Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 123: Student?!

The next week goes by in both an agonizing crawl and with terrifying swiftness.

The doctors all decide that I need three days without Logan (in increasing increments of time) to determine my mental stability without him.

The worst part about that is the boredom. And, yes, a little bit of panic whenever I relive moments during my captivity. But it ultimately goes well, even if every time Logan and I get together, the sexual tension ramps up.

These damn cameras and glass walls are getting in the way.

After day 3, I’m transferred to another room, one with a second bed for Logan. Still cameras, though—can’t verify, but Logan doesn’t try to get my clothes off, so it’s a pretty firm sign privacy’s just an illusion.

Then another visit with Dr. Blackthorn. It’s about five minutes long and she has me sign a paper with a lot of what looks like legalese, but Marcus Ashby has already signed off on it and sent me a text saying it’s safe to sign and my soul will still be mine when I do.

Always a plus.

Oh, yeah. And I have a phone now. Not a real phone where every phone call and message isn’t tapped, but still, a phone. Penelope’s my saving grace during this week. Between texts and phone calls, she keeps my spirits up and my boredom at bay.

And she’s still not a vampire, so that’s a major win.

And now, on day 7, I stand in the main lobby of Thornhaven Academy, surprised down to my toes at who’s standing in front of me.

Logan’s not allowed on campus; he isn’t a registered student.

Marcus Ashby is allowed because he’s a lawyer, but needs a visitor pass, which apparently takes at least two days and a whole lot of forms before it gets approved—and only for an hour.

But it’s not Ashby.

But wait. Let’s step back one second.

Thornhaven Academy. Technically a bit of a jail cell for me, but also the freedom I desperately hoped for.

Old money and pretension is everywhere I look: in the gorgeous marble columns and gleaming wood paneling, in strange moving paintings—clearly a ripoff of our favorite Hogwartsian series, and in floating orbs of light that drift near the vaulted ceiling like wayward stars, casting an ethereal glow over everything below.

All that’s missing is the sorting hat and some chocolate frogs.

"Nicole!"

My heart leaps at the familiar voice. There, in the middle of this grandiose display of magical excess, stands Penelope. Her red hair blazes like a beacon against the austere backdrop, and she’s waving both arms as if I might somehow miss her in the sparsely populated space.

Unlike the students, all dressed in what are clearly designer labels with way too many digits on their price tags, she’s dressed in high-level department store with slightly less digits.

Me? I’m dressed in corporate peon salary price tags.

We don’t fit in, but at least we fit together.

"Pippa?" I weave through a cluster of students—some wearing robes that wouldn’t look out of place at a Renaissance faire, and I’m very suspicious that it’s because these people are live action role-playing their favorite television series—and practically sprint toward her. "How did you—what are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" She throws her arms around me. "I’m your new classmate!"

I pull back, staring at her. "What? How?"

"Your boy toy pulled some strings." She grins. "Turns out I qualify for enrollment. Even if I can barely do party tricks. Money talks, I guess."

My mind spins. "Logan did this?"

"Yep. Called me up, said something about you needing backup in this fancy-pants school. I mean, I don’t meet their entrance requirements since I can barely light a candle without matches, but..." She shrugs.

A warmth spreads through my chest. Logan might not be allowed on campus, but he made sure I wouldn’t be alone. "You’re really staying?"

"Already got my class schedule and everything. Though fair warning—I’m probably going to be the worst student in Magical Theory 101."

That, I can definitely believe.

I loop my arm through Penelope’s, grateful for her familiar presence in this overwhelming place. "Let’s check out our dorms first. I need to know where I’ll be sleeping for the next... however long they keep me here." Hopefully not forever. I’m still in a little denial over all of this, thinking one day I’m going to wake up and head to work like normal.

Hasn’t happened yet, but holding out hope still.

"About that." Penelope steers us toward an ornate staircase. "We’ve got some serious catching up to do. The semester’s already halfway through, and they’re not exactly going to go easy on us newbies. We’ll be taking the same exams as the other students."

My steps falter. When they told me I’d be enrolling here, I kind of expected it to be something like... I don’t know. Just something they do to keep me in check. Not that I actually have to do anything. "Wait, catching up? Does it even matter if we pass?"

Penelope stops dead in her tracks, right in the middle of the marble floor. Her groan echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Several students turn to stare.

"Great." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Marcus said you probably didn’t read the contract."

"What contract?" A chill runs down my spine. "The one from Dr. Blackthorn? Marcus said it was safe to sign."

"Safe doesn’t mean consequence-free." Penelope’s aquamarine eyes narrow. "He told me you’d probably just skim it and trust his judgment. Please tell me you at least read the academic requirements section?"

The blank look on my face must answer her question, because she lets out another dramatic groan.

"Nicole, sweetie, passing isn’t optional. If we fail our classes, we get kicked out. And in your case, that means straight into Conclave custody."

My stomach drops. "What?"

"Yeah. The contract stipulates that Thornhaven’s protection only applies while you’re an active student in good standing. Fail out, and you lose that protection. Marcus couldn’t negotiate that clause away—I don’t know the details, but he said it’s basically to keep you out of jail." She sounds outraged by that last detail, but it makes me go silent.

Jail.

Probably for the five people who are dead because of me.

That makes sense, at least. Like magic probation. Though, I didn’t realize the Conclave would have their own jail... I’ll have to ask Logan about that. With my luck, it’ll be one of those things he can’t talk about.

Meanwhile, the marble floor feels unsteady beneath my feet. "So I have to actually... study? And pass tests? Like I’m in high school again?"

My voice is a little high and squeaky, and we’re definitely getting some looks from the oh-so-young students nearby.

We don’t belong here.

We’re ten years older than these kids.

I’m a professional. I have a job. Rent. Bills. Debt.

These students and I are in completely different worlds, and they actually expect me to attend school like a freshman?

"With a minimum GPA of 3.0. Welcome back to school, bestie. Hope you remember how to take notes."

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.