us.
Appearing as if she wanted to change the subject, she openly assessed me. “You look tired, Maggie.”
Already irritated by her agreement with the warden, I rolled my eyes. I was more tired of hearing it.
“ It was smart of you to bring her back,” she told Eran.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes it was.”
Before I was able to insist I was almost back to my regular energy level, the first bell rang and we had to head to our seats.
Just before she began to start her lecture, Ms. Beedinwigg gave me a hard look. It was one that I knew intuitively. The demure woman standing before me, hair in a bun, glasses hanging from her neck, wearing a shapeless printed dress, once again reminded me of the aggressive warrior hidden behind her camouflaged outfit.
Her look was telling me that when I was ready to return to training I knew where to go.
The hour-long class felt short on time but it wasn’t long enough to make me forget that a few days ago, I was drowning a Fallen One.
The next few hours were easier. Although Eran wasn’t with me, I was distracted in other ways. The rumor about Eran was traveling again across school grounds and, surprisingly, a few students had the courage to approach me about it.
In my third period class, Mark Mitchell leaned towards me and asked, “So’s it true what I heard about Eran Talor?”
I shrugged. “What’d you hear?” I avoided him by focusing on pulling out my books before class started.
“ That he was in prison…” he said excitedly. “In Germany.”
I turned to stare at him, expressionless, before responding flatly, “No.”
When Sylvia Cross approached me about it in my fourth period, I gave her the same response.
Then it was lunch break and they could stare firsthand at the one who’d killed a guy in France, was extradited to Germany, spent several weeks in the squalid conditions of a German cell, eating rats to survive, fighting demented and depraved inmates, eventually paying off an official in order to risk a daring escape back to the United States.
By the end of the day, Eran was the most notorious student in campus history, taking the title I’d held since starting at the school. Even the faculty eyed him suspiciously. He took it in stride, seeming not to notice a single sideways glance or overhear a not-so-distant snicker. Thinking back, I realized he was astutely familiar with this scenario. Eran had never been one to tip toe a line and as a result he’d encountered fierce rumors and violent antagonism during several of his lifetimes.
“ You handled that well,” I said complimenting his resilience once we were standing at my bike at the end of the day.
“ Huh?” he asked, perplexed.
“ The amount of attention you were getting…” I hinted.
“ Oh, that…I didn’t notice it much.” He shrugged. “My thoughts, for the most part, were on you.”
I glanced up. “Me?”
“ Sure,” he said, slipping on his helmet so that his voice became muffled as he continued. “I was figuring out how I could get you alone.”
My stomach burned as those words registered in my mind. He’d been thinking about spending intimate time with me? All day long? My confidence faltered then as the full weight of it hit me. I could tear apart Fallen Ones, whisk myself and others to the afterlife and back, but when it came to being intimate with Eran I went weak in the knees.
Noticing my reaction, he winked arrogantly at me, and then gestured to take a seat on my bike.
“ What did you come up with?” I muttered shyly, as I slipped on the bike behind him.
“ You’ll see…” he teased.
I sighed in disagreement, not wanting to wait any longer. “Tell me,” I demanded.
“ Wait and see.”
“ When?”
“ Soon, Magdalene.” He reached his hand around and placed it against my thigh, the weight of it making me crave him more. Then he said the only pointed comment that could distract me from his hand. “You have a problem with patience, my dear.”
In
Appearing as if she wanted to change the subject, she openly assessed me. “You look tired, Maggie.”
Already irritated by her agreement with the warden, I rolled my eyes. I was more tired of hearing it.
“ It was smart of you to bring her back,” she told Eran.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes it was.”
Before I was able to insist I was almost back to my regular energy level, the first bell rang and we had to head to our seats.
Just before she began to start her lecture, Ms. Beedinwigg gave me a hard look. It was one that I knew intuitively. The demure woman standing before me, hair in a bun, glasses hanging from her neck, wearing a shapeless printed dress, once again reminded me of the aggressive warrior hidden behind her camouflaged outfit.
Her look was telling me that when I was ready to return to training I knew where to go.
The hour-long class felt short on time but it wasn’t long enough to make me forget that a few days ago, I was drowning a Fallen One.
The next few hours were easier. Although Eran wasn’t with me, I was distracted in other ways. The rumor about Eran was traveling again across school grounds and, surprisingly, a few students had the courage to approach me about it.
In my third period class, Mark Mitchell leaned towards me and asked, “So’s it true what I heard about Eran Talor?”
I shrugged. “What’d you hear?” I avoided him by focusing on pulling out my books before class started.
“ That he was in prison…” he said excitedly. “In Germany.”
I turned to stare at him, expressionless, before responding flatly, “No.”
When Sylvia Cross approached me about it in my fourth period, I gave her the same response.
Then it was lunch break and they could stare firsthand at the one who’d killed a guy in France, was extradited to Germany, spent several weeks in the squalid conditions of a German cell, eating rats to survive, fighting demented and depraved inmates, eventually paying off an official in order to risk a daring escape back to the United States.
By the end of the day, Eran was the most notorious student in campus history, taking the title I’d held since starting at the school. Even the faculty eyed him suspiciously. He took it in stride, seeming not to notice a single sideways glance or overhear a not-so-distant snicker. Thinking back, I realized he was astutely familiar with this scenario. Eran had never been one to tip toe a line and as a result he’d encountered fierce rumors and violent antagonism during several of his lifetimes.
“ You handled that well,” I said complimenting his resilience once we were standing at my bike at the end of the day.
“ Huh?” he asked, perplexed.
“ The amount of attention you were getting…” I hinted.
“ Oh, that…I didn’t notice it much.” He shrugged. “My thoughts, for the most part, were on you.”
I glanced up. “Me?”
“ Sure,” he said, slipping on his helmet so that his voice became muffled as he continued. “I was figuring out how I could get you alone.”
My stomach burned as those words registered in my mind. He’d been thinking about spending intimate time with me? All day long? My confidence faltered then as the full weight of it hit me. I could tear apart Fallen Ones, whisk myself and others to the afterlife and back, but when it came to being intimate with Eran I went weak in the knees.
Noticing my reaction, he winked arrogantly at me, and then gestured to take a seat on my bike.
“ What did you come up with?” I muttered shyly, as I slipped on the bike behind him.
“ You’ll see…” he teased.
I sighed in disagreement, not wanting to wait any longer. “Tell me,” I demanded.
“ Wait and see.”
“ When?”
“ Soon, Magdalene.” He reached his hand around and placed it against my thigh, the weight of it making me crave him more. Then he said the only pointed comment that could distract me from his hand. “You have a problem with patience, my dear.”
In
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