Briar: A Reverse Harem Romance (Midnight's Crown Book 1) Page 3

  “I took the T. I don’t need a ride.”

  “The T is full of germs, and is busy. You could get bumped.”

  Marcus made a good point. So—“Let me drive you home, Briar. I can tell you all about the research I’ve started.” Hudson smiled blandly at Marcus, and tilted his head—daring Marcus to challenge him.

  “Are you sure?” Briar’s voice was nervous and tired. “I’ll take it if you’re offering. But I need a bag. In case I get carsick.”

  Hudson grabbed a bag and his coat, opened the lab door, and gestured for her to lead. “My pleasure.”

  “You’re an ass,” Marcus whispered tonelessly, and Hudson smiled, this time for real. “Why do you even care? Is it just to show me up?”

  Hudson refused to answer. Not only because he had no answer, but because it was none of Marcus’s business what his motivation was. Swiftly, he led the way through the building.

  “My hat and gloves.” Briar panted, and he slowed, waiting for her to catch up with him.

  “I put them in your bag,” Marcus told her. “But you shouldn’t need them. The sun has set.”

  Hudson matched his stride to hers. Outside, the air had cooled dramatically, and Briar sighed, as if it soothed her. As for him, the night allowed his other senses a chance to expand. His hearing sharpened, and his night vision focused. He could hear the heartbeat, not only of Briar, but of the individual students walking in a group across campus. A couple walked by, and he could feel the heat coming off the woman when the man took her hand.

  Briar shivered in her one-sleeved shirt, and he refocused. “Come on. I’m parked right over there.” He pointed to his black sedan with the heavily tinted windows and unlocked the doors with the key fob. As they approached, he threw out, “See you in six months, Marcus.”

  Marcus ground to a halt, and Hudson was grateful for the darkness. The anger Marcus broadcasted was loud and clear, but it left him off balance. What did he care if this girl, who he’d never see again, knew his brother hated him?

  “Right,” Marcus ground out through clenched teeth. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Briar.”

  “Thank you for your help.” It sounded as if every word took an enormous amount of effort, and he felt a stab of unease. He’d let this girl leave his lab without taking her vitals or stats. He’d covered her arm, wrapped it, and that was it.

  Without stopping to second-guess himself, he eased Briar into the seat, and reached over her head to flip on the dome light. “Look at me,” he directed. Her pupils constricted, the blue so light it was nearly the same color as the rest of her iris, an unnerving shade that made him feel as if she was staring through him. “Hand.” Holding out his palm, he waited for her to put her hand in his and then grasped her wrist to take her pulse. It was even, and her pupils responded to light as she followed his gaze. Not shock then. “When you get home, eat something sugary, and lie down. Do you have a primary care doctor? Can you see them tomorrow?”

  Marcus knelt on the pavement next to him, observing Briar as closely as he did, and Hudson fought not to body check him. “Why are you still here?”

  Huffing a sigh, Briar stood and edged past them. “I should go.”

  This time, he didn’t stop himself from ramming into Marcus, who fell sideways into the car. From the thud, there would probably be a Marcus-size dent on his fender. Worth it.

  Briar waved, but there was Sylvain, lingering in the shadows, watching Briar like a wolf watched sheep. His brother should be long gone by now. “Briar. I apologize. Marcus and I are—we—” How to explain what he and Marcus were to each other? Best friends? Brothers? Family? They were all of those things and none of them.

  “We are constantly ribbing each other. We forget what that can look like to h—people.” Marcus, silver-tongued bastard, perfectly encapsulated what he struggled to convey.

  “Um…” She scooted toward the open door and stood up. The girl was ready to flee.

  She can’t. Not with Sylvain out there.

  She tiptoed away. The distance between them increased, but Hudson didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t know what it was about her, but if she disappeared and he never saw her again, he’d lose something.

  Something he wasn’t ready to lose.

  Marcus side-eyed Sylvain and held out a hand to Briar. “We’ll behave. Promise.”

  She tucked her injured arm against her chest with her good arm, and stepped closer. “No more fighting?”

  “Not tonight,” Marcus smiled, and she smiled in return. Damn him.

