His King, His Cariad

That's Personal

"Alright, everyone, you should have finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray this week. Let's start our discussion with a few broader questions. What do you think is Oscar Wilde's overall message about hedonism? Did he have a message at all, or is art simply art with no deeper meaning?" Professor Marks leans on the podium and points to a student whose hand is raised. All I can see is the back of her blonde head as she lowers her hand with a sniff. I roll my eyes. Here we go.

"There is, of course, a message, as all art has one, intentional or not. Wilde is obviously-" I zone her out. Zone out the whole class really. I chose to sit in the back today, alone. Normally, I enjoy my English Lit course, but how am I supposed to do this? Am I just to forget that Nick is gone? That all of our lives are in danger? My leg starts bouncing, a nervous habit I picked up from Dad when I was younger. I'm not sure how long I sit staring at my notebook until I feel a large, warm hand press onto my leg, stopping its movements. Looking over, I see Selwyn sitting in the chair to my right.

"What the hell are you doing here, Sel," I hiss at him. My mouth opens to say more when my nerves go on the fritz. His thumb begins drawing slow circles on my thigh. He is sitting here like he's been present the whole time, slouched down, one ankle crossed over a knee. A black leather jacket is thrown over the back of the chair in front of him. He even has a copy of the reading material and paper as though he is taking notes. Looking down, I realize he has my book. My desk is empty. When his eyes connect with mine, his tongue peeks out and slowly swipes across his bottom lip.

"Calm, Bree. I have been here for some time. You are the one who did not take notice of my presence." The teacher asks a question I don't hear, but Sel's hand moves up.

"Ah, Mr. Kane," Professor Marks says, smiling slightly. "Always a pleasure to have you in my class. Go ahead." Students turn to look at Sel. Most with confusion, some taking in the beauty of the part-incubus. One guy in particular, Jay, I think, catches Sel's eye. Giving him a seductive smile, Sel addresses the professor with barely a glance.

"I am not here to participate. Briana Matthews is needed elsewhere, immediately." He shoots Jay a wink and begins to gather my things.

"Where are we going," I whisper.

"Your dorm."

"Why are we going to my dorm?"

"Can the questions wait until we are, at least, in the hallway?" His hand shifts to grab mine, tugging me to stand.

Sighing, I turn forward to apologize for cutting class early. Sel pulls me out the door, and I shut it behind us. "Have you taken Marks's class before?"

"No."

I cut my eyes at him. "Well, he seems to know you."

"Yes, I met him earlier when I... convinced him that I am one of his best students." His back is straight as he pulls me down the hallway.

"You mesmered my professor. Why?"

"Because you need the ability to leave class at a moment's notice. I figured you would not appreciate it if I burst in and took you without explanation." Squinting against sunlight when Sel pushes the exit door open, I use my free hand to shield my eyes. I don't care if he interrupts my class. Especially if it's about finding Nick. Not like I was paying attention anyway.

"Aren't the teachers aware of The Order and what's going on?"

"Not all are aware of what goes on here. Those like your Patricia Hartwood only know of the organization because of their connection to rootcraft. Some, like the local police, for example, are vassals."