Page 36 of Loving the Tormentor

"So what you're telling me is that she didn't deserve whatever you put her through," Wren insists with a sigh.

"Better safe than sorry, am I right?"

I walk inside the music school building with nothing but a black marker and Post-it notes in my hand. Every first day of the semester, the head of the department, the SFU Orchestra conductor, and myself, go through listening to every single music student to decide where they'll sit during the months of rehearsal. They have one minute to musically tell us where they'll sound the best.

I don't have to do it, since this isn't what I study. But music is where my soul belongs, and I always go hoping I’ll suddenly get inspired to write my next piece. That concerto everyone's been waiting for, like I'm some sort of fucking genius. I got lucky once; I don't know what they expect.

Today, I'm not going to get inspired. I have the answer to my inspiration, so I just need to go get my fuel. And I'm buzzing when I walk through the empty hallways. Every student will be waiting in front of our concert hall, shaking with stress and anticipation, holding their instruments like they’re the only things keeping them alive.

I'm only looking for one person as I approach the small crowd. We have very few students. Only enough to complete our own orchestra. A year leaves, and we replace whichever instruments we're missing with new players.

Pausing at the back of the crowd, I listen to the excited conversations, the anxious whispers, and the huffs of impatient students.

I hear a short gasp next to me, barely muted when she slams a hand against her mouth. I don't know her, but her friend next to her isn't as discreet when he leans into someone else.

"Oh my God, Achilles Duval is here."

It takes all of me not to roll my eyes. Get a grip.

They keep looking at me, the word being passed around quickly, but none of them come to talk to me. Good. It looks like my reputation finally stops them from doing anything stupid.

I'm not focused on them, though. I'm focused on trying to find the girl with brown hair and brown eyes. Which isn't that easy now that I think about it. Nyx is a pretty average woman. She's just another violinist who's a fan of mine. Not exactly surprising. She isn't the first to lose composure in front of me or let me do things to her she shouldn't have.

Which begs the question: why did our little encounter inspire me so much?

I can't even find her in a small crowd of other musicians.

As they all enter the concert hall, I lean against the wall, knowing I don't need to go in for another couple of minutes while they get settled. People have entire cellos to move around the room.

The doors close, and that's when I hear steps running down the hallway. She doesn't even notice me as she flies past me, out of breath, with her violin case in hand. Coming to a sudden halt in front of the massive wooden doors, she catches her breath, a hand on her chest.

That's when I understand that Nyx may not have anything special that makes her stand out. Not her height, not her shape, not her hair or her voice.Nothingexcept the way she makes me feel the second she enters my space. Because she might be the one who ran, but I'm the one who can't breathe.

My fingers tingle as I approach her from behind. I'm not trying to be discreet, my steps distinct in the empty hallway, but she doesn't seem to hear me anyway. She's about to put a hand on the cast-iron handle when I put mine on her right shoulder.

"Tsk. Late on your first day?"

She startles, barely stifling a scream as she spins around, dislodging me at the same time. When she sees me, her wide eyes go even rounder than usual, and she presses herself against the door.

Fuck. The panic in her eyes is all I needed to see to know with certainty that two days without her was too long.

"I-I?—"

She swallows thickly and freezes like prey when I push her fringe out of her eyes.

"Don't be so scared of me, Nyx. It's going to make me hard right before we have to go in."

I bring two fingers to her neck, pressing against her pulse and relishing the way she tenses.

"You're really panicking."

"I need to go in," she forces past her trembling lips. "I don't want to fuck up on my first day."

I smile, and I can almost feel the chill running down her spine. "I think you fucked up the second you accepted your scholarship. But you're right. In you go."

Opening the door behind her, I wrap my hand at the back of her neck and force her in at the same time as me. For someone who wants to be part of the best collegiate orchestra in the country, she weirdly doesn't seem to enjoy all eyes on her.

Chapter Nine