I look up, startled by Piers’ voice. He leans over an and turns a couple of pages in the book I’m holding. I get a whiff of his cologne—something rich and oaky—before he eventually finds what he was looking for and leans back. He’s landed on a page that has a photo of a brilliantly white horse standing by a foggy riverbank.
“The bækhest,” he says, pointing at it. “We could do that.”
I skim the page. It’s a monster that lives near rivers, takes the shape of a horse, and then plunges unsuspecting riders into the river to drown them. I make a mental note not to stand too close to any body of water ever again.
“It’s only native to Sweden,” I say, then glance up. “Do you know any Swedish?”
I’ve never come across a baekhest before, and I see why. There’s a note at the bottom of the page that most information about the monster is still written in the tongue of its native country.
He shrugs. “No. But how long would it take to learn?”
I guffaw, only for the back end of my laugh to come out strangled when I realize he’s serious.
“I don’t know,” I say, peering at the creature agai
n. “A lot longer than it’s going to take to do this project.”
Piers leans further back in his chair, using his feet to push himself up onto just the back two legs. He purses his lips together with a smug expression and lets out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he says, “Are you telling me I might actually be better at something than Avery Black?”
“Oh shut up,” I say. I reach over and ever so gently tap him on the shoulder.
His chair tip further back and slips out from beneath him, leaving Piers Dagher sprawled out on the floor.
I peer over him and grin wickedly. “So, what was it you were saying again?”
Piers, it turns out, is a wizard at learning languages.
By the time we’ve finished our research for the day, he’s already able to recite a little conversational Swedish for the librarian, who it turns out, he knows pretty well.
We gather up the few books we were able to find with information on our monster and leave the librarian behind a guilt-inducing mountain of the rest and head out before we can hear her complain.
“What was that all about?” I ask, jutting my thumb back in the direction of the librarian.
He just brushes his hair out of his eyes and adjusts the lapels of the jacket he’s wearing. “Where do you think I spent most of my time when my father visited growing up? I wasn’t exactly allowed to run around the menagerie. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to tote me around.”
My heartbeat quickens. This is it. My chance to ask about his father.
I have to hesitate, however. This is clearly a sore subject for him, and so far we’ve been getting along really well … at least as well as a bully and the girl he’s been bullying can be expected.
I don’t want to ruin that.
“Hey, uh, what are you doing for Christmas break?” I ask.
Piers shrugs. “Going home.” His face, already stoic, droops a little.
I pause in the hallway, and he stops too. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says irritably, running his fingers through his dark hair again. “It’s just—can I be candid with you?”
He turns and looks at me so intensely, I feel something spark inside. Something lower, deceptively close to my crotch, tightens too. It’s those eyes. He could swallow me whole with just those eyes.
“Of course,” I say, trying to lean casually against the wall to my side. My voice comes out deeper and a little raspy—betraying the arousal I’m trying to keep in check. I clear my throat and try to remember all the times Piers smacked me in the face with a tree branch, and that seems to do the trick.
The moment passes, and Piers is none the wiser.
He clenches one of his fists at his side until the knuckles turn white, and then he lets it go.