  Lifting one light brown brow, she stared at Hudson, waiting. “I’m done,” he promised and opened the passenger side door.

  The side of her mouth lifted. She came closer then reached for the handle to the back seat and slid in.

  He shut the door, and Marcus sighed before jogging around to the passenger side. He flashed Hudson a cocky grin, a dare to stop him from getting in the car.

  Rather than answer, he got into the driver’s seat. “What’s your address?” he asked Briar, gruffer than he meant.

  “I’m near Davis Square.”

  “Somerville?” Traffic put them forty-five minutes away.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “I found a sublet there. I’m commuting until I can get closer to Chestnut Hill.”

  “You’re a student?” Marcus asked.

  “Yes. Graduate student.”

  “In?” Hudson asked, then winced at his tone. He wasn’t used to talking to people these days.

  “Biology.”

  “I’m not taking on graduate research assistants,” he barked. Briar peaked his interest, and she shouldn’t. This drive, the next forty-five minutes, would be the only time he would have with her. Better to let her know up front what to expect.

  “I’m aware you haven’t had assistants.”

  “You’re the worst,” Marcus whispered, lower than a human could hear.

  “But you are lecturing this semester,” Briar continued. “And perhaps you can recommend a professor who would be interested? Are any other professors helping with the study you mentioned earlier? I could help them—”

  “Williams in genetics, perhaps. Or Lewis in chemistry. You’re aware of the mutation—”

  “Yes!” She cut him off excitedly. “I was hoping to examine my genes using the software available at a university. I have EPP and since the mutation is found on the X chromosome…”

  Smiling, he met her eyes in the rearview mirror, but she trailed off, staring out the window. The grin fell from his lips. “Is that all?”

  “You know all this. I don’t need to regurgitate your research.”

  Next to him, Marcus inhaled and slowly hissed a breath out his teeth. A second later, he opened the window, clenching his jaw as the cold night air blew in. It reminded him that both Valen and Marcus had found her scent intoxicating, and he wondered if her scent had become too overpowering and tempting for him.

  Older than Marcus, Hudson had more control over his instincts than any of his brothers. Relying on the darkness to hide what he did, he quickly exhaled, caught the nose plugs in his hand, and stuffed them in his pocket.

  He immediately wished he hadn’t.

  Intoxicating wasn’t the word for Briar’s scent. More than a thousand years ago, Hudson had stood in a vineyard, and plucked a grape off the vine to toss in his mouth. It was right before he’d been turned into a vampire, but he’d forever associate that moment with the bright sun, cloudless sky, and sweetness coating his tongue.

  Uncaring, he swerved to the side of the road. He threw the car into park and jumped out, ignoring the angry honks and yells of other drivers.

  Where were his nose plugs? He sucked in mouthfuls of clean air, digging in his pocket for them and put them back in. Fisting his hands at his sides, he focused on calming the beast inside him intent on the girl in the back. This was more than a familiar scent—more than a temptation.

  The scent triggered a response in him that left him shaken to his core.


  Mine.

  Hudson dug his fingers into the roof of the car as if it was clay, while the beast he’d always kept leashed gnashed and roared inside him, Briar is mine!

  Chapter 4

  Briar

  “Drive her home,” Professor Nors growled to Marcus, and ran away.

  He darted through traffic so fast, Briar had trouble following him before he blended into the masses of people ambling between restaurants and shops.

  “Is—” she began.

  “He’s fine. Agoraphobia,” Marcus explained.

  “But agoraphobia is—”

  “I meant claustrophobia.”

  “Since we’re stopped, I can get out here. We’re only a few blocks from my apartment.” Making a move to undo her seatbelt, she stopped when Marcus got in the front seat and slammed the door shut.

  “I’ll drive you to your door.” Gone was the good-natured jokester. He seemed distant now, mind on something else. Probably Professor Nors, who’d done a great impression of a deer caught in headlights earlier.

  Part of her wanted to argue, but another part was plain tired and would rather sit in the back of the car like it was a taxi than walk three blocks and risk jostling her injury. What a day. She chuckled.

  “What?” Marcus asked.

