Page 8

The rest of the class hour passed quickly once I resumed my head down position on the desk, and that was because I fell asleep.

Whatever Viggo did to the back of my neck and head, had helped with the migraine that was starting, and it put me in a strange sense of lethargy once we stopped our impromptu debate. Or perhaps it was the back of his index finger that he was discreetly caressing against the side of my thigh under the table that lulled me to sleep.

Instead of assaulting him for touching me, he asked if he had permission to help with the migraines in the future if I needed it since it would mean he would have to touch me. That would prevent me from puking on him when trying to give consent or not.

That, I never expected from a Royal, and it made me even more suspicious of Prince de Babineaux...

And it made the crush that was forming even worse.

I was only vaguely aware of Slevin shaking me. "Beautiful, wake up."

"No, I don't want to," I groaned.

"You don't have a choice," he regretfully informed me. "You're going to be late for mathematics."

I pouted, trying to ignore him.

"Don't hit me," he warned before shocking me with an orb of electricity.

Instantly I jumped out of my seat.

"Asshole!" I snapped at him, shaking the pink electrical currents from my arm. "Dick move, Shorty."

"Hey, don't break the sexy eye candy!" Slevin snapped back before blowing me a kiss.

I couldn't stay mad at him; I was being ridiculous.

At least this time he didn't shock me into a wall like he did the last time.

I thought Harper was going to kill him over that one!

Slevin's eyes moved over my face many times, appraisingly.

"What?" I asked, embarrassed. "I know I look like hell, but it's rude to stare."

He shook his head. "No, you surprisingly look better than you did at lunch. Maybe a nap was all you needed."

It was a nice thought, but I still felt like I got hit by a truck.

Professor Smits absently offered a wave from his desk where he was reading a steamy romance novel, it was human world contraband he smuggled in, as we headed from the room.

Slevin walked me to my next class; his class was in the opposite direction, but neither of us was going to make it before the bell so he felt the need to stay with me. I could sense the giddiness radiating off of him, he wanted to talk about Prince de Babineaux.

I did not.

Tonight, he'd corner me to spill the tea if I didn't beat him back to the dorm and pass out before he got there.

"Just in case you need to heal in a hurry," Slevin whispered, placing a small glass vial in my hand, then gave me a quick kiss. "And this one won't give you a third eye this time," he promised with a wink.

I glared at him. "Not funny. It wasn't a third eye, it just felt like it."

He merely smiled and batted his lashes.

It was against the rules to use potions at the Academy, regardless of what they were for because students weren't smart enough or strong enough to properly execute them. There were some rather amusing polymorph incidents during my first year here that turned a class of nine-year-olds into a clowder of cats. That took six months to fix and the student responsible was removed from the Academy and their Thaumaturgy was bound, turning them into a Mundane.

"I won't be hissing and clawing everything up if I drink it, will I?" I asked, pocketing it.

Slevin snorted, giving me a look. "Do I look like some low-level child trying to wield the power of the universe with a box of crayons and a coloring book?" he asked, bobbing his head.

It was a losing battle.

"No, you are a diva that the world will bow before if he would only get his lazy ass to class once in a while," I said, giving him a quick peck before walking into class, five minutes after the bell.

Professor Clark looked up from their lesson plan to me. "Late again, Miss Li," she said.

"That would be accurate since the tardy bell rang five minutes ago," I said, taking the only open seat which just happened to be in the front row. "Nap time ran a little long."

"Don't get too comfortable," she said and held out a piece of chalk. "We will be discussing the fundamental theorem of algebra while you attempt to solve the equation on the board."

I looked around her and then groaned.

On the chalkboard was an extremely complex equation.

No one ever solved these things in class.

This one would take weeks, if not, months for someone who hadn't willingly signed up for this torturous class!

I rather disliked this particular Professor.

"I would be more than happy to do what you are incapable of," I cheerfully said, taking the piece of chalk, stepping around her, and headed to the board.

With Professor Clark, you aren't out of the class discussion while you're working on her ridiculous math problem.

You have to pay attention to both because she'll call on you with or without your hand being raised and will make a pop quiz out of her lecture today.

I understood the reasoning behind it, but I wasn't in the mood for her or her attempt at intellectual cock-wielding today.

Prince de Babineaux put me in a foul mood.

