Page 49 of Marrying My Professor

It's modern, all clean lines and dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows that probably let in incredible light during the day. Expensive but not ostentatious. The kind of place that whispers wealth instead of shouting it.

He kills the engine, and the sudden silence is deafening.

"Inside," he says, already opening his door.

I follow because what else am I going to do? Run? To where? Back to the club where men in expensive suits just debated whether to kill me? Back to my apartment where I'll spend the night wondering when they'll come to finish the job?

The interior of the house is just as controlled as the exterior. Hardwood floors, minimalist furniture, everything in shades of grey and black and white. It's beautiful in a cold, impersonal way, like a photograph in an architecture magazine. Like no one actually lives here.

Alexander doesn't offer me a drink or invite me to sit. He just stands in the middle of the living room, hands in his pockets, jaw working like he's trying to find words that won't come.

"Alexander—"

"You're mine now," he says abruptly.

I blink. "What?"

"You're mine." He turns to face me fully, and the intensity in his eyes makes me take a step back. "Do you understand what that means? What I just did back there?"

"You claimed me," I say slowly. "In front of witnesses. You said I was under your protection."

"I did more than that." He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it in a way that makes him look younger, more vulnerable. "I bound you to me. Permanently. Through the old rites. Which means your life is now my responsibility. Your debts are my debts. Your transgressions are my transgressions."

The words land heavy and strange. "I don't understand."

"You found a Serpent secret," he says, and there's something almost accusatory in his tone. "Do you have any idea what that means in the Veritas?"

"I—no. I mean, I saw the folder, I saw the names, but I didn't⁠—"

"When a civilian discovers a Serpent secret, they're forced to join the Ashen Serpents," Alexander interrupts. "It's protocol. It's been protocol for two hundred years. The only way to guarantee secrecy is to make the person who discovered it complicit in keeping it."

My stomach drops. "But I'm not⁠—"

"You're not a boy," he finishes. "Which means you can't join. Which means the only other option was death."

The word hits me like a physical blow. "Death."

"Yes." He's watching me carefully now, like he's waiting for me to break. "They were going to kill you, Elara. Tonight. Within the hour. That's what the emergency council was about."

I sink onto the couch without meaning to, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "But you stopped them."

"I bought you time," he corrects. "I vouched for you. Claimed you as mine. And then I made a deal."

Something about the way he says deal makes my skin prickle with unease. "What kind of deal?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he crosses to the bar cart in the corner and pours himself three fingers of whiskey, downing half of it in one swallow. When he turns back, his expression is carefully neutral.

"You're going to marry me," he says flatly.

The room tilts sideways.

"I'm going to what?"

"Marry me. Within the week. Probably sooner. They gave me twenty-four hours to make it official."

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment when he laughs and tells me he's joking. But his face remains serious, almost grim, and I realize with creeping horror that he means it.

"You're insane," I say.