  Letting her head fall against the seat, she shook her head.

  “Come on,” he cajoled, some of his humor back.

  “I was thinking—” Rubbing her forehead, she searched for the words. “I came to Boston College to meet Professor Nors and learn more about his research. And I did it. No one thought I could. My parents are so angry at me for doing this, and my brother is annoyed. He thinks I’m being dramatic. But I did it.”

  Marcus rolled to a stop and parked, shifting in the seat to see her better. “You did. Now what?”

  “Class on Monday.”

  “Good luck.”

  Briar smiled. “You teach here as well?” She wondered if she’d be able to find a class with him.

  He shook his head. “No.” Silence descended. She waited for him to fill it, but he didn’t. Awkwardly, she came to understand that he was waiting for her to leave.

  Handle in hand, she pushed open the door then twisted her body to get the bag next to her. She almost expected him to offer to walk her to the door—both he and Professor Nors had been so concerned about her injury. It seemed strange he was suddenly letting her fumble with her bag and rifle for her keys in the cold.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said. “And, um, if you’re ever in Boston again…" She gestured with her head to her house. “You know where to find me.”

  “Nice to meet you, Briar,” he answered, and she heard what he didn’t say. It was highly unlikely she’d see him again.

  “Goodbye.” Using her butt, she knocked the door shut and hurried to her door. She rested her bag on her feet and fumbled with the lock, holding the doorknob in place with her hip so she could jiggle it the way the landlord had showed her when she’d moved in. Once it was open, she glanced behind her, but the car was gone. Sighing, she shut the door and threw the deadbolt. One more flight of steps, and then she had three more locks to open before she was in her apartment. It was early yet, but the only thing she wanted to do was drop, face first, onto the mattress.

  The locks took the last bit of energy she had, and she didn’t even bother taking off her boots when she shut the door behind her. She dragged herself to her bed and sat heavily on the mattress before carefully lying back.

  Her arm was starting to throb again, and she’d have to start a Tylenol and ibuprofen cocktail to keep the pain at bay. God, she’d really messed things up.

  First, she’d made a fool of herself in front of Professor Nors, and potentially every other graduate student studying biology at BC. Then she’d puked on Hot Marcus. She snorted at the nickname, Hot Marcus.

  Though if she planned to assign names based on hotness, then Professor Hudson would have to be Hot Professor Hudson Nors.

  Or Professor Hotson. No! If she gave him that nickname, started thinking of him that way, she’d probably say, “Nice to see you again, Professor Hotson” or something equally embarrassing.

  Not that he’d say anything to her, or that she’d even see him again. First off, people didn’t say hello to her. She looked too weird when she was in her sun-defense get-up. No one wanted to be seen with the girl wearing an ugly hat and strange gloves.

  It was still early fall. In New England, where Indian summer was possible, she’d be wearing long sleeves and pants when the sun was blazing and it was eighty degrees.

  Briar took a deep breath. Her mind raced, something which went hand-in-hand with her physical exhaustion and pain. Whenever she hurt, she became completely overwhelmed with her life, threw a pity party, cried, and then fell asleep.

  Knowing it was her typical pattern didn’t make the process any easier—it just made her feel crazy.

  Briar stared at the ugly, water-stained ceiling and felt the first tears trickle down the side of her face. So here she was. The ugly, scarred freak, who’d made a fool of herself on her very first day at the college she’d dreamed of attending since she was sixteen years old.

  She should really get up and fix her bandages. Call her mother the way she promised. But instead, Briar flipped onto her good side and shut her eyes.

  Windows! Her eyes popped open. She had drawn the blackout curtains, thank goodness. Relieved she wouldn’t burn like a vampire when the sun came up, she squeezed her eyes shut, made a mental list of all her deficiencies, and fell asleep.

  ✽✽✽

  Briar had dreams that put horror movies to shame.

  Blood.

  Everywhere in her dreams, there was blood.

  She’d find herself in rooms where the blood dripped down the windows like rain. Sometimes, it fell on her face, streaking into her eyes, so when she wiped them clear, her palms were stained red.

