Chapter 15
Eden
Logan blinks down at me like I’m an idiot, which doesn’t make me any less afraid of him.
“You really don’t know, do you?” His voice is so low it’s almost a whisper.
“Know what?” What kind of game is he playing here?
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He opens his mouth, then closes it, running a hand through his blonde hair with what can be best described as a pained expression. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter now.”
“It kind of seems like it does,” I press, blushing at my own boldness.
Silence falls. It looks like Logan is clicking his tongue, maybe even considering telling me something new. But that’s when the warning bell rings, breaking us from whatever spell had fallen over us.
“We’re late,” he says, shocking me by grabbing my hand and dragging me with him. “Mrs. Thompson hates tardiness.”
Okay, why is he delivering me to my class? And shit, it’s hard keeping up with him. His legs are so much longer than mine that I’m half–running to keep up. I’m also hyperaware of the feeling is his fingers gripping my hand, eating it up. Tingles tickle me internally, but it must be my wolf responding to her Alpha. Nothing else.
Mrs. Thompson raises an eyebrow when we enter together, hand–in–hand. “Mr. Valentine, Miss Felicity. So glad you could join us.”
“Sorry,” Logan says, his voice carrying that new Alpha authority that makes even our human teacher straighten. “It won’t happen again.”
Logan releases me, but follows me to the back of the classroom. It’s common in Sweden to not have desks. This room has smaller tables instead, and when Logan sits down in the back with me, I glance at Paris.
She looks ready to murder me.
I swallow down the pain and look at Logan. “What are you doing?” I whisper–hiss at the Alpha, who is now sitting down with his knees pressing against the bottom of the table.
“Sitting.” he replies simply, taking out his notebook as if this is perfectly normal.
Paris raises her hand, her voice sickly sweet when Mrs. Thompson calls on her. “Mrs. Thompson, I think there’s been a mistake. Logan always sits with me.”
Mrs. Thompson looks over her glasses at Paris. “I don’t assign seats in this class, Miss Moonsong. Mr. Valentine is free to sit wherever he chooses.”
Paris’s face turns an interesting shade of red, and she shoots daggers at me. I sink lower in my seat, wishing I could disappear.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper to Logan when Mrs. Thompson turns to write on the board. “Your girlfriend looks ready to skin me alive.”
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Logan doesn’t look at Paris. He leans back, and I’m hyperaware of his thigh that’s touching mine under the table, practically glued to it. “Let me worry about Paris.”
I scowl. What’s with powerful men confusing me these days? First Azriel and now Logan…
I shoot Logan a glare. “Sit me if you want, but please apologize to your girlfriend after ditching her. I’d rather not get
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shanked in the hallway between classes, thanks.”
Logan’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “She won’t touch you.“,
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“Yeah? You going to bodyguard me all day?” I mutter, flicking my pen so hard it almost flies out of my hand.
He shrugs, like the idea of spending every second glued to my side is no big deal. “If I have to,”
“Oh, please,” I snort under my breath. “You’d get bored after an hour. I’m not that interesting.”
“You’re more interesting than most people here,” Logan says quietly, eyes on his notebook but his knee still pressed against mine like he doesn’t even realize.
1 stare at him. “So…now that you’ve traded my future for a magical baby factory deal with Paris, your plan is to annoy her to death too?”
He actually laughs–like, a real laugh. Not the grimace–smirk I’m used to. “That’s not exactly my plan.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I lower my voice just in case Paris has wolf super–hearing. “Look, if she comes over here and starts some scene, I’m blaming you.”
“Fine.”
“Do you have a death wish?” I ask under my breath as Mrs. Thompson begins her lecture on Swedish literature.
Logan’s eyes flicker to mine, something unreadable swimming in those blue depths. “Maybe I’m just tired of pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That I don’t-” He stops himself, jaw clenching as he redirects his attention to his notebook. “Let’s just that I feel bad about the whole sacrifice thing…”
“Ah, so you’re spending time with me out of guilt and hoping the moon goddess may forgive you if you’re kind to the omega during her last days?”
Logan’s mouth twitches again, but he doesn’t look at me. Is that a blush on his face?
“You make it sound like I put you on hospice,” he mumbles.
I roll my eyes. “If you show up with a casserole and a Hallmark card, I’m reporting you for emotional abuse.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he deadpans. “Would you prefer flowers? Or is that too funeral–home chic?”
“Try gummy bears. At least then I can choke on them and put myself out of my misery.”
He snorts, pencil tapping against his notebook. Mrs. Thompson starts droning on about Strindberg, but neither of us is listening.
“So what’s the real reason?” I whisper, nudging his knee under the table because this is getting weird, and he’s not answering me. “Why are you playing watchdog now, Logan? You never gave a shit before.”
He glances at me, swallowing like he’s considering whether to answer or just sit in silence out of stress.
“I didn’t not care,” he mutters finally.
“Wow, thanks for clearing that up.” I arch a brow. “So specific.”
He gives me a look, like he wants to argue but isn’t sure how much effort I’m worth. “You know what? Forget it. Maybe I just don’t want Paris getting everything she wants for once.”
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Chapter 15
“Oh my god,” I say, barely keeping from snorting. “You’re using me to piss off your girlfriend? That is so mature,”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he says, voice flat.
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I blink. “Could’ve fooled me. You traded me life to have pups with her and also….” This is going to cost me, but I don’t give a fuck anymore and blurt out, “Paris usually dry–humps your arm whenever she gets the chance.” She really does. Looks like a chihuahua in love with it’s master.
He almost chokes on air. “Jesus, Eden-”
Mrs. Thompson shoots us a glare over her bifocals.
I cover my mouth, pretending to cough while Logan tries not to laugh.
“So what do you want from me then?” I whisper after a beat.
His shoulders go up in a big Alpha exhale. “Honestly? I just…I don’t want you to feel alone. Not after…everything”
That one actually stuns me silent for half a second.
“Oh,” I say quietly. “Well… that’s new.”
He shifts like this is the hardest confession of his life and mutters, “Don’t make it weird… Also, if Paris throws an eraser at your head, duck.”
I snort quietly and doodle little gravestones in the margin of my notebook. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe next time just don’t sit with the bullied nerd.”
Logan leans closer, dropping his voice so low only I can hear it. “If anyone messes with you before your birthday–including Paris–let me know.”
I side–eye him suspiciously, my cheeks growing hotter from how close we are. “What are you going to do? Alpha–glare them to death?”
His lips twitch into a smirk again as he flips open his Swedish book with a little too much force. “You’d be surprised how effective that is around here.”
“Right,” I mutter as Mrs. Thompson starts calling on people to read aloud.
Logan slumps lower in his chair with all the enthusiasm of someone waiting for execution. Under the desk, his knee presses against mine again. In purpose this time. It shouldn’t give me butterflies. This is the bastard who has bullied me for years, but I’m tired.
My mother is dead. I don’t sleep in my own bed. I’m going to die, and yes, Logan might be the cause of my terrifying fate as fairy food, and I know a normal person would be pissed off at him.
But I’m not. I feel pretty numb so I write in my notebook for only Logan’s eyes to see:
Can’t wait for study group with my personal bodyguard–slash–guilt babysitter tonight.
Logan looks down at the words and grins.
Such a stupidly pretty boy.
For once in my life, being doomed feels almost tolerable.
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10:23 Mon, 23 Jun
Chapter 16
