Page 33 of Shadowed Whispers

I don’t believe in fate. Never have. What the hell did fate ever do for me besides torture me, toss me into shitty scenarios, and abuse me?

No, fuck fate, and fuck Bishop Mercer.

“Come on, firefly,” he says in that smooth voice of his.

I want to shove a ball gag in his mouth and shut him up.

“Don’t call me that.” I grind my teeth.

“Ah, come on, you are still as pale as a ghost, my little firefly,” he teases as though he didn’t break my heart, which he did. I still have the scars, ones he ripped open. “You probably still glow in the dark.”

“Mommy dearest call you back?” I whip my head around to glare at him, even though just looking at him hurts my soul, and yet a part of me remembers how amazing he felt moving above me and inside me, making me crave his touch.

“She did actually.” He casually lays his hands over his stomach, turning his head to glance around the lab. “Everything looks the same.”

And yet, everything isn’t the same.

I turn back to my computer, knowing it’s useless to get any work done with Bishop here, so I power down and begin to pack up. I have a class in an hour anyway.

“You’re mad.” He stops twisting in his chair to face me.

Gritting my teeth, I breathe slowly in and out through my nose before repeating his parting words to me. “Open your eyes, Frankie. You’re out of your depth, a nobody trying to play in a league she doesn’t even comprehend. You’re nothing—weak, ordinary, and utterly forgettable. I can’t waste another minute on you.”

He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t even wince. Instead, he smirks at me and taps the counter. “Can I show you my classroom?”

“No.” I grab my backpack and begin shoving all my things inside. I’m being dramatic, I know I am, but when it comes to Bishop, I’ve never had my head screwed on straight. “Tori is looking for you.”

I should have known when she mentioned his name two weeks ago that he was lurking on campus somewhere, and from the mention of a classroom, my guess is he is teaching as he works toward his master’s. I only hope that I’m not in any of his classes.

“Hmm, you’re really mad,” he says, his voice dripping with an unctuous tone that makes it sound like some kind of sick joke.

I regret not having lunch with Leo and Matteo now. Hell, even Dorian would be better than this. With a growl of frustration, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and stomp through the room, each step echoing my anger. My hand is on the doorknob when Bishop grips my skirt and twirls me around, pushing me against the door with a soft thud.

He steps close, so dangerously close that I can smell the tobacco on his breath mixed with the faint, earthy scent of vetiver that wafts off him, sending a confusing cascade of memories and desires flashing through my mind. No, I tell myself firmly. I press against his chest, focusing on breathing through my mouth so I don’t have to inhale his intoxicating scent.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says, his voice low and surprisingly earnest, startling me.

I don’t accept his apology. My arms drop to my sides, heavy and numb. “What do you want?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“I just wanted to find you and talk to you, and tell you in person I’m teaching this year.” He begins to massage my wrists gently. The familiarity of his touch is disarming, threatening to unravel the walls I’ve built around my heart.

“Come see my classroom,” he presses, his warmth seeping through the fabric of my clothes, making me acutely aware of his proximity.

Rolling my eyes, I try to push him away again. This was the problem we had before—lust, lust, lust. That is all we were. Two bodies moving together, getting each other off and fucking out our stress. It would be so easy to fall right back into that, but the problem was, that’s all we had. Even during that one summer we had, I didn’t learn a single thing about him or his adoption, and he refused to tell me. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Fine, then I have to get to class.” I swallow hard, trying to appear unaffected although I know I’m failing.

“Perfect,” he says, holding my hand with a firm yet gentle grasp. He tugs me away from the door and leads me back the way we came, his touch scalding yet strangely comforting.

No one is up here still. I don’t know why that matters so much to me, but it does. I don’t want to be seen with Bishop, at least not anymore. He leads me up to the second floor.

Outside one door, the number reads CSC303 as Bishop leads me into the classroom, the cool air of the room brushing against my skin.

That’s when it hits me. “You’re my cryptography instructor.” The realization washes over me like a cold wave, mixing shock with a tinge of inevitability.

Chapter 12

Frankie

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