anything permanent.
“Just Nik,” she said with as much dignity as
she could find. This was the twenty-first century. If she wanted to
sleep with the class model and not know his full name, she could.
In the back of her mind she heard her mother laughing at her fall
from grace.
The dean nodded. “Send Nik in so I can get
his statement.”
****
Something was wrong. Her room was as she’d
left it before darting off to work for the evening, only emptier.
Like it had stopped breathing in her absence and only a shell
remained. Dread expanded in her stomach. Her satchel lay on the
floor, empty.
“No.” Isla dropped to her knees, fighting the
urge to be sick. Her sketchbooks were gone. The loss of both would
damage her degree, but the loss of the leather-bound book cut her
heart. It beat with no purpose; the blood never reached her
muscles. She leaned against the desk to stay upright.
How could they be gone? They were worthless
to anyone but her. Her stomach clenched again. What else was
missing?
Isla’s gaze skimmed her few CDs and her
laptop on the desk. Nothing else had been disturbed. The bookcase
hadn’t been touched—all her drawers were closed, her valuables
unmoved.
The only thing missing were her
drawings…drawings of Nik.
What a fool.
She barely knew the man and she’d invited him
into her home, her room, her life. She closed her eyes and fought
off the rising nausea. It was only a book. Sarah had given her many
books. She bit her lip to keep it from shaking and to stop herself
from crying. Why would a drifter take sketches over easily
re-saleable items?
Sharp-edged cold replaced the initial upset.
This crime was specific. The thief knew exactly what he was looking
for. Isla opened her eyes and looked around her room again. Nik
wouldn’t steal her drawings.
She picked up her empty satchel and placed
the scattered pencils back into the pocket, then hung the bag over
the back of the chair. It was her proof of attendance that had been
stolen, and only one person stood to gain from the theft.
Zachary Gardner.
****
Jealousy and anger tore through Nik’s sleep
like a shark shredding meat, snatching and swallowing every chunk
whole. Nik gripped the sides of his bed, crippled by the venom of
the emotions. Not even Greta had been this bitter, and he’d lived
with her poisonous grip on his tail for twenty years until she’d
taken a musket ball in the back. These feelings didn’t belong to
Isla. They clung to skin like oil and coated him in raw hatred.
He’d tasted these toxic emotions before, when
Gardner had touched his tail in Isla’s class. Now Gardner was
running his greedy hands over every page. He had to get the book
back for Isla, and for himself.
Nik rolled out of bed, pushing down the slick
slime settling in his stomach. He tossed on some clothes and left
his hotel. Drizzle dampened his shirt. He ignored it, moving
quickly down the street. This time of night, most people had gone
home. Traffic moved past, unhindered by daytime congestion. He
hailed a passing cab and gave an address about fifteen minutes
away.
He’d made it his business to know where
Gardner lived when he’d promised to help Isla. He wasn’t as
trusting as she was. While he believed the dean wanted to help and
truth would prevail, he also believed Gardner would stop at nothing
to take Isla down. Especially now that she’d started an
investigation that would ruin his teaching career.
Nik gazed out the taxi’s window; his breath
fogged the glass as he tried to stay calm on the backseat. The
streets gleamed in the rain, slick and black as the cabbie wove
through the night. After five minutes he gave up trying to be
relaxed. He drummed his fingers against his thigh as he tried not
to think about his tail in Gardner’s hands and failed. Repulsion
caressed his skin every time Gardner pawed at the pages of the
book.
His skin pulled tight. Then burning ripped
down his back. A strip of skin was torn from his body. He
“Just Nik,” she said with as much dignity as
she could find. This was the twenty-first century. If she wanted to
sleep with the class model and not know his full name, she could.
In the back of her mind she heard her mother laughing at her fall
from grace.
The dean nodded. “Send Nik in so I can get
his statement.”
****
Something was wrong. Her room was as she’d
left it before darting off to work for the evening, only emptier.
Like it had stopped breathing in her absence and only a shell
remained. Dread expanded in her stomach. Her satchel lay on the
floor, empty.
“No.” Isla dropped to her knees, fighting the
urge to be sick. Her sketchbooks were gone. The loss of both would
damage her degree, but the loss of the leather-bound book cut her
heart. It beat with no purpose; the blood never reached her
muscles. She leaned against the desk to stay upright.
How could they be gone? They were worthless
to anyone but her. Her stomach clenched again. What else was
missing?
Isla’s gaze skimmed her few CDs and her
laptop on the desk. Nothing else had been disturbed. The bookcase
hadn’t been touched—all her drawers were closed, her valuables
unmoved.
The only thing missing were her
drawings…drawings of Nik.
What a fool.
She barely knew the man and she’d invited him
into her home, her room, her life. She closed her eyes and fought
off the rising nausea. It was only a book. Sarah had given her many
books. She bit her lip to keep it from shaking and to stop herself
from crying. Why would a drifter take sketches over easily
re-saleable items?
Sharp-edged cold replaced the initial upset.
This crime was specific. The thief knew exactly what he was looking
for. Isla opened her eyes and looked around her room again. Nik
wouldn’t steal her drawings.
She picked up her empty satchel and placed
the scattered pencils back into the pocket, then hung the bag over
the back of the chair. It was her proof of attendance that had been
stolen, and only one person stood to gain from the theft.
Zachary Gardner.
****
Jealousy and anger tore through Nik’s sleep
like a shark shredding meat, snatching and swallowing every chunk
whole. Nik gripped the sides of his bed, crippled by the venom of
the emotions. Not even Greta had been this bitter, and he’d lived
with her poisonous grip on his tail for twenty years until she’d
taken a musket ball in the back. These feelings didn’t belong to
Isla. They clung to skin like oil and coated him in raw hatred.
He’d tasted these toxic emotions before, when
Gardner had touched his tail in Isla’s class. Now Gardner was
running his greedy hands over every page. He had to get the book
back for Isla, and for himself.
Nik rolled out of bed, pushing down the slick
slime settling in his stomach. He tossed on some clothes and left
his hotel. Drizzle dampened his shirt. He ignored it, moving
quickly down the street. This time of night, most people had gone
home. Traffic moved past, unhindered by daytime congestion. He
hailed a passing cab and gave an address about fifteen minutes
away.
He’d made it his business to know where
Gardner lived when he’d promised to help Isla. He wasn’t as
trusting as she was. While he believed the dean wanted to help and
truth would prevail, he also believed Gardner would stop at nothing
to take Isla down. Especially now that she’d started an
investigation that would ruin his teaching career.
Nik gazed out the taxi’s window; his breath
fogged the glass as he tried to stay calm on the backseat. The
streets gleamed in the rain, slick and black as the cabbie wove
through the night. After five minutes he gave up trying to be
relaxed. He drummed his fingers against his thigh as he tried not
to think about his tail in Gardner’s hands and failed. Repulsion
caressed his skin every time Gardner pawed at the pages of the
book.
His skin pulled tight. Then burning ripped
down his back. A strip of skin was torn from his body. He
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