Page 89 of Magdalene Nox

Yes, she could say with confidence that the crimson number had worked quite well.

The next morning, before their departure back to Dragons, Sam had to pay for a pillow Magdalene had torn to shreds, and Magdalene had to make an emergency run to a nearby pharmacy for a pack of bandaids, because the teeth marks on her skin—the ones she’d left there while trying to keep herself quiet— were so prominent, there was no way to pretend they weren’t exactly what they appeared.

Every time she looked down at the marks, Magdalene’s brain transported her back to Sam’s hotel room. To its door… to its desk, where Sam pretty much reenacted Magdalene’s fantasy of being eaten out on a flat surface. To its bed where Sam had made her come twice from behind, on her hands and knees, screaming herself hoarse into the aforementioned ruined pillow.

By the time it was 4AM and Magdalene needed to get back to her own room, she could barely walk, and Sam had a decidedly smug expression on her swollen mouth. Magdalene wished she’d cared more about payback, when all that really mattered to her was the encore.

Regardless,it made for some amazing material to reminisce about at every staff meeting, where she’d try not to stare at Sam for too long, because she would get hazy with memories of biting through the cheap cotton of the hotel-issued pillowcase to avoid waking up the entire block because it was her fifth orgasm. And my god, she had never been this vocal—or this debauched—in her lifetime.

It also made for an even better distraction every time Orla Fenway continued to try to undermine her left and right as retaliation for Magdalene’s perceived temerity to ‘sell out’ the school to the ‘dangerous locals’ who were ‘desecrating the hallowed grounds’ by renovating the old Astronomy Tower on Viridescent Cliff.

Fenway could curse her very existence as many times as she liked to, however, because the slow-but-sure transformation was well underway. And according to the plans Magdalene had signed off on, the finished product was going to be a state-of-the-art hotel. In addition, given the fact that staying there would cost an arm and a leg, it would be highly unlikely to attract anyone from a different—and therefore much frowned upon by Orla and her disciples—social strata than the families of the affluent Dragons students.

Sam, being the woman of her word, kept the promise she gave on their morning after in Connecticut and stayed away from her, much to Magdalene’s chagrin.

And while the overall breakneck speed of her days, with busy mornings and even busier afternoons, assured that Magdalene stayed well and truly occupied and didn’t allow her to dwell on the length and skill of those fingers too much, it was breakfast time at the Mess Hall that was the hardest. By far.

Sam would sit with Joanne, who Magdalene suspected had figured out the situation afoot, and was mostly either teasing the math teacher or nudging her to prevent Sam from staring at Magdalene. Because Sam—no matter how rule-abiding she was—was in love, much to Magdalene’s joy, and could not for the life of her keep herself from said staring.

So, especially when Orla wasn’t around, Magdalene would play with her first mug of morning coffee, trace the thick porcelain rim, slowly stir the golden liquid with her silver spoon, savor the feeling of it warming her hands, and stare back at Sam. Then she’d raise the cup to her lips and slowly drink in the life-giving ambrosia, enjoying the prolonged sip, and Sam would cross and recross her legs, clearly pressing her thighs together to alleviate some of the tension. Magdalene loved this game very much.

But all playing aside, on the very rare occasion that Sam let her guard down, usually when they were alone on the Amber Cliff, Magdalene could see a shadow of something in those eyes. Something akin to worry. Something akin to pain. And while there could be a million reasons for Sam to fret, there was really only one for her to be hurt over.

Dusk was slowly chasing out daylight outside her apartment’s windows and Willoughby was snoozing carefree in her lap, warm and heavy. Earlier, she had lit candles and he’d side-eyed her.

“Sam isn’t the only one who likes candlelight, buster.” He chirped something back at her, and she winked at him. “Yes, I don’t believe that fib either.” But the candlelight gave her little space the cosiness of memories and the intimacy of longing for her lover.

Despite falling hard and fast and seemingly way before Sam, Magdalene had not said those three words out loud. She couldn’t. She had tried and had repeatedly failed, one thing always holding her back. Well, two things.

First, she was still very much bound by her contract and her responsibility to the school. And while contract be damned—Magdalene’s contrary streak was a mile wide, and sticking it to Joel Tullinger and Stanton Alden was a decidedly enticing factor—the school was the main obstacle that really stood between them.

The darkness engulfed the island and she checked the time, the Vacheron on her wrist, heavy as ever, kept reminding her about her word. And while these days the watch was no longer a shackle of vengeance, it was one of responsibility. The precariousness of Dragons, the uncertain path towards its survival, kept Magdalene up at night, and the knowledge that, if she were fired, the trustees would not hesitate to shutter the doors of the school, was unthinkable.

And with Dragons between them, the beasts not yet quite mollified and not yet safe, Magdalene did not feel right declaring herself. Her heart wasn’t split, but her loyalties were, and so were her commitments, and it felt dishonest towards Sam to tell her now, when Magdalene wasn’t free to openly pursue a relationship.

She looked at Willoughby, still asleep in her lap and scratched his ear. His bicolored eyes opened slightly and he yawned. Magdalene cuddled him closer.

“I love her, Willoughby.”

How wonderful it felt to say it out loud.She loved.It was living and breathing inside her, slowly growing roots and settling in her chest, warm and intricate and safe. And these roots steadily took the space where fear and revenge once lived, demanding her full attention, grabbing her by the throat and refusing to let go every time Sam as much as looked at her. Every time Magdalene as much as thought about that contemplative gaze, those lovely lips, that wondrous mind that challenged and enthralled her.

Yes, she was so in love; she was glowing with it. Every single corner of the sprawling mansion was filled with it, the light spilling through the cracks in the granite and illuminating the space within. The sensation of it seeping through what was left in that hole in the middle of her chest, dripping under her feet everywhere she went, leaving golden traces on the black floor boards and ashen tiles.

The second reason she hadn’t told Sam she loved her was that they had time. They had all the time in the world. Amidst the yearning and charged gazes, amidst the teasing and games, amidst lust and closets, they had time.

Willoughby grumbled as Magdalene stood up, but quickly settled down on her now vacated chair, enjoying the body heat she left behind. As she looked from her apartment’s window into the stormy night sprawling in front of her, a lonely figure slowly made its way from Amber Cliff towards the school, illuminating her path with a bright beam. The hand on the flashlight was steady despite the wind, and Magdalene marveled at the surety of Sam’s steps and at her beloved’s unwavering grasp. As unfaltering as Sam’s heart. As strong as their love.

Nothing was going to come between them. Not the trustees, not Orla and her foolishness and not the school. Magdalene would merely pay her dues first, make sure she was irreplaceable in her importance to the survival of Dragons and then… Then, she would play her cards and they would be together. They had all the time in the world.

Until they didn’t. Until something as simple as child’s play took all the time away from her, from them, and left her reeling.

* * *

For weeks,Magdalene had been extremely careful in her missives to Sam. Some texts here and there, some notes, occasionally delivered by Willoughby, though he took to the chore with the decidedly humiliated air of someone so above the task at hand—well, paw—that Magdalene tried not to burden him too much. After all, the gent had to have his dignity.

And she had really tried not to have any rendezvous on campus. Orla was watching them like a hawk. The gossip mill was in full swing, and it was a well-known fact that Sam had no poker face to save her life.Dangerousdidn’t even come close to how Magdalene would describe their situation.

So why, when Sam approached her in the Mess Hall one evening and whispered that she’d wait for her in the Sky Blue attic at 10PM, did Magdalene not recognize the foul play at hand? Why did her heart fill with hope and longing and the desperate desire to be held by those lanky arms even for a few moments?

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