Feral: Book One (2 page)

My question seemed to create a moment of awkwardness at the table, and after it passed, I was surprised to learn that Cole had started looking for out-of-state colleges after my departure and left mere months after I had, halfway through the spring semester. Rumors had soon died down without their source of inspiration, and I was more than comforted by the fact that I would no longer have to deal with Cole’s sarcastic and patronizing comments or the town’s cutting words about being a disappointment to my father.

Despite the unhappy topic of Cole, the conversation soon progressed to more pleasant subjects, and the night ended on a high note. I was relaxed and happy, and without the weight of homesickness and the discomfort of spending the summer in a strange bed, I was able to fall into a deep slumber with ease. It was the first time in a good three weeks I had slept serenely throughout the night.

Late college registration seemed to grow more exhausting with each passing year, mentally and physically, not to mention monetarily. The paperwork was a nightmare every single time, and buying books and equipment was its own special brand of hell. Standing in the seemingly endless line of people was enough to give you a migraine, and waiting to meet with instructors when you already knew what you needed to take was enough to make a saint curse. I was just glad that I wouldn’t have to participate in this lurid ritual for another three months. I wondered again what I’d been thinking when I agreed to take summer courses. Did I really want to get ahead that badly? I sighed. Mostly the summer classes were to offset the disruption in my schedule caused by the study abroad. It wasn’t that the classes didn’t transfer. It was more that it threw some things out of the nice easy boxes they liked to put you in for earning your degree.

I practically snatched the schedule away from the registrar in my irritation, ready to get my books and go home, and began picking my way through the crowds. Regrettably, haste makes waste, or in my case, unfortunate accidents.

I slammed into a firm something, and given the multitude of people in the room, I was fairly certain it was a person. However, unlike the other half of our two-party collision, I landed squarely on my jean-clad butt, which was pretty damn painful due to the hardness of the floor meeting my flesh-padded tailbone. There was no doubt in my mind it was going to hurt to walk for a few days to come.

I swore under my breath and attempted to clamber to my feet, knowing my cheeks were flaming and thanking whatever possible deities were out there that this had not happened while my hands were full of a couple hundred dollars worth of textbooks and lab and clinical equipment.

When a pale hand appeared in front of my face, I didn’t hesitate to take it, even if I was embarrassed beyond words. I could only hope that I didn’t have to share a class with any of the people who were presently in the same room as I. Once on my feet, I tugged my dark shirt down into place from where it had ridden up ever-so-slightly before glancing up at the person whom I had mistakenly ploughed into, and what I saw took my breath away.

The man was unquestionably attractive and appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and given my size in comparison to his, I wagered he was probably six foot even, possibly six-one. He wore a belt in the loops of the black slacks that seemed to be hanging deliciously low on equally delicious hips, and a deep, oxford-blue shirt, sans tie. I couldn’t help but notice the first two buttons were undone, and I immediately scolded myself for taking way too much pleasure in the little hint of the pearly-mocha skin revealed there. Indeed, while his facial structure reminded me faintly of someone of Italian descent, the lightness of his skin did not quite fit, reminding me of a wood elf or some other mythical creature.

His hair was a dark shade of coffee, which was not an uncommon color for someone of potential Italian descent, and the thick—dear
God
, was it thick!—layered mane brushed his collar temptingly. Then there were his bright eyes, which were the most unusual shade I had ever seen in my life. They reminded me of the hyacinths that my
nonna,
my grandmother, grew in her flower gardens.

He was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. It was the only word I could think of to describe him.

“I do apologize,” he said with a hint of accent I couldn’t identify. “I should have been paying consideration to where I was walking.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Particularly with the crowds that are about today.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s my fault. I let my frustration at—” I waved at the throngs of people both inside and outside the office— “this get to me. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Mister…?”

“Treviso,” he supplied, offering his hand. “Simon Treviso.”

So he
is
Italian!

Apparently during my ruminations, I had been quiet for too long, and I could tell from his raised eyebrow that a response was welcome. “Sofia. Sofia Capriola. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Treviso, though it would’ve been nicer under less embarrassing circumstances.”

“Please, call me Simon.”

“Simon, then.” I glanced around and gave a sigh at the crowd before returning my attention to him. “Well, it really was nice to meet you, Simon, but I’m afraid I have to go give my arm to the bookstore now.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It does seem universities’ suppliers of printed knowledge do enjoy extorting what little money students have remaining. And it was indeed a pleasure, Miss Capriola.”

There was something about his manner which reminded me of an old Victorian gentleman. I half suspected if he had been wearing a hat, he would have pinched the brim and tipped his head in some silent acknowledgement. However, I kept that thought to myself, and simply smiled, nodded my goodbye, and made my way out of the crowded office, more aware of the people surrounding me now than I had been before my uncomfortable spill and pleasant introduction.

As I walked in the direction of the bookstore, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was a student or teacher, and what he was taking or instructing. It was entirely possible that he was a student, but his demeanor and speech patterns gave me more reason to believe otherwise. This in turn made me ponder what subject he taught. With his use of language, I guessed he was probably an English or philosophy instructor. It just seemed to fit with his mannerism and voice.

It was a shame, because I had finished my core courses, which meant I was done with English, and I had no reason to be taking philosophy. Though if Simon Treviso were teaching the course, I might have to rethink that idea, and join in the studies anyway.

I was unsurprised to see Brie when I walked into the bookstore.

