Strength (Mark of Nexus #1) (2 page)

Damn, that hurt...

Concern tightened his features as he bent down and tried to meet my eyes. “Are you okay?”

My pulse protested, hammering in my ears. Was I okay? I opened my mouth to speak, but it was as if every word, every unintelligible utterance, had escaped me. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. My breaths were way too shallow.

Was I having a panic attack?

His eyes narrowed, dark lashes obscuring an electrical storm of emotion. I’d never seen anything more caged—flickering and surging beneath the surface. Brooding cerulean one moment, hypnotic blue the next.

It was all I could do to suppress a shiver as the warmth of his breath danced over my skin, his scent clouding the air between us. God, it smelled so familiar, like the air before a downpour. I took a deep, shuddering breath and forced myself to look up.

Raven hues played across hair that’d been spiked without any obvious effort. Overlooking the lack of product, his haphazard style could’ve probably been described as a faux-hawk. If he cared enough to label it.

I shook my head, letting my gaze slip past the hardened planes of his expression. A silvery line stood out from the rough, morning stubble that peppered his jaw. I swallowed. A small part of me was intrigued beyond measure, but it was so foreign I couldn’t place it. Instead, I let a much more familiar emotion run rampant through my system, the one that’d been building for the past thirty seconds—panic.

“I-I...” I stammered, unable to form a coherent thought to save my life.

Something changed in his eyes, and for the briefest of seconds, I thought I caught a glimpse of hurt. Just like that, the spell had been broken. He tore himself away from me as if I’d burned him, straightening to his full height.

I hadn’t even realized I’d been leaning in until he pulled away, and I barely caught myself.
Stupid
. As I looked up to gauge his expression, I felt another jolt of alarm. The man towered over me in a way I wasn’t accustomed to. I mean, sure, at only five foot two, most people have a head on me, but I didn’t even come to his shoulder. He was—

Wait.

What was I doing? I’d been standing there, gawking, and had yet to utter anything resembling English. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how depraved I looked.

“Sorry,” he muttered in a low voice, catching me off guard.

“I-I, uh...no, it was my fault.” I took a step back, so I didn’t have to crane my neck. “My bad.”
My bad? Who says that?

“No, I didn’t—” He seemed uncomfortable, looking past me. “Sorry.” Without another word of explanation, he edged around me, taking long strides down the hallway.

I blinked—not once, but twice—at his retreating form. Who was that guy?

And what the hell just happened?

I took my time, retracing my steps to the elevator. Aiden would just have to wait. I couldn’t face him like this, not after the embarrassing stutter-fest I’d had with his visitor. Since when did he have hot friends, anyway? He could’ve freakin’ warned me.

Mid-morning light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tingling against my burning cheeks. In the few minutes I’d been gone, the sunlight had transformed last night’s dusting of snow into sparkling white glitter. The campus looked picturesque—a nice little postcard impression for the parents moving their kids back in.

It was what they were paying for, after all. Buildings, a mix of old and new, conforming to the same, brick standard. White columns and wide, cement staircases; modern lobbies and pretentious adornments. As the brochures say, a blend of tradition and innovation.

Without those things, or maybe because of those things
,
Wilcox is just another dot on the map—one of a dozen sleepy college towns in Ohio’s northeastern snowbelt. Houses are modest, crime is negligible, and football is a widely practiced religion. Not the most exciting place to live.

Unless, of course, you share a dorm with a madman.

I shook my head and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. Jade eyes cringed and peered back, rimmed with exhaustion. I looked like crap.

I tried to run a hand through my hair and got caught in a tangle. The edgy layers had already dried into a blond haystack. Aiden’s friend probably thought I looked like some mangy, wet dog who’d wandered in off the street; or, at the very least, someone too lazy to dry her hair.

Great.

I heaved a sigh and forced myself to go call for an elevator. There was no use pressing my luck if I didn’t have to. The doors parted with a mechanical hiss, and I slipped inside.

Later, Madman.

With the press of a button, the car began its slow, grinding descent to the fourth floor. Gabby had been sprawled out, dead to the world, when I left, and I hoped to find her in the same, semi-conscious state. I wasn’t ready for her interrogation. Not yet.

The numbers lit in measured succession, and finally, the doors chimed open. I stepped out into the hallway, took a deep breath, and began to creep down the hall like a ninja. No interaction for me, thanks. Things to do, people to avoid.

Before anyone could notice me, I was already past the suite door.
Why couldn’t I have been this stealthy upstairs?
I fit my key into the lock and gave it a gentle twist, easing the door open. The TV was on, blaring a teaser of the news to follow at noon. Another drunk had been found beaten in Columbus. Surprise, surprise. Thank God I didn’t live in the capital—

“Girl, please tell me you did not leave the dorm with that hair.” Gabby looked up from her magazine, lifting one perfectly arched brow.

Crap.

“I just went to see if Aiden was back yet. What’re you doing up?”

She shrugged, fishing her hand around inside a box of Lucky Charms. “Eating.”

“Thanks. I would’ve missed that.” I crossed the room, rolling my aching shoulders.

She went back to mindlessly flipping through the magazine as she ate, collecting marshmallows in the crease. God only knew how she’d missed her mouth. “So, how was geek boy?”

“I didn’t get to see him.”

She paused and tilted her chin, probably half-listening. “Why?”

Childish as it was, there were times I hated the girl as much as I loved her. She was the only person I knew who could wear wrinkled pajamas and still look like an extra from a Gap commercial. Thin, without looking anorexic. Dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. If the chick from “La Vida Loca” has skin the color of mocha, Gabby has skin the color of a caramel freakin’ macchiato. Her perma-tan makes me look like I’ve never seen the light of day.

