Page 146 of Endless Anger
Submissive wolves, when threatened, will lie on their backs and plead for mercy.
Others bite.
If I get access to him there, I can turn the tables and make him my bitch.
But there’s no chance in hell I’m putting my mouth anywhere near his dick. That’s for one person now, and one person only.
Maybe I should’ve listened to him about not coming.
Not that it matters at the moment. I’m in it, and Foxe still hasn’t come to my rescue, so I slink forward and drop onto wobbly knees. The position change knocks me off-kilter though, and my vision sways, darkening around the edges.
Beckett’s fingers thread through one side of my hair as he brings his pelvis closer, urging me to get him out, but I don’t. I can’t—my hands won’t lift, and my sight isn’t correcting itself.
Everything continues to get slower, darker, until I’m no longer seeing anything at all.
42
ASHER
“Didyou know there are more than seven hundred varieties of toxic plants found in the U.S. and Canada alone?” Quincy looks up at me from the old leather-bound book in her lap, toying with its silk bookmark.
I slide my fingers along the pencil marks in my sketchbook, smudging them for texture. “You always did find the weirdest things fascinating.”
“Are they weird just because you don’t think they’re interesting?”
“Yes.” Pausing, I glance at her for a second before going back to my drawing. “But also because you’re weird. It wouldn’t surprise me if you found all the Fury Hill lore about the existence of curses and immortality interesting too.”
“Well, itisclassic lore. I’m pretty much required to find it at least mildly amusing.”
“And this is why I don’t normally hang out with you.”
I can practically feel her eyes roll as she swivels away in her chair to look out the window in her office. Unlike Dean Bauer’s, Quincy’s overlooks the forest and mountains beyond, nestled in the back of the admin building with the rest of the classics department.
“Hey.” She doesn’t turn around. “Do you realize how long it’s been since we’ve heard from Noelle?”
My hand freezes. “I assumed she decided she no longer wanted to attend. You know she’s fickle.”
Quincy taps her book. “Yeah, but when I told her I was coming back to Avernia to teach, she seemed really into the idea of enrolling. Especially when I told her that, if nothing else, the theater department here is prolific. LA hasn’t exactly done her any favors.”
That much is obvious. Years spent out west, and not a single mainstream production under her belt.
“I used to get phone calls from her at least once a week,” Quincy says, spinning back around and closing her book. “But I haven’t heard from her in over a month.”
“Mom and Dad have talked to her though. Maybe she’s just decompressing.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It just feels strange, I guess.”
“Well, you like worrying about everything, so I’m not surprised you think that.”
She chucks an Avernia pen in my direction, and it bounces off my wrist, clattering to the floor. “Whatever, asshole. Where’s your other half?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say on her way back from a Curator party.” Lifting my chin, I scan the analog clock hanging on the wall above her office door and nod to myself. “I told Foxe to bring her back by ten thirty.”
“You let Foxe take her to a party?”
“Well, you needed me to move those goddamn statues around, so I couldn’t go.” I toss a glare at the heavy marble busts crowding the corner of the room, too large to be stored in here, but Quincy insisted. Something about them being too expensive to leave anywhere else, and since they came from the Daughters of Persephone donation fund, she didn’t want to take any chances.
Seems like there are a million other people on campus she could’ve asked, but I’ve noticed Quincy doesn’t really interact with many faculty members. She especially steers clear of the art department, but I can’t be bothered to ask why.
