Page 83 of Marrying My Professor

We drive in silence after that, the city blurring past my window, blood drying on my skin and in my hair and under my fingernails.

I killed James Harrington.

I avenged my brother.

I became a murderer.

23

ALEXANDER

The university building is empty—everyone still at the maze, dealing with the chaos we left behind. I pull into the faculty parking lot, my mind racing through contingency plans, alibis, the dozen different ways this could still go wrong despite how carefully we planned.

Elara hasn't said a word since we left the woods. She just sits in the passenger seat, still wrapped in the cloak I threw over her, staring straight ahead with an expression I can't read. Too calm. Too still. The kind of stillness that comes before an explosion.

"We should get you home," I say, killing the engine. "Get you cleaned up before⁠—"

"No."

The word cuts through the quiet car like a blade. Sharp. Final.

I turn to look at her, and what I see makes my breath catch.

Her eyes are wild behind the silver angel mask she hasn't removed. Pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling too quickly, that manic energy of post-adrenaline still vibrating through her entire body. Blood has dried on her hands, dark rust against pale skin. A smear crosses her cheekbone where she must have touched her face.

She looks absolutely feral.

And fucking magnificent.

"Elara—"

"I said no." She reaches for the door handle, movements sharp and decisive. "I don't want to go home yet. I can't—I need⁠—"

She doesn't finish the sentence. Just pushes the door open and steps out onto the pavement, the cloak falling away to reveal the blood-soaked angel costume underneath. White silk stained crimson, wings dragging slightly, the whole effect somehow more disturbing in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the parking lot than it was in the maze's atmospheric gloom.

I'm out of the car in seconds, moving to her side. "Pet, you need to get inside before someone sees⁠—"

"Then get me inside." She turns to face me fully, and there's something different in her expression now. Something hungry and dangerous and entirely unfamiliar. "Quickly. Before I do something really stupid like scream about what I just did."

The threat in her voice—the barely restrained hysteria—tells me this is shock setting in. Adrenaline crash. The psychological aftermath of taking a life hitting all at once.

I need to get her somewhere private. Somewhere safe. Somewhere she can break down without witnesses.

I grab her hand—not gentle, firm enough to ground her—and pull her toward the loading door on the east side. Eight years in this building and I know every broken thing in it, including the latch facilities has been promising to fix since my second semester. It gives on the third pull. I drag her inside, down the empty hallway toward⁠—

She pulls free from my grip.

Before I can react, before I can process what's happening, she's pushing me backward through the nearest classroom door. My back hits it hard enough to slam it closed, and then she's on me.

Her hands fist in my shirt, yanking me down until our mouths crash together. The kiss is violent—all teeth and desperation and something that tastes like victory mixed with madness. I can taste copper, whether from her lipstick or James's blood I don't know and don't care.

"Elara—" I try to speak, but she bites my bottom lip hard enough to hurt.

"Don't." Her voice comes out as a growl, nothing like her usual tone. "Don't tell me we need to be careful. Don't tell me we need to think. I just killed a man, Alexander. I drove a blade into his heart and watched him die, and I feel⁠—"

She breaks off, her hands moving to my belt, fingers working the buckle with single-minded focus.

"I feel powerful," she finishes, looking up at me with eyes that are more black than green. "I feel invincible. I feel like I could do anything. And right now, what I want to do is fuck my professor in an empty classroom."