  She dreamed of stabbing, felt the steel against her bones as the knife slid between her ribs.

  And she dreamed of burning—the sunlight burned her to ash. She watched her skin curl like a match held to paper, and felt the heat, first discomfort and then the raging sear of the light on her. There was nothing to protect her, to come between her and the sun.

  The flames crept closer and closer to her face, and when she opened her mouth to scream, she sucked the fire right into her lungs and awoke with a gasp.

  During the night, she’d twisted, pinning her injured arm under her body. Now it ached and throbbed, the inflamed nerve endings screaming at her. Carefully, she sat, and slid off the bed. The clock next to the bed showed it was still early morning, and her plan for the day had to include a call to her mother and then a trip in full body armor to campus tonight.

  After popping a couple Tylenol, she carefully removed the wrappings Professor Nors had placed on her arm.

  God, it was ugly, but not as bad as she’d thought. The professor had moved fast last night and probably saved her from a deeper tissue burn. It was red and swollen, but not blistered, and covered the top of her hand and part of her lower arm to her elbow. Her stupid move could have ended a lot worse, and it reminded her just how dangerous her plan was.

  She’d been lucky, and it was never a good idea for her to rely on luck. Yesterday had served as a reminder of how careful she needed to be, of how many fail-safes would be necessary for her to live a relatively normal and independent life.

  Okay. No more removing gloves.

  Thinking back on her time in the lecture, she tried to pinpoint the decisions she’d made that led to her injuries—taking off her hat and gloves, for sure, rolling up her sleeves in the heat of the lecture hall.

  Extra deodorant. The hat stays on. Reminder on my phone at the end of each class. She made notes of the changes she’d make in her routine. More than anything, she wanted this degree and to attend college here, a thousand miles away from her family. She’d do whatever she needed to make it work.

  By the time sh
e called her mother, the swelling had gone down further, aided by lying on the couch and keeping her arm propped above her head.

  “You didn’t call yesterday,” Mom started right off.

  “I got in late from the lecture. Next time, I’ll text you.”

  “Briar…” There was the long-suffering sigh she expected, and for the next fifteen minutes, she listened to her mother enumerate everything that could possibly go wrong—the injuries she could suffer, the impact it would have not only on her life, but on her parents—which led to a succession of bullet-pointed sacrifices her parents had made because of her diagnosis, including but not limited to, buying a house in West Virginia and leaving their extended family in South Carolina. “And I never got to take pictures of you going to prom.”

  Mom’s litany of disappointments generally ended with the prom, so this was the time where Briar was expected to step in. “You’ve been the best, Mom. And I wouldn’t be here, in graduate school, without your support. I know you’re proud of me.” This was the track she took—deflect, deflect, deflect. “How’s Jamie?”

  Her brother was a great distraction, and like she hoped, Mom went off on the latest Jamie-drama. Finally, there was a pause in the one-sided conversation, a sign her mom was wrapping it up. “You’re going to call me tonight, or text me, when you finish whatever you have happening. I need to know when you’re in for the evening and safe.”

  It wasn’t too much to ask, Briar decided, at least not now, at the very beginning of this separation. Soon enough, she’d let a day go by without messaging, and before they knew what had happened, she’d be contacting her parents like a normal twenty-something.

  “I promise, Mom. I will.”

  “Goodbye, Briar. Be safe.”

  “Love you. Say hi to Dad for me?”

  Her mother made a lip-smacking kissing noise. “Of course. Bye, sweets.”

  “Bye, Mom.” She hung up the phone, feeling like she’d run a race. A slight throb in her arm reminded her it was time for her second dose of pain pills, the ibuprofen chaser to the earlier Tylenol.

  Swallowing the pills, she stared at herself in the green-tinged bathroom mirror and studied her face intently. Lightly, she touched her fingers to her cheek and the slightly raised and puffy skin graft she’d had to have as a child. From there, she touched a small white scar in the center of her lower lip, then tugged her shirt to view her collarbones. Her first burn had been the worst— shoulders, the back of her neck, collarbones—they’d taken the direct hit of the sun. It’d only been luck that she’d emerged from the water with her face tilted toward the pool.