I blew out a sigh and stretched my arms over my head. “I met this guy. Well, I didn’t meet him exactly. I just sort of—”

“In sweats
?” I had her full attention now.

My lips pinched together. “Yeah?”

She slumped with an exhale. “Rena, we just came back after a month off. Everyone’s going to be between Christmas loneliness and Valentine’s Day desperation. Do you really want to be seen running around in
sweatpants
?”

“Okay, first off,” I began, ticking points off on my fingers. “I don’t like the way you said sweatpants. Second, they’re
not
sweatpants. They’re yoga pants.” I kicked my favorite pair of sneakers under the bed. “Third, there’d be nothing wrong with them if they
were
sweatpants.”

There was an awkward pause, as if she were trying to digest my words. “And you think these”—she wrinkled her nose in disgust—“yoga pants attract men?”

I rolled my eyes, collapsing back onto my bed. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to attract men.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted them back. Swearing off men wasn’t the most effective argument against your bisexual roommate.

A wide grin pulled at her features. “That explains the sweatpants.”

“Shut up!” I covered my face with a pillow. “You know what I meant.”

She burst out laughing, and I groaned.

“C’mon, girl. You’ll like playing for both teams.”

I flung the pillow across the room. “Gabriela Felicia Hernandez!”

She cackled, ducking her head down. “Calm down. You sound like my mother.”

Hardly. In the two and a half years we’ve lived together, I’ve only been around her mother twice. She’s a sweet woman, but her accent is thick and she talks eighty miles an hour. I couldn’t imitate her on my best day.

A sudden song clip broke the silence, and Gabby leaned over to grab her phone off her desk. “Hold that thought. Aiden’s calling.”

I felt my lips twitch as she brought the phone to her ear. It was funny how close the three of us had become over the years—especially those two.

When we first met Aiden, freshman year, he was this hopeless nerd with a shock of copper hair and thick, black glasses. Back then, people in my English comp. class would make jokes about him—the cruel, obvious-to-everyone-but-him kind—and I kind of snapped. So the guy had a laugh like a chain-smoking horse—it wasn’t his fault. The details are hazy, and I don’t remember who set me off, but I ended up bitching out the whole class.

That was the week our professor suggested I try independent studies.

It was worth it, though. Aiden gathered his nerve and brought me his lecture notes as a thank you. I invited him in, introduced him to Gabby, and we’ve all been friends ever since.

“Mhm. Mhm. Okay, we’ll see you then.” She hung up before I could process the time lapse. “He’s unpacked.”

I sat up. “Did he sound excited?”

“Girl, please. He’s probably spent all morning sharpening his number two pencils for Monday.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I pictured it. Aiden loves school. I mean
loves
it. The start of a semester, for him, is like the end of a semester for everyone else.

“I told him we’d meet near the parking deck in ten, so we can go to lunch.” She tossed the magazine aside and leaned forward. “Now tell me about this guy.”

Ugh.
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let that little detail slip. Before I could rethink my exit strategy, I lunged for the door.

“Later. I have to pee!” Pee, of course, meant hide in the bathroom until it was time to go.

“Don’t think I’m gonna forget about it, Ree,” she bellowed as I shut the door. “You owe me details at lunch!”

Yep, the semester was off to a great start already.

Chapter Two

Sam’s Diner was packed and alive with ambient chatter. I guess I should’ve expected that, since the dining hall wouldn’t reopen until Monday. That only left a handful of restaurants down Green Avenue, and Sam’s is the best. To us, anyway. We can’t afford much else.

The place is a time warp to an era with gingham curtains and Formica countertops. We love it, and fortunately for us, Sam loves us, too. He managed to get us into our usual booth in the back—the one closest to the kitchen and all of its greasy, tantalizing aromas. Some days I want to live there.

Sam is a big guy in his mid-fifties, with a potbelly that stretches his apron so tight it’s a wonder it hasn’t busted any seams. Aiden’s convinced he used to be a mafia hit man. There’s no evidence to support this, but I’m afraid to speculate one way or the other. What the man did in the past is his own business. I’m content to remain oblivious.

I shuddered and took a swig of my water.

Aiden peered across the table as he squirted hand sanitizer into his palm. “Rena, you look pale. Do you feel okay?”

“This, coming from Casper’s understudy,” Gabby muttered, smacking the bottom of the ketchup bottle. A red, smeary blob made its way down the side, and we all watched with mild interest.

“I’m fine,” I said, turning back to Aiden. “I just skipped breakfast.”

He shrugged, rubbing the clear, goopy mess into his hands. “If you say so.”

Gabby gave the bottle a final pump before she set it off to the side with a huff. “Aiden, you smell like a hospital. Put that shit away.”

I snickered. If there were two people I could count on for a distraction, it was these two. More than an hour had passed since the hallway incident, but I still couldn’t get it out of my mind. Why did the thought of that guy make me so uneasy?

I picked at my French fries and stole a glance across the table. Maybe I’d bring it up. Hashing it out would help the memory fade, and I could just play it off as idle curiosity—which it was, mostly.

Aiden was busy wiping his silverware with a napkin.

Gabby must’ve caught my line of vision because she looked, too. “Sam’s going to be mad if he sees you doing that.”

His eyes widened, and he sank down in his seat. “Shh! I saw a water spot.”

“Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes and bit into an onion ring. “Tell him that.”

“Shut up, Gabby! He’ll hear you.”

I laughed at the rosy circles brightening his cheeks, and my phone rang. I dug it out and glanced at the caller ID.
Huh. That’s a Cleveland area code.
I hit the green button as I brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?”