Page 24
Something in the quiet calm he exudes stills me. “But,” he continues, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, “if anything tries to come between us, truly come between us, I will not hesitate to act.”
I tilt my head, blinking at his strange phrasing. “What are you saying, Alastair?”
His hands remain cradling my face, gentle still. Yet his gaze sharpens, darkens, as though something has aligned inside him. He exhales a heavy sigh.
“I am saying,” he replies softly, “that I choose you. In every way that matters. In every circumstance where a choice must be made.” His thumb stills against my cheekbone. “And I am not a man who wavers once he has decided what he is willing to lose—and what he is not.”
Understanding worms its way in through the spaces between my ribs, swirling around my heart and tightening until it aches.
He would kill for me.
The thought should comfort me. Instead, it unsettles something deep and unnameable, blooming into a quiet, treacherous curiosity.
This revelation consumes me with thoughts I have no business entertaining, but can’t seem to fight.
If he had been there before—
If someone had been willing to choose me so completely—
Maybe I would not have had to choose myself in blood.
We work hastily, getting dressed and packing our things away to take with us to the dining hall. When we’ve collected all the blankets, pillows, and books we can carry, Alastair extends his hand for me to take. I wrap my arm around his, needing to be closer to him than the touch of his hand alone could provide.
My legs wobble beneath me as we scurry toward the dining hall where everyone is being ushered inside by the headmaster, his arms swinging frantically as he pleads with everyone to move with haste. The halls feel warped, as if I’m staring at the space through a funhouse mirror and my mind can’t seem to catch up with the reality of the place I’d grown so familiar with these last five years. Everything from the eggplant-colored velvet curtains draped from the ceilings, hanging along the walls appear to shift and move.
“Oh!” I jolt back, Alastair’s strong arm holding me in place, acting as an anchor that secures me to my spot.
He comes to an abrupt halt, staring down at me with brows pinched in concern. “Is everything alright?” he murmurs.
My gaze darts back to the drapery, my heart still beating a thunderous rhythm, but the curtains are no longer moving like the wings of a dragon or some other winged beast. I don’t voice the thought though. I have no need to concern him further and even less of a desire to have someone overhear our conversation and believe I’ve lost my sanity. Though perhaps I have.
“Calista?” he asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“I’m alright. Just feeling a little unsteady is all,” I answer, simplifying what I’m feeling.
We hurry inside and find that most of the tables are already occupied and rather than disturb the students further, Alastair steers us toward the center of the room, stopping in front of a thick stone pillar that faces the expansive Christmas tree. The sight of it makes my stomach turn sour as I take it in, unable to help but feel this joyous time of year has been stolen from me once more.
“Is this alright?” he asks, tilting his head.
I nod and we set our things down, arranging the blankets and pillows so that they provide padding on the cold hard floor. Alastair takes a seat, patting his lap.
Nerves climb my throat and the fear that I’ve allowed him to take too many liberties these last few weeks claws at me. We’d once had very solid boundaries, ones that I set and he followed at my request. With everything going on these last few weeks, I’ve given into our mutual desires, allowing for sleepovers and public displays of affection. Would anyone notice if I seated myself in his lap? Would they think it weird? Do I even care?
I ruminate on the thought for several long seconds, time dragging on as the students bow their heads, murmuring with darting gazes, fear and unease evident in their every move. The faculty are all huddled in groups, seeking comfort in whatever way they can and as I consider them all and the precarious position we find ourselves, I realize that no, I do not give a damn what they might think about our relationship.
And if we are all destined to die by the hands of a spree killer, I may as well go in the place I feel cherished, safe, and loved. With that thought, I lower myself to the ground and crawl right into Alastair’s arms, settling my ass in his lap. I wriggle around, not to get comfortable, but simply because one of life’s greatest joys is arousing this man and I seem to be throwing all necessary caution to the wind.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
The heavy wooden doors slam shut with the last of the students and faculty settling into what looks to be more of a hostage situation than an effort to keep everyone safe, but from the looks of it, Headmaster Whitmore is beside himself, unable to handle the stress and lack of sleep he seems to be getting.
I can’t help but think how much better Alastair would be as headmaster with his level-headedness and problem-solving.
His warm body presses against me as he leans into my space, resting his chin on my shoulder and we take in the sight before us. “I might be wrong, but wouldn’t putting us all in one place make it easier to be killed in one go?” he asks, murmuring into my ear with a light, humorless chuckle.
“I’m not sure Whitmore is in any condition to be having rational thoughts such as those, Professor Ignatius,” I volley back, attempting to keep the conversation lighthearted despite the worry slipping in more with every passing moment.
Headmaster Whitmore paces the small space in front of the Christmas tree, his hands flailing in front of him as his lips smack together. He appears to be speaking rather frantically to himself and his erratic movements are putting everyone even more on edge, if that’s possible.
