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Harry’s idea of being ‘right there’ and mine are somewhat different. I finish my tea, grab a breakfast muffin and another juice to go, and realise my time is almost up. I have to head to class and hope that I can catch up with Harry later. There’s no text to explain the holdup, so he probably fell back to sleep or something. Typical Harry.
Don’t care. I shrug it off, determined not to ruin my first day buzz, and line up outside my lecture theatre. I’m not the first one here, so I don’t look like a total geek – even though I am. I unashamedly own it. Everyone is milling around, some in small groups, some in pairs, most alone like me. It’s far too early to have found our tribes yet. I should probably make an effort to get to know my dorm mates this week. It would be good to have some people to talk to. A way to take my mind off The Trinity. If I’m going to survive a year here with them, I’ll need all the friends and distractions I can get. One year, and then they’ll be gone, and I’ll have the place to myself for a further two years. I can do that. I can endure anything for that.
When the digital clock above the entrance hits eight a.m. the doors automatically unlock and open with a whoosh, and we all move forward, scanning our ID cards on the wall to register our attendance. I take a seat in the centre of the middle row and pull out my notebook and pen. As an afterthought, I put my phone on to record too in case I miss anything. The seats around me fill up fast, and everything is nice and normal as the lecture begins.
The lecturer is nice, a passionate woman who’s probably in her late thirties, and an absolute expert in her subject. She cracks jokes that aren’t lame and her enthusiasm and knowledge stirs an excitement in me for this part of the syllabus that I hadn’t been expecting. When I applied to come here I was adamant that I only wanted to study literature, and I was annoyed to discover that for my first year at least I had to pick up a second subject. Now I’m wondering if I’m going to enjoy language studies more than lit.
Sadly, all too soon the lecture is over and I’m packing up to make my move towards my follow up seminar. I double check my schedule and see that I’m in the session straight after the lecture so I hurry up the stairs to the second floor to find the room. This one is laid out more like a traditional classroom, with seats set out around desks, but has the impersonal feel of a conference suite. White walls, grey furniture, no personal touches. It’s pretty grim but it’s only for an hour so I don’t mind.
I’m joined by around two dozen fellow classmates from the lecture hall. There’s no one I know, and it’s bliss. Five others sit at my table and introduce themselves, but I’m crap with names so they don’t stick. We work together to discuss the questions posed at the end of the lecture and have some heated debates. It’s fun. I can see us working together on group projects in the future and I quite like the idea of that.
When class is done I have some time to kill before lunch, which I spend in the library studying. I want to get ahead with my studies, and check out all the core reading literature for the term. It should get me started and I’m keen to pick up the materials before everyone else gets in there and there’s nothing left. Luckily I’m able to get everything I need so I leave with my bag considerably weighed down, but again, it’s a satisfying feeling which I enjoy. I know I could probably borrow or download digital copies of all my core texts, but there’s something about the weight, feel and smell of a real book that can’t be beaten. I guess I’m old school like that. Plus, I can’t stick my cute rainbow post-it notes on a digital text.
Done and starving, I head to the main canteen for lunch, relieved that the Trinity are nowhere to be seen. It’s been a wonderful morning so far. My first day of school ritual has not failed me. I smile as I load my plate up with lasagne, salad and garlic bread, grab a seat by the window and enjoy. No less than seven guys stop by my table and attempt to talk to me. Well, they ask me out. They don’t seem that interested in actually talking to me. But I’m not interested. I rebuff them all, though some take it better than others.
It’s only after I’ve returned my empty tray and plate to the clear-up zone and am heading back out of the canteen that I walk straight into trouble – literally slamming into the hard broad chest of The Father. I step back, scowling, and curse him out for not watching where he was going. There’s a collective intake of breath at my audacity and the whole room seems to freeze to watch the exchange go down.
“little doe.” He smirks but there’s no humour or joy in it. I’m staring into the blue-black eyes of a ruthless, cold-hearted bastard. Why does the devil always wear the face that tempts us most?
“Do not call me that,” I snap, instantly pissed at the reminder of the brand across my chest. I swear it tingles under his icy gaze.
He reaches out to run a tattooed index finger along my jaw and I grit my teeth. I do not want to be touched by any of The Holy Trinity. Not anymore. Not after what they did.
“Did you not get my message this morning?” His silky, seductive voice is dangerously low but fuck him. I’m not playing his game.
“I got it,” I spit. I feel all eyes on us and lift my chin defiantly at him. Surprise flashes in his eyes. It’s brief, but I catch it. He didn’t expect me to stand up to him. I doubt anyone ever does anymore. When we were younger I felt like the only one who even tried to say no to him. Surely he hasn’t forgotten that. Did he think time and distance would make me more demure and more compliant?
If that’s the case he’s dumber than a bag of rocks.
“You just chose to defy me?” The rhetorical question he poses is actually a challenge. He’s laying down the gauntlet and waiting to see what I’ll do with it as he toys with the ends of the disastrously tied bow around my neck. I can imagine that he’s itching to correct it.
Sure enough, with one sharp tug he has the stupid thing undone but before he can grasp the ends to retie it, I step back out of his reach.
Bring it on, Axel Abbott. I’m not afraid of you.
“I chose to ignore the demands of a self-entitled arsehole who couldn’t even be bothered to sign off his message. Fuck you, you can’t tell me what to wear,” I snap. “Only the university administration can do that.”
The Father steps perilously close to me, invading my space and my senses. His pine and campfire scent envelopes me in a heady mix of warm familiarity and ice-cold terror. How is it possible that even after all these years, my body still reacts so violently to his nearness?
When his inked hands reach out and grab the front of my shirt, his knuckles grazing my breasts as he fists the material, I barely manage to contain my reaction. A shiver rolls through me but I refuse to consider if it’s repulsion or desire. Maybe even a little fear too for all my bravado. His resulting smirk makes my stomach roil and my lunch almost makes a reappearance.
“Sort it out,” he whispers against my ear, his sinfully soft lips caressing my lobe. “Or I’ll cut the breast out of every shirt you own. Your bras too.”
He steps back and pulls, yanking my shirt open, buttons flying all over the dining hall. Instead of dying from embarrassment, my cami covers my modesty, though it does show most of The Doe tattoo, but I’m still enraged. I slap his hands off my shirt and turn the air around me blue with profanities.
The dickhead just laughs.
Stepping forward, he slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I try to fight him off but his grip becomes bruising. Axel might not be the tallest, widest, most built guy out of the Trinity – that’s Kaiden’s role – but he’s still deceptively strong and terrifying when he wants to be. I’m not going to be able to remove him without pulling out my blade, so it’s easier to give in and get this over with more quickly.
Pulled against him like this I can feel the hard press of a gun underneath his blazer. I freeze. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. Those boys have been handling weapons of one sort or another virtually since the day I met them. But I didn’t expect them to be carrying them daily. Especially not on campus. Why the hell would they need to?
Though I think of my own knife, always within reach, and know that someone could say the same about me.
They don’t know what I’ve been through though.
And while I may not know what they’ve faced either, I highly doubt our situations are the same.
“You see this?” He announces to the room, pointing to my tattoo. He pulls the edge of my cami down to expose the top of my breast so that the ink can be seen in full. I slap his hand away again but he ignores me. “She is the fucking doe, and no one touches her.” He traces his finger across the tattoo and my knees shake. “She’s ours. You’ll be answering to The Holy Trinity if you choose to defy us. Spread the word.”
