Page 88 of Rebirth Of Order
There are three other students in attendance, and none of them were in my previous classes. A blessing and breath of fresh air. Not being the last one in means I can sit anywhere.
Stepping further inside, I can feel that this classroom’s ambiance is different. Hungrier. Without a single window to take refuge by, and with the floating candles being our only source of light, it’s also darker. Interesting.
Instead of single desks, there are staggered rows of bluemarbled tables panning from one side to the other. Along with two sets of stairs on both ends, leading towards the top. Elegant pillars spread about, stretching from the floor up, and I crane my head, viewing a tinted glass ceiling, which gives an illusion of it being dark out.
It appears each room has a theme, and this one screams Greek. Or Roman. I’m beyond uncultured when it comes to this stuff.
The one noticeable item is a white, wooden podium, standing center of this crypt shaped room. Perchance a mausoleum shape, but again, uncultured.
“There has to be one in here,” I mutter, looking around for a God or Goddess statue. Each room before had one.
“What has to be in here?” An inquiring voice asks from behind as I take my seat two rows in and place my bookbag down. Giving him my attention, I discover a shadow stopping me from seeing who he really is.
“Excuse me?”
“You said, ‘there has to be one in here.’ Unless you’re an insane fay who talks to herself, you’re in search of something, and I hope it’s juicy.”
Scoffing, I say, “I’m not crazy, and yes, I was talking to myself.” Turning around, I continue my search. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
“Then it must be juicy. Scoot over.”
Without giving me a chance to protest, he invades my space, throwing a leg over the desk and hopping down to take a seat beside me, moving his head back and forth.
I whisper, “What are you doing?” trying not to alert our teacher–professor, or whatever he goes by.
“Helping you look. And before you demand I return to my seat, no. Now we can waste time bickering about it, or we can help one another find this ‘mysterious item,’” he insists, avoiding my glare.
More students enter and fill the remaining seats, chattering about their previous lectures, and glancing over everyone in attendance. I’mfighting to understand what is going on when the guy beside me shoots a hand up and points.
“He bonded a shifter before attending here.” Raising his voice, he accuses one of the arriving students. Talk about perfect timing. “Yes you, Draco. No one cares. Don’t come in here telling the same story from our previous class.” Draco frowns, his face red with embarrassment, and I muffle an escaping chuckle from his rude outburst. He rotates his extended hand my way. “I’m Blaise, and you are?”
Why not? “Kyra.”
“Kyra? It’s cute enough.”Excuse me, the fuc…“So, what’re we looking for?” There is no time to answer, or object, as the last student arrives, and the door shuts behind her.
She saunters in, eye-fucking our professor in the worst way. I mean damn. As a woman myself, it’s enough to make me cringe. Biting her lip, moaning, and fanning herself as if no one else is watching. And the book still hides his face. Insane.
“The rules of my class are simple. Under no circumstances will you show any form of affection while here. If a private part is exposed, you’ll leave without it.”What the hell kind of rule is this?
“That goes for you, Leander,” Blaise announces, turning around and once again pointing to a male wearing a manbun, sitting near the top. “Keep it in your pants.”
“Dude, it was one time, and by accident.”
“One too many,” he bites back, and a hearty laugh pushes out of me.
Our professor turns a page from the novel he is reading, and I can’t help but wonder why such a rule exists anyway.Were students letting it all hang out, or did he mean something else?
“A few of you may be wondering why this rule exists.” Yep, and I can’t be alone in this. “We’ll discuss it later, and not another time afterwards. You’ve been warned.” *Sigh* He turns another page while Blaise, still sitting next to me, pulls out a little brown book and pen.
Whispering, I ask, “Should we be taking n–”
“Shhh.” He blows out one hell of a breath, and my face prickles with embarrassment. Other students turn our way, scowling at who interrupts, which is me, sending heat flushing down my neck. “Go ahead, sir, she won’t interrupt again.” Oh, this piece of shi…
“Rule two of my class, under no circumstances will you waste my time trying to figure out your bond, or lack thereof. And finally, rule three…” He places the book concealing his face down, and if there is a God amongst men, it’s him.Damn he looks delicious.
He is every bit of their statues I’ve seen around school. Each cut of his fine, sculpted muscles shows through his rolled-up sleeves. Two buttons are undone at the top, displaying the divots in his collarbone, along with the line going down his chest.
I’m watching a ticking time bomb. Every inhale pushes his muscles against the shirt’s thin fabric, waiting to see if those buttons are going to give in and break his first rule.
