Chapter 2: Is the King of Campus Defending Me?

*Lena*

Slate was sputtering, spitting on the ground, and acting overall exceedingly dramatic as he gripped his throat. His hands had caused more redness than Xander's had, I noticed, as I watched Slate act as though Xander had come close to killing him instead of physically forcing him to let me go.

Xander continued to stand behind me, watching Slate with interest. He glanced down at me, giving me a tight, crooked smile before turning his attention back to Slate.

"You done? Or do you need a few more minutes to collect yourself?" Xander asked.

Slate glared at us both, his eyes narrowing into slits as he finally straightened up. 'Who the hell do you think you are? I'm a professor-'

"A professor who just had his hands on a female student," Xander retorted, shrugging his shoulders. "And you said she's your girlfriend, right? I expect the administration would look down on that, if they were to find out."

Slate balked, then licked his lips, turning his gaze to me.

"Don’t look at her," Xander said sharply, causing Slate to avert his gaze from me and turn his attention to Xander once more.

Slate eyed the duffle bag Xander had slung over his left shoulder, which had "Morhan Varsity Wrestling' embroidered in large, bold letters on the side. Xander had at least six inches on Slate, towering over him even to cast a shadow over the entirety of Slate's body. I fought against the smirk twitching in the corner of my mouth as the blood drained from Slate's face.

Not that I'd needed Xander's help. I would've figured out how to get away-eventually.

"You'll regret this,* Slate said weakly, glancing at me so quickly I almost missed it. 'My uncle is the dean-"

"Ah, playing that card, are we?” Xander drawled, adjusting his weight. He yawned, actually yawned, as Slate's cheeks began to burn a deep crimson. ”1 think you'd better go."

"Let's go, Lena-* Slate began.

"No. You go, alone. And if I catch you anywhere near her again, you'll be the one with regrets."

I stole a look at Xander. His gaze was fixed on Slate with such intensity it made me want to cower by association. I hadn't ever seen him so close up before.

I already knew, based on my few sightings of him around campus, that he was tall. But I hadn't noticed how dark his hair was, ink-black and swept back away from his face, curling softly around his ears. I hadn’t noticed his eyes, which were a rich, coffee-like color flaked with amber. He was beautiful, even dressed in gray sweatpants and a black windbreaker.

I hadn’t noticed that Slate had walked away until Xander slowly turned his gaze to me, meeting my eye. Time stood still.

okay?" he asked. "He didn't hurt

his eyes and watched

his girlfriend, are

back

rested his hand on the duffle bag he was

That

on my way to the greenhouses. He teaches right there." I pointed to the building Slate had come

up the pathway toward the set of long greenhouses at the top

to

days a week.

walk you to your class," he said, but then paused, clearing his throat as he looked down at

have

the stadium every day around this time." He tilted his head up the pathway, where the roof of the somewhat worn-down stadium was visible above the trees

the hell he was even here. The rumor was that he was a transfer student from the University of Mirage, which was, in fact, known for its athletics. He was

said, holding out his

then paled, tucking my hands in my pockets. He arched his brow, giving me a playful

do you know about me?' He dropped his hand, possibly disappointed I hadn't

campus was obsessed with him? Except for me, of course. That they referred to

had already told me he was asking about

lipped smile. I started to walk away, feeling his gaze lingering on my back as I took a few paces forward before I turned around to face

"I'm Lena," I said.

smiling at me. "So, are you going to let me be your bodyguard? Or

know. I think

a few steps in my direction. The way he’d said my voice sent a shockwave through my body. I blinked, swallowing back the heat that was rippling over

his windbreaker. I couldn't think about that. It was stupid. I was

can walk me to class on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I study with my friends

would be fine," he smiled, "as long

he was popular. He knew, and liked, the fact that people fawned over him. I could see it in his eyes, some unspoken challenge. He could have any girl

said, my voice a little harsher than I meant

"Well, after you!"

I was standing at one of the long, plastic tables in the center of the greenhouse, testing soil and writing my findings on

classes in the greenhouses. Next week was finals, at least for me. Then, by the grace of the Goddess, I would

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