Gothicana

Taking the books out of her bag, she set them on the desk, intending to head to the back area to search for more. The librarian, an old woman with white hair and wrinkles and dark, knowledgeable eyes, a woman whose name she didn’t know, put her books away, watching Corvina.

“Need more?” she asked in her papery voice, and Corvina gave her a smile.

“Yes, I’ll be back with a few more hopefully.”

Corvina had already begun working on her paper for Dr. Kari’s class and needed more background on Freud’s theories and Jungian archetypes.

The Psychology section was right at the back of what had once been a ginormous dungeon of the castle. The university had completely redone the space, making it more luxurious than any dungeon had the right to be. Dark, almost black wooden shelves stood tall in neat rows at the back, differentiated by departments. A big fireplace adorned the west wall, the mantle above displaying a range of old swords that must have belonged to the castle. Six armchairs sat in front of the fireplace, looking comfortable with their deep green and brown covers. Long tables and chairs occupied the space between the armchairs and the main desk. Surprisingly, a very modern coffee machine sat in one corner beside the desk, the only thing out of place in the entire ancient dungeon. 

“Go on then, before your classes begin,” the old librarian nudged her forward.

Corvina nodded and headed to the back of the mostly empty library, bypassing the History and the Literature sections, and turned in the Psychology, her fingers ru

Heart racing as the book slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a thud, she looked at the unfamiliar young boy looking at her with shifty eyes.

“They are here,” he told her in a low voice, looking around to see no one was coming.

“Excuse me?” Corvina whispered, matching his tone. “Who are you talking about?”

“The Slayers,” he fidgeted, speaking in a hushed voice.

“The what?”

Before either of them could say a thing, the sound of footsteps came shuffling towards them, probably after hearing her loud shriek from seconds ago.

The boy ran in the other direction, leaving Corvina standing there, completely perplexed. Who the hell were the Slayers?

She inhaled, shaking her head, and squatted down to pick up the fallen book, just as shoes appeared in the line of her vision – masculine, brown wingtip boots, with black jeans folded over their top. Corvina knew before she even looked up whom they belonged to.

She closed her eyes momentarily, calling for the strength to face him alone in this corner of the library and resist the heat surging through her after a week-long of stares and fantasies. She tilted her head back, her eyes going up the long legs and thick thighs, pausing on the bulge she saw at face level, continuing up his torso to those arresting mercury eyes. He looked taller, bigger from her vantage.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her on her haunches, and a sliver of something velvety coiled in her belly.

The sides of his square jaw clenched.

He extended his palm to help her up and Corvina studied his hand, that large, beautiful hand. His palm was calloused, the fingers slightly bent, especially the middle and little finger. Corvina hesitated for a second, before placing her hand in his.

The sensation of the graceful fingers and roughened skin sent contrasting little waves over her nerves. Her small hand felt dwarfed in his larger grip, sending her pulse skittering across her body. She felt a small tug, and then she was upright, her body flush against his, her free breasts pressed into his tight torso, her stomach nestling the bulge she had spied moments ago, her hand in his grip, his eyes roving over her face.

He paused for a moment, as though battling with himself, before he stepped to the side, taking her with him, pressing her back into the shelves, and shielding her smaller body from the view of anyone who happened to stroll by. The protectiveness in the move made something soften in her chest, not used to anyone doing something like this for her.

And then an ugly thought wormed its way into her mind. What if this wasn’t anything special at all? What if he did this for any girl who caught his eye? What if she was blowing up something simple into something special because of her inexperience with the opposite sex?

His eyes continued to move over her entire face, his hand holding hers not letting it go. 

“Did you corner Alissa in the library too?” the words left her lips before she could call them back, hanging between them.

She saw his dark brows furrow slightly, his gaze steady on hers. “Alissa? The girl who died?”

Corvina nodded, her throat tight.

“Why would I corner her in the library?” he asked her, tilting his head to the side, his fingers flexing around hers, the other arm coming to the shelf on her side, cocooning them in a dark bubble.

She felt a warm flush climb up her face in his close proximity. “Because you were together?”

A slight chuckle escaped him as he leaned closer, making her pulse flutter as his nose touched it. “I was with her one time, little crow,” he spoke against her neck. “That was before I knew she was a student. I haven’t come this far to risk it all for a random fling.”

But Jade told her that Alissa had been hooking up with him, or at least that’s what she’d told Jade. Had she lied to her roommate? And if so, why? What the hell had she been involved in to kill herself afterward? Or was he lying to her?

The nose scenting the line of her neck brought her back.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t stop, hoping his nose continued to feel its way up her neck. But what was the harm? Who would it hurt if she followed this thread of lust only this man inspired?

“No, we shouldn’t,” he agreed, thankfully not stopping. “I need to stay away from you. I don’t know what sorcery this is,” he whispered to her, his words floating over her face as he leaned closer, “but I have to stop.”

She needed to stay away from him too, for so many reasons, none of which she could remember right in that moment. Her mind was muddled. All she knew was his scent, that scent of burning wood and heady brandy, and his voice – that deep, gravel voice that pebbled her nipples – and those searing silver eyes – those eyes that made her breath catch and lips tingle. She was nothing but pure sensation in that moment, from the roots of her wild, loose hair to the tips of her curled toes, and she was only pressed into him.

His face came closer, along with his whispered demand.

“Stop me.”

Her lips parted.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his mouth inches away from hers, hovering. She inhaled, her chest pressing deeper into him just as he exhaled, exchanging the same breath of charged air between them, the static pulsing between her legs, throbbing, making her wet and swollen and needy.

His hand left hers, going to the side to grip her skirt, his gaze ensnaring hers.

“I told you not to give me those eyes,” silver met violet in a dark corner of the library, “Your eyes have such hunger. Your soul is starved, and your flesh is famished. Tell me, Miss Clemm, do you want relief?”

She did.

Her entire being felt seen, splayed open before him, the cracks in her soil visible, waiting for him to quench its thirst.