I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“I don’t care that she’s your friend, nor do I care how she feels. Our deal has reached its completion. You’re free to leave. Unless you’d like to take me up on that dinner I proposed? It’s not quite dinnertime, but I’d be willing to dine early this evening.”
My jaw clenches, and I fight the urge to punch him, knowing it won’t do any good. “You’re a real ass.”
“I believe you established that already,” he says without interest.
“Thought I’d repeat it,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “Anything else I can do for you, Aurora?”
I scowl. “So, I’m assuming you wiped Oliver’s memory, and that’s why he doesn’t think he went out last night.”
“He was a loose end.” He shrugs. “I could’ve killed him instead.” He lowers his face, and his eyes meet mine. “You’re welcome.”
“So you made him forget last night altogether?”
“Precisely.” He smirks. “You look nervous, Aurora.”
I stand straighter. I keep a neutral face as my heart pounds crazily; I’m sure he can hear it. My confidence might be a false bravado, but I’m holding on to it with everything I have.
“I’m not nervous,” I snap.
“Keep fighting it. It makes for wonderful entertainment,” Tristan quips. “So, dinner?”
“Are you kidding?”
He regards me with an amused expression. “You’re not hungry?”
“I’m not having dinner with you, Tristan.”
“Perhaps another time.”
I smile sweetly. “Yeah, perhaps not.” With that, I head for the door. Nothing about this situation is ideal, especially my lack of control. Allison means the world to me, but it’s clear there’s nothing I can do right now. I need another plan.
When I get back to campus, I spend an hour moving from one spot to another—from my bed to my desk chair and then to Allison’s bed and back to mine. Not knowing what she’s going through at the hands of Tristan Westbrook is making it impossible to sit still. My hair is a tangled mess from swiping my fingers through it so many times, so I pull it back into a bun. Every time I try to think of a plan to get Allison back, the rational part of my brain shoots the idea down, knowing it won’t work. The fae are too new to me. I don’t have a chance at besting them. Not yet.
I make the mistake of searching fae lore online. After combing through so many different legends, I doubt any of them will do me much good. One piece of information I read multiple times is one that Tristan confirmed himself: iron is poisonous to fae. I tuck that away for future reference because if I’m going to fight Tristan again, I want to be prepared. Nothing else I come across gives me a better idea of what I’m up against. I also make several notes on things to look through the next time I have an opportunity to go home. Family photo albums, heirlooms, anything that has a chance of tying any of my ancestors to the fae.
There’s a light knock at the door before it opens, and Oliver walks in. I shut my laptop, and my heart sinks. What am I supposed to tell him? He can’t know the truth. It’s too dangerous.
“Hey.” He walks over to Allison’s bed and drops onto it.
I smile, glancing over at him. “What’s up?”
“I’m looking for Allison.” He scans the room. “I tried calling her. I thought she’d be here.”
I swallow the lump in my throat before I say, “I’m not sure where she is.”
“Hmm, okay.” He shoots me a goofy grin. I want to scream at him for dropping it so easily, but it’s not his fault. “Want to grab some dinner?” he asks.
I catch my lower lip between my teeth and nod. I haven’t eaten since, well, I can’t remember, and despite the worry that swirls in my chest, I’m hungry. The constant upset in my stomach is only made worse by its emptiness. I need a break from all of the crazy. At least for a little while. “Let’s go.”
We walk to Taylor’s Brew and are seated at a booth near the back. I’ve been here a handful of times with friends, but Allison never wants to come, saying they’re too overpriced. While the prices are a little high, their deep-fried pickles are the best I’ve ever had. The amazing food makes up for the lack of interior decorating. Nothing hangs on the wood-paneled walls, and the bar stools and booths look as if they haven’t been reupholstered in years. There’s a stage at the front of the room where people perform on occasion. I play piano and have been writing my own songs for years, but I have yet to make it up there.
Turning my attention back to our booth, Oliver pores over the menu, and I bite my tongue several times to keep from saying something that won’t make any sense to him.
“Aurora?”
Oliver glances up, and I turn my head when I hear my name. Grant stands a few feet away with a couple of other guys.
“Hey,” I say with a polite grin before turning to Oliver. “This is Grant. He’s in my elective class. Grant, this is Oliver.” Grant’s friends wave and head over to the bar.
When he sticks his hand out, Oliver leans over and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Oliver says.
Grant’s gaze swings back to me. “Have you started that research paper?”
I laugh. “Not even a little bit.” I’ve been a bit preoccupied.
He chuckles. “Sounds about right.” He looks over at the bar. “I should get over there, but it was nice to meet you, Oliver. And don’t worry about the bill. It’s on me.”
“No way, I’m not letting you buy our food,” I say.
He shrugs. “I own the place, Aurora. It’s no big deal.”
“Are you kidding? That’s crazy.”
“It was passed through the family, and now it’s my turn.”
“We’re not going to argue over free food,” Oliver chimes in.
He grins. “I’ll see you guys around,” he says before rejoining his friends.
Oliver and I order our food and talk about school. For the most part, I offer one-word answers and struggle to keep up. My thoughts keep going back to Allison and what’s happening at the Westbrook Hotel. I’ve decided to give it three days. If she’s not back by then, I’m going to strap iron stakes to every inconspicuous part of my body, and I’m going to charge that fucking building. I have to. Even though I still don’t understand why she lost her shit and attacked me, I have no doubt that Allison would do the same for me.
It’s been two days, and Allison isn’t back. To say I’m a mess is an understatement.
I leave class an hour before the lecture ends and sit in my room, where I go over what I know about the situation. I’ve made several lists, all of which would make any outsider think I’m a lunatic. I fist my hair, groaning as I shuffle over to my bed and flop onto it.
“You okay there?”
I sit up in a flash, barely escaping a wicked case of whiplash, and see Allison standing in the open doorway. She looks fine, not a hair out of place, no wrinkles in her clothes. Her face is free of makeup, which is unusual for her, but aside from that, she looks normal. “Are you really here?” I ask.
It takes her a moment to smile. “Yeah, I’m here.”