Page 45 of Devotion

“He was busy looking down Sunday’s shirt from his seat behind her,” Kingston said.

“As if you were any better.”

“Didn’t claim to be,” he said with a grin. “I own my obsession.”

“I prefer devotion.”

“A rose by any other name . . .”

“It would seem none of us left that class with more than a hard-on to remember it by. Unless Thorne miraculously passed with flying colors?”

The man in question smirked, then sighed. “I got an A. Only because my father paid the professor off. I was rather preoccupied with my self-imposed house arrest at my uncle’s manor.”

“Fantastic. So we’re about as useless as a bra at a music festival.”

I glanced at Kingston. “When is a bra ever useful?”

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

Thorne, proving once again he was the best of us, or at the very least the most focused, snapped his fingers. “Caleb,” he said as if answering a question.

“Caleb what?”

“Was a professor at Ravenscroft and has a room full of books from his tenure there upstairs. Surely we can find the answers we need in those dusty old tomes.”

“I knew we kept you around for more than your chiseled jawline, Thorne.” Kingston launched himself to his feet. “Come on, guys. We’ve got some snooping to do.”

There was something almost gleeful about the wolf as he took off.

“Something tells me he’s been waiting for an excuse to search Caleb’s room,” I said to Thorne.

“What makes you think he needed an excuse?”

“Good point,” I murmured with a little frown. “Do you think he’s gone through our rooms?”

“If you think he doesn’t do weekly checks, you’re deluded. That wolf does not understand the meaning of personal space.”

We followed behind him at a more reasonable pace and found absolute chaos by the time we got inside the priest’s sanctuary. The mattress was standing on its side, sheets ripped off and pooled on the floor, drawers were already hanging open, and the closet door was torn off the hinges.

“He did all of this in a few seconds,” I whispered. “Are we sure he’s not rabid?”

“As far as I know, he’s current on all his vaccines.”

“I heard that!” Kingston called from the depths of the closet. “Time is precious. Caleb will understand. Now, where does he keep all his stuffy old books?”

Thorne pointed a long finger toward the hereto undisturbed bookcase.

“Right,” Kingston said, rubbing his palms together. He moved to the shelves before we could, giving the spines a cursory once-over before flinging the books to the floor. “Nope. Boring. Even more boring. Fifty Shadows of Grey...”

“You mean shades?” Thorne asked.

“I like my title better,” Kingston said.

“He seriously has that in his collection?” I asked.

“No.” Kingston threw the book at me, not skipping a beat as he continued working his way down the shelf. “TheHistory of Religious Fanati—” Kingston stopped himself mid-sentence with an exaggerated snore. “God, Caleb, you’re getting all the pussy you could dream of, and you’re still the most boring, stuffy man I’ve ever met.”

“Boys?” I said, looking down at the open book Kingston had lobbed over his shoulder. It had landed at my feet, pages spread, revealing the contents to be quite the opposite of boring.

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