Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 126: Thornhaven Residences

School might not be as terrible as I thought.

Every professor Penelope drags me to seems to have the same assumption. Rich kid playing around.

They have zero expectations out of me.

Thank God, because I had zero expectation of being a serious student when I agreed to come here. I mean, I wanted to learn to not kill anyone, but I definitely wasn’t planning on devoting the next few years of my life to this...

The marble-floored lobby of Thornhaven Residences gleams under crystal chandeliers. My heels click against the polished surface as I follow Penelope to a private elevator tucked away in an alcove.

"This can’t be student housing."

"It’s not. At least not the regular kind." Penelope waves a keycard at the panel. "Top floor is all ours."

"Thirty-two floors of what exactly?"

"Faculty apartments, visiting dignitaries, special cases like us." The doors slide open with a soft chime. "Welcome to our new home away from home."

I step inside, arms laden with course materials. "So this is why every professor thinks we’re trust fund babies killing time between shopping sprees."

"Probably has something to do with it." Penelope leans against the mirrored wall. "Logan’s friends don’t seem to do anything halfway."

"That’s what worries me." The elevator glides upward without a sound. "The kind of pull it takes to arrange all this..."

"Better not to think about it too hard."

I shift the stack of papers threatening to spill from my grip. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to catch up on..." I peek at the topmost syllabus. "Theoretical Applications of Crystalline Matrices."

"Did you forget? I’m in the same class. But there are video tutorials online."

"For magic? Somehow I doubt—"

Penelope rummages in her bag and produces a hot pink index card with a flourish. "Ta-da! The answer to all your academic prayers."

I squint at the web address scrawled in her looping handwriting. "What’s this?"

"Study site all the kids use. Has everything—practice tests, study guides, video explanations for magical application. It’s amazing how much of magic is really just paper theory. I’d think practical application tests would be more the norm."

"The kids?" I stare at her. "Pippa, exactly how much time have you spent hanging out with actual children lately?"

Her cheeks flush to match the notecard. "More than I care to admit."

The elevator chimes our arrival at the thirty-second floor.

The elevator doors open to a sight that steals my breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the city skyline, bathing the space in natural light. A grand living area spreads before us, all clean lines and modern furniture in shades of cream and silver.

Like a massive upgrade to Penelope’s apartment. Another place I’m going to have to try not to spill wine on the carpet.

I love it. Way better than the strange hospital rooms I’ve been in lately. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

"Someone’s going to have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming when this is over."

"That’s the spirit." Penelope dumps her bag on a pristine white sofa. "And you know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you."

"Love me? Or love playing teacher’s pet?" I arch an eyebrow at her. "Because you seem pretty cozy with the whole school scene."

"Fine. Maybe I’m having fun." She flops onto the couch, spreading her arms wide. "Sue me for enjoying something that doesn’t involve corpses or the possibility of my bestie going to jail for life."

Ugh. "Point taken."

My attention drifts to the kitchen—all gleaming stainless steel and marble countertops. A wine fridge hums softly in the corner. Two hallways branch off from the main space, presumably leading to bedrooms.

"Holy shit." I wander to the windows, pressing my palm against the cool glass. The city stretches out below like a toy model, cars reduced to colorful dots crawling along miniature streets. "This place must cost a fortune."

A massive fireplace dominates one wall, its mantle adorned with abstract sculptures. Above it hangs a painting that probably costs more than every dollar I’ve ever made in my life. The furniture looks straight out of a design magazine—the kind where everything’s too expensive to actually sit on.

"Is that a hot tub on the terrace?"

"Yep. And wait till you see the bathrooms. The tubs have jets."

I drop my course materials on a side table and explore further. The kitchen island could seat eight easily. The appliances look like they’ve never been touched. Everything gleams with that particular shine of wealth—the kind that makes you afraid to breathe wrong.

"This is insane." My voice echoes slightly in the vast space. "We’re supposed to live here? And study here?"

"Better than the library, right?"

A bar cart stocked with crystal decanters catches my eye. "I’ll say."

"Your room’s the one on the right." Penelope points down one of the hallways. "Logan said he’d have some clothes sent over for you."

"Hope that includes a phone that isn’t tapped." My fingers drum against my thigh. A new wardrobe sounds nice, but what I really need is a way to communicate without Big Brother Conclave watching.

The bedroom door stands slightly ajar at the end of the hall. I push it open, and my breath catches. The space is massive, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living room. A king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens dominates one wall. The city lights twinkle beyond the glass like fallen stars.

I take one step inside and the door slams shut behind me with enough force to rattle the frame. Darkness descends, absolute and suffocating. My heart leaps into my throat.

A hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my startled scream. I tense, ready to fight, when the lights flicker back to life.

"Shh, it’s me."

I spin around, my heart still racing but not from fear. The not-a-panther shifter steps back, his arms up to show I’m safe, until he can lean against the door.

"Nice place. Very... secure."

I’m not even sure how to talk to this man. I still don’t understand how he fits into this entire situation. And now, day one of being here, he’s broken into my apartment. "You seem well-informed about my whereabouts."

"You’ve been rather difficult to get to." His tone drips with dry humor. "Between the Moons, the Conclave’s watchdogs, and your wolf’s protective detail, I had to get creative."

"Breaking and entering is creative? I thought that was your default."

"I prefer to think of it as making a social call." He pushes off the wall, casually sauntering around the room as if he was invited here. "Though I must say, the wards around this place are impressive. Almost kept me out. You should be safe here."

"Safe?" My eyes narrow. "You got in."

I still don’t know if this man is friend or foe. Perhaps, like the Conclave, he’s just political. Neither good nor bad. He’s tried to save my life once, set me up for murder once, and was the first person to give me any information at all.

Anyone against the dragons, though, can’t be that bad. They’re the worst of all.

"I’m a special case." He opens a dresser drawer, but closes it almost immediately. "Sorry. Looks to be your undergarments."

At least he’s polite, I guess.