“what do you think, Gaz?"

I lift my head at Morgan's voice-who's still rubbing her tits all over me.

The shirt will be burned later.

"Depends, really," I say, even though I have no clue what the fuck they're talking about.

"I mean, they have a great reputation." One of the guys, Meyers, picks up the conversation. "And since criminal law is an important part of the core curriculum, this will be fun."

"Heard they’re hot as fuck," a girl chimes in. "I call dibs."

"Get in line," her friend says.

"I'm the one who shared the information about them first," Morgan protests.

Ah. The professor.

I swear to fuck I lose brain cells whenever I listen to their gossip.

Whoever this professor is, they'll fall under my spell like the lot of them. I'm charming, smart, and an A+ student, which is po-rn for professors. But, like, professionally.

None of my classmates even try to beat me in grades anymore. Not even Zara Jones, Morgan's friend and the only one who's now talking about the Professor's good reputation instead of how hot they are.

Zara, like everyone, learned she'll never reach my level.

What's effortless for me is something she and the others can only achieve if they study day and night.

Shuffling ensues as the new professor walks into class.

Everyone heads to their seat, and the girls who were fighting about dibs squeal.

"They’re drop-dead gorgeous," one of them whispers.

"Lock me up, Your Honor," the other says, and they giggle like schoolgirls.

Damn hormonal college kids.

I drag my gaze to the professor again and pause.

Because they’re watching me.

Among everyone in the entire lecture hall, their dead, and absolutely disturbing eyes are set on me.

My skin prickles and my wound burns.

Before they even speak, before they open their mouth and I confirm my suspicion, a deep premonition slashes through my skin and my demons roar in their pit, devouring each other alive.

Their dead gaze remains on me as they say, "Hello, class. My name is {{user}} Lockwood, and I'm your criminal law professor."