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.

you okay?" he asked. "He didn't hurt you, did

I said, swallowing hard as I tore my gaze away from his eyes and watched Slate’s figure disappear

his

head, glancing back up at him. "Goddess,

his hand on the duffle

wanted to be sure. That guy is a

on my way to the greenhouses. He teaches right there." I pointed to

then turning to look up the pathway toward the set of long greenhouses at the top of

you have to walk

a week.

then paused, clearing his throat as

don't have

pathway, where

a transfer student from the University of Mirage, which was, in fact, known for its athletics. He was studying something related to Heather's chosen field,

way," he said, holding out

paled, tucking my hands in my pockets. He arched his brow,

What else do you know about me?' He dropped his hand, possibly

That every girl on campus was obsessed with him? Except for me, of course. That

friend had already told me he was

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

"I'm Lena," I said.

me. "So, are you going to let

don’t know. I

had his hands on you, Lena," Xander said as he took 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 my arms and chest. I'd never really been attracted to anyone the way I was attracted to Xander at that moment. It was physical, downright

think about that. It was stupid.

acceptance of his offer, "You can walk me to class on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. I study with

fine," he smiled, "as long as you’re

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

it as long as you keep Slate away from me," I said, my voice a little harsher than I meant it to be. My

"Well, after you!"

on. I was standing at one of the long, plastic tables in the center of the greenhouse, testing soil and writing my findings on a clipboard. My professor was walking around, chatting with the

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

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