I reached for the handle of the rear door, pulling it open with a desperate need to put as much leather and distance between us as possible. I slipped into the shadows of the backseat, clutching my bag against my ribs like a life vest, praying that out of sight might mean out of mind.
A sharp, humorless chuckle cut through the silence before I could even close the door.
Alex was leaning over the center console, one arm resting against the leather passenger seat as he turned his head, his slate-gray eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
"Luna, were you never taught basic manners?" His baritone was laced with sharp mockery, dark and silk-smooth. "I am your mentor, not your chauffeur. Get in the front."
Heat rushed violently to my cheeks, burning against my skin. "I I'm sorry, Professor."
I scrambled out of the back, my boots splashing into a puddle on the slick asphalt, and hurried around to the passenger side. I pulled the heavy door open and slid into the front seat, pulling my coat tight around myself.
The question battered against my skull, relentless and unsettling: Why does he speak to me as though we have known each other for years? Why does he treat me like someone he has already mastered?
The drive stretched into two agonizing hours of leaden quiet. The city's brick and granite bled into winding, deserted country roads veiled in thick autumn mist. The atmosphere inside the luxury vehicle was suffocating, heavy with the bitter scent of cedarwood, leather, and rain. Nobody spoke. The rhythmic, hypnotic hum of the engine and the monotonous sweep of the windshield wipers gradually chipped away at my rigid terror, until sheer physical exhaustion dragged my heavy eyelids down.
Without meaning to, my chin dipped against my chest, and the darkness swallowed me whole.
Beside me, the casual slouch vanished from Alex's posture.
In the dim amber glow of the dashboard dials, his eyes slid sideways, abandoning the glistening black asphalt ahead. He watched her. His slate-gray gaze tracked the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft flutter of dark lashes against pale skin, the vulnerable tilt of her throat exposed above the collar of her wool coat. There was nothing gentle in the way he looked at her. It was the starved, unyielding hunger of a predator that had tracked its quarry through miles of snow, savoring the final, helpless moment before the strike. A slow, lethal smirk traced the curve of his lips in the dark cabin the face of a villain who had finally brought the prize inside the walls.
"Luna."
A low, gravelly rumble brushed past my ear, accompanied by a firm hand nudging my shoulder.
"Wake up. We're here."
"Where am I...?" I murmured, my voice thick with sleep, my mind drifting through foggy fragments of half-remembered dreams. "Who are you...?"
A faint, wicked hum vibrated in his throat, but he offered no answer.
Instead of waiting for my clouded senses to clear, Alex stepped around the car and pulled the passenger door wide open. In one fluid, shockingly effortless motion, his arms slid beneath my knees and behind my back, lifting me completely from the leather seat.
My head rolled against the hard, unyielding wall of his chest, my senses instantly flooded by the sharp tang of black pepper and the warmth of his wool coat. The rhythmic thump of his heart sounded beneath my ear slow, deliberate, and utterly unbothered by my weight. I felt the cool rush of night air across my face, the heavy thud of his boots ascending broad stone steps, and the click of an iron latch before warmth enveloped us again.
He laid me down gently against the plush velvet cushions of an expansive sofa, lingering for a fraction of a second too long as his thumb brushed past the curve of my cheek, before stepping back into the shadows of the foyer.
When my eyes finally fluttered open, the fog in my brain vanished in a sharp spike of adrenaline.
I bolted upright, gasping.
I wasn't in the car. I was sitting in an enormous, dimly lit sitting room paneled in dark oak, illuminated only by the dying embers of a stone hearth and tall arched windows. High ceilings stretched into deep shadows above, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that smelled of dried paper and ancient wax.
Wait.
The realization struck me like a bucket of icy water. How did I get in here? Did he... did he carry me inside while I was sleeping?
A wave of mortification crashed over me. My hands flew to my burning cheeks. God, what an idiot. How could I fall asleep next to him?
Scrambling off the sofa, my boots hit the thick Persian rug without making a sound. I crept toward the rain-streaked bay window and parted the heavy velvet drape. Outside, illuminated by a flickering iron coach lamp, Alex was effortlessly lifting my two battered canvas bags from the trunk of the sleek black car, his broad shoulders easily handling the dead weight under the drizzle.
Panic clawed at my throat. What am I supposed to do? Do I run out into the rain and take the bags from him? Or do I just sit here like a terrified guest waiting for her executioner?
Before I could make a decision, the heavy oak front door clicked open.
Alex stepped into the warm foyer, carrying both of my worn suitcases as though they were filled with feathers. He dropped them beside the arched doorway, his slate-gray eyes immediately zeroing in on me standing rigid beside the window.
"Ah," he murmured, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet room with velvet ease. "You're awake. I was beginning to think you intended to sleep straight through until next term."
"I... I..." The words stumbled over my tongue. I sounded foolish, completely unmoored. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I could have carried those."
Alex walked toward me, shedding his wet wool overcoat with fluid, deliberate grace, tossing it over the back of an armchair. In his fitted black vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves, he seemed to swallow all the open space in the room. He stopped barely an arm's length away, looking down at me with that infuriating, leisurely tilt of his head.
"Hush, Luna," he murmured, the sound almost mocking, almost gentle. "You think too loudly."
I pressed my lips together, my pulse thudding wildly against the hollow of my throat as his presence closed in around me.
"Before you settle in, there are rules you need to understand," Alex continued, his tone dropping an octave, losing every trace of casual banter. It became the cold, unyielding voice of an absolute authority. "You are free to make use of the kitchen. The private library on the ground floor is entirely at your disposal; you will find every reference text you require for your research there."
He took a slow half-step closer, casting a towering shadow over where I stood pinned against the window frame. His pale gray eyes burned down into mine, stripping away every shred of pretense until I couldn't even draw a full breath.
"However," he said, each word deliberate, heavy, and laced with dark poison, "my private quarters are situated at the very end of the upper corridor. The mahogany door."
He paused, letting the silence wrap around us until the violent beating of my heart seemed to echo off the walls.
"Do not ever knock on that door, Miss Jones," Alex whispered, the edge of his mouth curving into that terrifying, predatory smirk. "Unless you are fully prepared for whatever and whoever is waiting behind it."