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“What do you mean more? I know his family is powerful.”
Josie stopped me by touching my arm. “Yeah, very powerful and influential. Trust me, my daddy told me all about it. I heard he and his two brothers used to participate in hunts on their father’s estate.”
“You mean like lions, tigers, and bears?” I teased. Her father was a man few messed with, someone of power and influence himself in the world of law enforcement. However, I also knew the guy believed his shit didn’t stink.
“Try humans. Their father’s enemies and evidently, the brutal man had a lot of them. They say if you step foot on the land at night, you can hear their souls begging for help and absolution from the fires of hell.”
The girl was overly dramatic but now she was pushing every boundary. “I hope you put that ghost story into your words for the exam this morning.”
She raked her hand through her hair as Taylor laughed, obviously not believing our friend. “Yes, I actually did.”
“Is this a true story?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything. I had to get my car fixed, the rest of my things packed before I could start my new job.
“Supposedly; my father told me.”
I took a deep breath, wondering if I could find anything on the internet like what she’d described. “And what happened to their father, or do I want to know?”
Taylor piped in this time. “From what I heard, the boys made their abusive father go on a final hunt himself where they tracked him down, killed and dismembered him. He’s buried on the property.”
For a few seconds I almost believed her until both of them started to laugh. “You’re terrible. Both of you. It’s a great job and I’m looking forward to what I can learn.”
“Evidently, so is the sexy professor,” Josie purred.
“Meaning what and how would you know?”
She nodded over my shoulder and I slowly turned my head. With the glint of the sun, the shimmer highlighted his figure in the window.
He was staring right at me.
Planning.
Hungering.
Needing.
Suddenly, I felt like his prey.
CHAPTER 8
“He painted over her scars with every color he could find until she lost them in the setting sun.”
—Atticus
Easton
There was no way to adequately describe the feelings I had when reading Sara’s story. I’d watched her during the exam, her body language so fluid, so expressive that the devil inside of me had wanted to strip her naked right there in the middle of class, spreading her legs wide open and tasting her sweet nectar. At one point, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to do so.
My attraction had been to her beauty and innocence.
Or so I’d believed.
Until I’d sat down that night, reading her story three times and each time, my cock had become harder, my balls tightening. There must have been a news report on the man I’d murdered, although I hadn’t seen it. She’d taken the opportunity to get into the mind of the killer just as I’d hoped, but her spin had been as if from a point of view where she’d been there on the scene.
Or as if she’d experienced something more personal over the years.
Holding a dark secret.
After reading the vastly creative and graphic story the third time, my beliefs had forced me to take another look at her previous work, including some short exercises and poems I’d required the students to write. I’d been certain at the time she simply had an affinity to Edgar Allan Poe, but now, I wasn’t convinced.
