Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 123

Chapter 123: Student?!

The next week goes by in both an agonizing crawl and with terrifying swiftness.

The doctors all decide that I need three days without Logan (in increasing increments of time) to determine my mental stability without him.

The worst part about that is the boredom. And, yes, a little bit of panic whenever I relive moments during my captivity. But it ultimately goes well, even if every time Logan and I get together, the sexual tension ramps up.

These damn cameras and glass walls are getting in the way.

After day 3, I’m transferred to another room, one with a second bed for Logan. Still cameras, though—can’t verify, but Logan doesn’t try to get my clothes off, so it’s a pretty firm sign privacy’s just an illusion.

Then another visit with Dr. Blackthorn. It’s about five minutes long and she has me sign a paper with a lot of what looks like legalese, but Marcus Ashby has already signed off on it and sent me a text saying it’s safe to sign and my soul will still be mine when I do.

Always a plus.

Oh, yeah. And I have a phone now. Not a real phone where every phone call and message isn’t tapped, but still, a phone. Penelope’s my saving grace during this week. Between texts and phone calls, she keeps my spirits up and my boredom at bay.

And she’s still not a vampire, so that’s a major win.

And now, on day 7, I stand in the main lobby of Thornhaven Academy, surprised down to my toes at who’s standing in front of me.

Logan’s not allowed on campus; he isn’t a registered student.

Marcus Ashby is allowed because he’s a lawyer, but needs a visitor pass, which apparently takes at least two days and a whole lot of forms before it gets approved—and only for an hour.

But it’s not Ashby.

But wait. Let’s step back one second.

Thornhaven Academy. Technically a bit of a jail cell for me, but also the freedom I desperately hoped for.

Old money and pretension is everywhere I look: in the gorgeous marble columns and gleaming wood paneling, in strange moving paintings—clearly a ripoff of our favorite Hogwartsian series, and in floating orbs of light that drift near the vaulted ceiling like wayward stars, casting an ethereal glow over everything below.

All that’s missing is the sorting hat and some chocolate frogs.

"Nicole!"

My heart leaps at the familiar voice. There, in the middle of this grandiose display of magical excess, stands Penelope. Her red hair blazes like a beacon against the austere backdrop, and she’s waving both arms as if I might somehow miss her in the sparsely populated space.

Unlike the students, all dressed in what are clearly designer labels with way too many digits on their price tags, she’s dressed in high-level department store with slightly less digits.

Me? I’m dressed in corporate peon salary price tags.

We don’t fit in, but at least we fit together.

"Pippa?" I weave through a cluster of students—some wearing robes that wouldn’t look out of place at a Renaissance faire, and I’m very suspicious that it’s because these people are live action role-playing their favorite television series—and practically sprint toward her. "How did you—what are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" She throws her arms around me. "I’m your new classmate!"

I pull back, staring at her. "What? How?"

"Your boy toy pulled some strings." She grins. "Turns out I qualify for enrollment. Even if I can barely do party tricks. Money talks, I guess."

My mind spins. "Logan did this?"

My steps falter. When they told me I’d be enrolling here, I kind of expected it to be something like... I don’t know. Just something they do to keep me in check. Not that I actually have to do anything. "Wait, catching up? Does it even matter if we pass?"

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