Dr. Florence Berne shuffles the papers in front of her, but the door opens before she can get a word out. We all turn to see who it is. Personally, I’m curious to see the person who would dare interrupt Dr. Berne’s staff meeting. Besides me, of course.
Dr. Berne giggles, and my mouth drops open in shock, but when the elf I ran into earlier steps into the room, I completely understand. Tall, serious green eyes, tanned complexion, and tousled hair the color of mahogany—dark brown with the slightest hint of russet. Fit, too. I subtly wipe the invisible drool from my mouth.
“Dr. Wylde,” she practically purrs. “Welcome to Duke University and to the Classical Studies program.” She motions to the chair beside her, and he strides over and sits down, all eyes following his every move. Whispers fill the room, but one glare from Florence silences them all. “Everyone, this is Dr. Hawthorne Wylde. He’ll be visiting us for a few weeks. An expert in ancient botany, his seminars will be offered to any of our graduate students who wish to expand their knowledge of the historical evolution of plants and their importance in ancient civilizations. Please introduce yourself after the meeting.”
After beaming a wide smile at him, she continues with the agenda. I tune her out and focus on the man sitting beside her. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he flicks his gaze toward me. An intense look of concentration comes over him, and I realize he’s trying to use his magic on me. Like mages, the Elven wield elemental magic, but they also have an empathic-like ability to sense emotions in others, especially humans.
His power snakes around me, searching for a door, but finds nothing. His attention shifts to the people around me, as if he’s testing his magic on them, and his shoulders relax in relief. Green eyes immediately move back to me; they narrow when he, again, gets nothing.
Unable to resist, I wink at him, and his eyes widen. When I hear Florence say my name, I tune back into the meeting, ignoring the perfect specimen at the end of the table. It’s a good thing I do, because Florence is touting the work I did this summer on Nolan’s collection in London. While she doesn’t know anything about vampires or magical objects, she’s a renowned expert in archaeology, and I consulted with her on several items.
“It’s an incredible collection. Thank you, Dr. Berne, for your assistance in identifying several of the pieces,” I state firmly, giving her the credit she deserves before continuing. “I managed to secure a few pieces for the university. They should be arriving later today. I’ll send an email to the staff with a list of the items, the provenance of each piece, and a picture, in case you want to integrate them into your curriculum.”
Several professors nod enthusiastically. Dr. Wylde eyes me with a speculative gleam, but I see his fingers moving across his phone. He’d better not let Florence catch him. His good looks won’t save him from her blistering lecture on the use of cell phones during staff meetings. I should know.
Florence finishes with her usual spiel about making this the best year for students and ends the meeting. I ignore the queue of people moving toward Dr. Wylde and quickly head out the door.
8
PHAEDRA
Everyone gathers around the crate in anticipation. While the university often receives pieces on loan from a museum, it’s rare to obtain objects that have been hidden in a private collection for years. I’ve given the privilege of opening the crate to the graduate students with the caveat that they must take a guess at the provenance and history of each piece.
Blake, a tall, dark-haired young man from Ireland, lifts the heavy crowbar and pops open the lid. With gloves on, he reaches in and pulls out the first piece and whistles. “Cool. It’s a mace-ax. Egyptian.” He holds up a magnifying glass to the flat edge of the ax portion. “14thcentury BCE.”
My lips curve upward. “How did you come to your conclusion?”
He flips the mace-ax around and holds it up for everyone to see. “Tiny symbols are etched in the flat part of the blade here.” He points to a specific area. “A reed, a wave of water, a falcon, anankh, and a series of staffs. King Tut’s name in hieroglyphics.” Everyone shuffles closer to study the weapon.
Someone steps up beside me, and the scent of amber, sandalwood, cinnamon, and vanilla fills the space around me, but it’s the scent of powerful magic accompanying it that makes me turn my head. It’s him. Jamison de Vere. And he’s looking utterly divine in a three-piece navy-blue pin-striped suit that makes his steel-blue eyes appear even darker. I inhale sharply. My memory didn’t do him justice. For a second, all I can do is stare at him and think about how incredibly powerful and good-looking he is.
“Jamison?” I murmur.
His firm lips briefly curve in greeting, and my brain finally starts working again, wondering why he’s here and not in London running his investigation. My stomach churns. I doubt he came all this way for a date.
“Dr. Galanis?” a young student named Alisha calls out.
I immediately turn my attention back to the scene in front of me. “Yes, Alisha?”
She holds up a blue stone ring. “Roman. Man’s ring. 1stcentury CE. Woman’s face carved on the side.”
“Very good. Do you know the stone?” I ask her.
“Lapis lazuli?” she guesses.
I shake my head and glance around the room. My eyes stop briefly on Dr. Wylde, who’s staring at me from across the room. “Anyone else?”
“Sapphire?” a graduate student named Reese guesses.
“Correct.”
As each piece is brought out, I feel Jamison’s tension beside me increasing until his magic is all but crackling against my skin. A sliver of disappointment slides over me. He’s definitely here for the artifacts in the crate, but why? There isn’t anything magical in there.
It takes an hour to empty the crate and detail each piece. When it’s over, I encourage the graduate students to make placards for the items. Everything will be placed in the university’s small glass museum for the students to study.
Jamison leans in close and murmurs in my ear, “Do you have a moment?” He lifts a hand toward the back of the classroom.
“Mm, I wish you were here for something more exciting than work,” I murmur, watching his eyebrows slam together in confusion.Stop flirting with him, Phaedra.He’s dangerous.Sometimes I hate the voice of reason. “Never mind. Yes, I have time.” I walk to the corner, his hand lightly pressed against my back.