I’d like to say it was sheer good luck that we ended up attending the same university, but the truth was neither of us wanted to leave home, or in my case, wanted to leave home again. And since the university had great programs in the fields we wished to pursue, and was within a good driving distance from our homes, we chose to attend the small college together—Brie had initially decided on English before she went into the Communications and Media Studies curriculum, and I chose to study Health Sciences.

“Well, well, well…look who’s back.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, Brie had alerted me a few weeks before I left London to the fact that Madison Kinley, after flunking out of a prestigious college in Boston, was back. Worst of all, her chosen studies closely matched those of my own, which meant there was a chance we would be attending the same classes.

Wonderful.

Madison and I had been friends for many years, since we were little girls. We’d lived near one another growing up and had constantly spent the night at each other’s houses. Our parents had met at an art showing at her family’s gallery and auction house, and for a long time after that, we were inseparable, which is why it hurt so much when we started growing apart early on during junior high. Despite dating the captain of the basketball team, I never really fell into the “in crowd” like she did, and over the years, I watched our friendship slowly wither.

The end came when she did not show her support by attending either of my mother’s viewings or her funeral. When I called her the night after we buried her, she never answered, and when I tried to speak to her the following Monday at school, she had very coolly said she’d been at cheering practice and walked away laughing with some of the other girls on the team.

I had never felt anything so painful at that point in my life.

I forced a smile on my lips and turned to face the bleach-blonde just as Brie stepped behind my shoulder, most likely so I wouldn’t be alone when dealing with my former friend. I let my gaze drop to the books Madison held in her hands, and sure enough, they confirmed that we would be taking some of the same lectures.

Then I actually took a look at her wardrobe—hell, everyone had probably taken a good look at her wardrobe!—and it was in no way shocking to see my former childhood friend clad in the tightest, skimpiest, red top I had ever seen and the shortest black bootie shorts that looked more like a second skin.

“Hello, Mads,” I said saccharinely, addressing her by the nickname Brie had come up with during high school. “How was Boston?” I couldn’t resist getting the dig in. I was sure she wouldn’t be bothering me over the summer if she hadn’t flunked during the semester.

Her simpering expression disappeared. “Lovely. How is Cole?”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken with him since I left Georgia.”

“Oh, what a shame,” she drawled, her blue eyes filled with vicious glee. “I have.”

I repressed a sigh of exasperation. “Is that so? Well, when you speak to him again, tell him I hope he’s doing well, and that I thoroughly enjoyed England and hope to go back again in the not-so-distant future.”

I gave her a brilliant smile, then pivoted in place to go in search of my books, Brie hot on my heels. When we were out of earshot, I huffed. “You’d think she was still in high school. I mean, honestly. Aside from trying to get a rise out of me, what was the point of that? Why couldn’t she just get her books and leave me alone?”

“It’s Mads,” she said. “There’s never any other point. She knows she upsets you, and you let her.”

I made a vague noise of disgruntled agreement before browsing the shelves. “Do you think I could get this book online somewhere for less? Ninety-nine bucks is a bit pricey for a damn workbook.” But even as I said the words, I hefted the large paperback into my arms.

“Oh,”
Brie groaned, “that’s nothing compared to what you are going to pay for
that.”

I glanced at the title she pointed to on my list and began searching frantically, dreading what I was going to see. As soon as my eyes spied the spine and the price tag, my heart dropped.
Principles of Anatomy and Physiology
was over one hundred-sixty dollars.
“Merda!
”
Shit!
At that point, I did not care who heard my loud expletive. “How the hell do they expect us to pay for all this?”

The red-head gave me a sympathetic look. “Maybe you can get an older one off Ebay or something for a hundred or so? I mean, how much could it possibly change in only an edition or two? Most of the information is the same, so as long as you take good notes, you should be okay, right?”

“It’d better be,” I grumbled, “because I can’t afford nearly two hundred bucks for one damn book I’ll only use a year and a half max. This’ highway robbery!”

I continued to search for the books I could afford, weaving in and out of the crowds, squeezing through small spaces to access the shelves, and muttering the entire time about how every price tag should be equivalent to grand theft. I could buy several new outfits and a couple pairs of shoes for how much college literature cost!

It took me awhile to find everything I needed, but I was finally able to make my way to the counter, where I accepted the glare the cashier gave me and happily returned it with one of my own. I would have stared at the middle-aged woman even longer, but movement outside the shop window caught my attention, as well as the attention of everyone within a twenty foot radius.

“Wow,” was the only word I heard Brie mumble, and I wholeheartedly agreed. “I’d
love
to know who that is.”

“That
is Simon Treviso.”

I all but jumped out of my damn skin when he turned his head and locked eyes with mine as he passed by. I swallowed and tried to ignore the warmth that suddenly seemed to be seeping into my face, but when he smiled and tilted his head in recognition, there was no denying the flaming sensation in my cheeks.

I didn’t realize I was still staring into blank space until I felt a sharp jab in my ribs. When I looked around, I saw my companion smirk at me in amusement and the cashier glaring at me with more annoyance than before. I snatched the bags with a growl of irritation. “You keep your mouth shut,” I snapped at Brie before cutting my eyes back to the frosted-blonde behind the counter. “And you have a very productive day.”

My friend beamed her way out of the store. “Only you would be so snide as to wish someone a productive day. That sounded so…foreboding.”

“It was meant to be,” I responded as I turned and went in the opposite direction of the attractive Simon Treviso. “I’m hungry. Do you want to do lunch? It’ll have to be cheap. Not as cheap as Mads—”