Stone's Thirst

Chapter 7: Perils of Romanticism

She stood abruptly—almost superhumanly fast.

“I need to go prepare for the department party," she said.

“I'm sorry," I said at once, automatically. It would be too mortifying to put into words what I was sorry for, so I pressed my mouth shut. I saw the professor's delicate nostrils flare again, and I knew she was smelling the hot excitement in my blood, the rush of lust and want. The way she looked at me was almost sad.

“Miss Brooks," she said more slowly, speaking carefully. “Humans tell many, many stories about how easy it is to love a vampire. Your species ascribes a level of romanticism to ours. Please be assured, Miss Brooks, I have every respect for your intellect so I trust you will understand me when I say: we are not safe. Vampires are too dangerous for mortals to be involved with. Whatever popular culture and romance novels tell you."

I looked down at my papers again just to be able to avoid meeting her eye. “I understand, professor."

This was beyond humiliating. Having to be told off, explicitly, for having an obvious crush. She was doing it as kindly as she could, I knew. I must have been so wrong about her reciprocating. I really was just a silly schoolgirl.

Mercifully the professor stepped out of the study and left me to blink back tears in private.

We walked through the cold, early darkness toward the great red-brick castle of Founder's Hall, where the English Department was housed. Watson came with us, swinging a bottle of wine in one hand and looping his other arm through Melinda's. They were stunning under the soft yellow lanterns that dotted the campus paths: she in a sleek, tailored black dress that Jackie O. might have liked, and he, striding easily in Oxfords and formal slacks. I had my enough wits not to stare, though. I'd already gotten myself into enough s**t for one evening.

When we entered the warm glow of the English Department Common Room—a low, arched-ceiling room made of pale stone and ornate window frames—the party was already in full swing. I saw a number of Epsilon Delta brothers around—vampire and human—chatting with the most prestigious professors, toasting and laughing. There was Jake Hamilton, the boy who'd invited me to the frat party: he looked pale and shaky. They'd fed on him, I realized. I'd heard rumors of that happening to new initiates, but I never thought they'd be bold enough to be so obvious about it.

Professor Stone was instantly swept up in conversation with a creaky old poetry professor, who poured her a generous glass of red wine and began peppering her with questions about her latest paper. Watson too vanished from my side: he was chatting over by the fireplace with one of the top-tier English Classics majors, who was incidentally an athletic blonde with a cherubic face that could have come straight out of Dickens.

I found myself adrift—a familiar feeling. I was terrible at socializing at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.

“I don't believe we've met?"

The sound of the clear, confident male voice behind me made my stomach drop. I knew who I would see when I turned, so I turned slowly: Logan Talbot was standing there, shining in a perfect suit that flattered his powerful body. I forced myself to meet his eyes: they were stunningly blue and cheery, but you could see the age in them. This was not a twenty-two-year-old college kid. There were centuries behind those eyes.

It took me a painfully long moment to realize he was offering me a tall glass of champagne. I took it, feeling a traitorous blush rise up my cheeks.

“No, I don't think so," I said, recovering. “I'm Amber Brooks, Romantic poetry."

“Logan," he said unnecessarily, raising his glass in greeting. “I hear you're pursuing PhD programs. Please don't be shocked; I keep myself very well informed around Harlow. I hope you'll accept my well wishes on your search. You know, my brothers and myself at Delta Epsilon are excellent connections to have in those sorts of circles. Why, Professor Jones—have you two met?"

I gulped. Professor Jones was an ancient man with a laundry list of important prizes under his belt. He didn't really have to teach anymore, and I'd never run into him.

“Oh, pleasure," said the old professor, smiling brightly at Logan. “Miss Brooks, was it?"

“Yes," I smiled back, willing the alcohol to go to my head and make me relax. “It's an honor, sir."

From across the room, I caught Professor's Stone's dark glance as she looked my way. It was true she'd told me to stay away from Logan and his brothers, but what could I do? This might be one of the most important conversations of my entire life.

Just then Logan drew me to his side, and I felt the electric cold of vampire flesh as his arm wrapped around me. “This promising young lady is pursing advanced studies in Romantic poetry. Don't you have a few friends from your old days at Oxford?"

“Not as many as you," said Professor Jones quickly. “But of course, yes, if you vouch for her, I would be happy to make an introduction."

“That's incredibly generous of you!" I exclaimed. “I'd be delighted to discuss it further with you, professor."

Professor Jones nodded sagely. “In the new semester, yes. Very happy to."

But Logan kept me glued to his side for a few seconds too long, and I felt the gazes of more than one person in the room shift to us. Professor Stone's was blistering though. Was he using me to bait her? To taunt her? What was it between them, anyway? But then why would Logan Talbot ever talk to me anyway?

As he withdrew his hand, I made my voice as steely as I could: “Please ask me permission before you touch me in the future, Mr. Talbot."

His beautiful blue eyes sparkled with amusement, but I didn't see scorn there. “Of course, Miss Brooks. My sincerest apologies if I…overstepped."

I drank the rest of my champagne to avoid having to find anything else to say. What price was Logan looking to extract from me in return for his sudden good will? Whatever the price was, I was willing to bet it would be high—either for me, or for Professor Stone somehow.

I wasn't in the mood for a party much at all, so I slipped out onto the side patio, pretending I was just going for some air. I crept past the crowd of smokers, making tipsy conversation in the darkness, and began the trek back toward my dorm. The walk took me through a wooded enclave along the lake shore, but it was a well-lit path that I'd walked a hundred times before on a small, safe campus. I strode purposefully through the trees, uphill, thinking of bed and talking all this over with Janis.

When all at once there was movement in the bushes—something big.