I could have asked, I can’t believe I opted for that.
His laughter subsides, and when I take my hands away from my face, he’s standing right in front of me. He rubs the pad of his thumb over my cheek, and I swear his touch sets my skin ablaze. “No, not repelled by garlic, Ophelia. Not by crucifixes or holy water either.” He winks, and if I wasn’t sitting, I would crumple to the floor because my legs just turned to Jell-O.
“G-good to know.”
His lips twitch, and his hypnotizing eyes lock on mine. I feel helpless. Like if he were to lean down and bite me right now, I would wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. Is this how they entrap their victims? Vampire voodoo?
“Be good, okay?” he says, his tone soft.
I nod meekly, which I know I’m going to be so annoyed with myself for later, but I’m literal putty in his hands at the moment. Without another word, he leaves my dorm room.
I should be relieved he’s gone, shouldn’t I? But instead, I feel lonely and …
And sad.
Which is ridiculous. I’ve spent my whole life alone and learned to find happiness in my solitude. This is my factory setting, so why does that emptiness inside me feel like it’s grown into a swirling vortex? And why do I feel like it’s going to swallow me whole?