Page 101 of Satanic Shadow

Funny.His voice holds no amusement, yet it has me fighting another smile I conceal with a bite of my lip.

When we finish up and head to a lesson in socialization with mortals, I drown out the voices around me and focus on doodling stick men in my jotter.

“Miss Winters,” the professor says. “Can you explain to the class what your life expectancy as a mortal is?”

My eyes go wide as everyone turns to face me. “Oh, uh…” I fidget with the gloves concealing my fingers, gripping the hem of my skirt. “It depends on one’s health, I guess, but a lot of people live to their eighties, some even a few years over a hundred.”

“That’s all?” someone asks with disgust on his face. “That’s sad.”

Someone else giggles and says I’ll be dead before they’ve even lived, and another student comments on my skin and how awful my hair is—that it’s no wonder I cake myself with makeup.

For the first time in forever, I feel like crying. Not from their words, not really. I’m just drained. So drained.

I wet my lips and look down.

This class sucks.

I want to ask Dane to blow into here and take me away, to stab them in the heart and crack their skulls. Rage rushes through me like an inferno, and I have to hold my breath to stop myself from exploding. Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I can’t stop it.

I gasp as a blistering sensation comes from my fingers under the gloves, like a bolt of raging fire, hot and stingy and awakening.

I narrow my eyes at the burned fabric at my fingertips then hide my hands under my thighs, making sure no one questions me.

You have some horrific scraps of material for underwear. How does one even feel comfortable in these? The white ones are hot though. I think I’ll keep them.

I stand abruptly. “May I go to the bathroom?”

“Can’t you wait?”

Someone says, “She’s a human, professor. She can’t do anything but waste oxygen.”

I grit my teeth, my nostrils flaring. I want to reach over and gouge their eyeballs out. When the teacher tells me to go, I grab my satchel and head to the door, wishing his chair would fly away from beneath him and—

A yelp comes from behind me, and I stop to see the person on the ground, their chair nonexistent. I freeze for a second but then inwardly groan that Dane evidently heard me.

When I reach my room, ready to give Dane an earful for going through my things, he’s sitting on my bed, leaning back on one elbow while reading my notes on famous musicians and songwriters.

“If you have any of my underwear in your pockets, I want them back.”

He doesn’t look up from the book. “You better check for yourself, human. My hands are busy.”

If he thinks for a second I’m taking a back seat, he has another think coming. I throw my bag off and shove his chest, so he’s flat on the bed. The book slides to the side, and Dane watches as I search the pockets of his cotton shorts.

Why is he wearing mortal clothes again?

I narrow my gaze on him when I come up empty. “You’re such an idiot. I left class because of you!”

My hand trembles as he captures it, studying the burn marks on my glove. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I try to yank away but fail.

“Don’t lie to me. You were mad. I had to get you out of that classroom given how murderous you were becoming in your head. What happened?”

“Just some of the students commenting on me and how human I am, that’s all.” I manage to stand and free myself from his grasp. “Their comments are nothing compared to what you’ve thrown at me, so don’t look so offended for me.”

I rush to the bathroom, washing the burned fabric from my hands and binning the ruined gloves. I stare at my skin. When I was at breakfast, I could feel the curse growing, spreading up my palms, but right now, it’s barely visible.

“Dane,” I say, walking into the room while studying my hands. “Is it possible for the curse to… weaken? It was worse this morning.”