I sat on the floor facing the chalkboard and flipped the piece of chalk around my fingers like a baton while I multitasked, surprised that my fingers were no longer sore and my knuckles weren't swollen anymore.

Professor Clark thinks that I'm cheating in this class since I have the top ranking out of all of her classes. I'm not cheating, I just like numbers, but that answer wasn't good enough for her. The first two years that I was stuck with this particular Professor I had to take every test twice because she was hell-bent that somehow, I was cheating, so she'd draft a new test and I'd ace that one as well. It was ridiculous, so I finally called Father and made him deal with it because I was tired of having to do double the work of everyone else in order to keep the top rank I had in her program, and if I had to take care of it, she would be in traction for a year.

Thankfully Father took my warning seriously and took care of it.

"How's it coming over there, Miss Li?" Professor Clark asked towards the end of class.

I had just continued to sit there, staring at the board.

"A hundred bucks says I can solve it by the end of class," I said.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

I turned to look at her. "I bet you a hundred bucks, Canadian to be nice, that I can solve this before the end of class," I said.

"Gambling is prohibited on campus," she reminded me.

"That's never stopped anyone before. Besides, what's wrong, afraid I'll show you up again? Another failed attempt at trying to prove that you're smarter than I am?" I asked with a smile.

"Detention if you don't solve it," she warned.

"That's the worst you can threaten me with, detention?" I asked. "If you hadn't noticed, Headmaster Bakshi likes me and rather enjoys it when I have detention because it means he gets to give an oration on the trinkets filling his office. And, I have to admit, I rather like listening to his philology dissertations."

Professor Clark glared at me.

"What? Haven't you had the honor of hearing the stories behind the collection of trinkets he's amassed over the years in his travels?" I asked with a smirk.

"Just solve the damn problem," she sneered.

"As you wish," I said and got to my feet then headed to the board.

Minutes before the bell rang, I tossed Professor Clark the piece of chalk and walked back to my desk.

The expression on Professor Clark's face told the class all they needed to know.

I solved it.

"What's that at the bottom?" she asked.

"That's my dinner order for tonight," I said. "Since I had time, I might as well figure out what I wanted to eat so I made a note of it. I think takeout from Angelina's sounds like an agreeable choice."

The class laughed.

"That's a lot of food for one person," Professor Clark commented. "Is there something you're not telling us?" she asked, trying to save face by being rude.

I wasn't going to give her the benefit.

"I'm an open book," I said. "And I'm a fat girl and fat girls like to eat, even if you can wash clothes on my abs. And trust me when I say, you can't maintain a rack like this on a twelve-hundred calorie-a-day diet." I motioned to my chest.

The class erupted in laughter as the bell rang.

When I exited the classroom, I was met by the one person I was hoping to not see again.

"How many calories does it take to maintain it?" Viggo asked; he was leaning against the wall, seemingly waiting for me with a mobile phone in hand.

"Are you stalking me?" I asked.

"No. Would you like me to?" he asked, pocketing his mobile phone, then walked next to me down the hall.

Lovely, I have another stalker.

That's just great.

"Not especially, I've had a few and it never ends well for them, but thanks for asking," I said.

"Of course, I am a gentleman thus it would be rude to assume," he said.

Ugh! I am so going to kick his ass when I am capable of violence again.

"Oh totally. Thanks for waking me up in Smits' class," I said. "Oh, so gentleman-like to leave a lady to fend for herself in a puddle of her own drool."

Viggo shrugged, indifferent. "Even when swimming in a pool of drool, you are hyperaware if you are truly in danger. Besides, it was the Professor's prep hour and he was keeping watch, and you looked peaceful. It was our shared understanding and experience that volatile females are usually in a rather foul mood when woken up from such a tranquil state of slumber. Thus, it was safer for both of us to let you sleep. The last thing I wanted was a repeat performance of what happened this morning in the sparring ring. I do not think your battered body would be able to handle it again so soon since you are adamant you do not require healing."

"My body is none of your concern," I snapped at him.

Viggo looked down at me as we walked; the nearly ten-centimeter height difference seemed like so much more at the moment for some reason. "I suppose you are correct about that," he said, but there was something about the way he said it that made it seem as if there was a double meaning.

I could just be paranoid though.

Or exhausted.

Most likely both.

Viggo stopped when we reached the art room. "Enjoy philosophy," he said with a slight nod of the head.

Amazingly, we don't share a class together...

Wait. How does he know I have philosophy next?