The Burning Bush (24 page)

I lay on a three-foot-high stage in the center of Jacobi’s art classroom. Students sat at easels surrounding it. And I was completely naked.

I made a mental note to kill Wallace for signing me up as a nude model. When I heard the word model, I pictured gaudy clothes, maybe a plastic parrot on my shoulder or a multicolored ball to hold in my hand as I displayed a fake smile. But nude model? No.

Wallace, your future will involve flames and pain!

The breeze from the air-conditioner brushed against me. Goosebumps sprouted on my skin. The students’ pencils scraped against their sketchpads with determination. A chalky smell, mixed with the chemical scent of paint, drifted in the air. Off in the back of the room, a student cleared her throat.

Another student chuckled to my right.
Why is he laughing? Is it because he spotted that one of my breasts is smaller than the other?
I’d just discovered that five minutes ago as I stared at my breasts rising and falling when I breathed. I studied the peaks.
Yeah. One is definitely smaller.

The clock’s buzzer sounded, signaling that I could change poses. Students flipped over the pages of their sketchpads in one unified movement.

“Okay. Let’s change positions,” Jacobi said from the corner of the room. “Lainy is your name, right?”

“Lanore,” I corrected and slowly rose. My joints ached. The circulation in my right leg had slowed. I massaged it a little and shook it.

“Oh, okay. Lainy, this time let’s try a standing position,” Jacobi ordered.

I nodded and stood up straight. The blood rushed through my right leg. I twisted and stretched my right ankle.

“I want you all to focus on the Mixbreed’s anatomy when you draw her new pose,” Jacobi insisted. “How is her body the same? How is it different from ours?”

I squinted my eyes.
How is my body different from a Pureblood’s? It’s not different, you pretentious jackass.
Most species pretty much appeared similar. There were only a few exceptions. Elves had pointy ears. Dwarves tended to be short, but not always. Pixies grew no taller than four inches.

And then there were Trolls. They had bumpy brown skin, huge arms, hairy hands, and beady black eyes. Troll women usually stood at six feet with two bulbous bellies divided by a hard bone. People barely saw Troll adult females because their pregnancy cycle lasted two years. Once the Troll baby was born, the infant remained in the Troll’s pouch for another two years. It guaranteed the Troll mother would be sitting at home for four years at least. This was why Troll women usually worked from home doing computer jobs and answering information lines.

Troll bodies are different, sure, but Mixie bodies are similar.

“Lainy,” Jacobi said to me and cleared his throat. “We’re ready for your next pose.”

“Sorry.” I placed my hands on my hips and twisted my upper body a little bit, thinking a position like that would be easier to maintain for five minutes versus the last one.

“Okay. Good job, Lainy.” Jacobi pressed the clock on his desk. “Let’s begin drawing.”

The sound of scraping filled the air as the students sketched ferociously. A burning sensation licked up my shoulders and elbows, making them ache around the joints. I immediately regretted this position.

This hurts like a Were-wolf bite.

I focused my eyes on Jacobi, the art instructor and my top suspect in the Burning Bush Murders. He strolled around the room with his hands in his pockets. This was the first time I had the opportunity to really look at him. He’d come late to class and pointed me to the dressing room to change without a “hello” or “how do you do.”

Jacobi had vanilla-colored skin and wavy hair that resembled creamy peanut butter. I didn’t know what type of hair product he was using, but it was time to find another one. Jacobi looked over the classroom, wearing beige pants and a crisp white shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. His hands never left his pockets.

One of the art students raised her hand, probably to ask a question. Jacobi rushed over and nodded. “Exactly. It’s that subtle difference that Mixbreeds possess. You captured it all. It’s what makes them unlike us, besides the mixture of blood and lack of magic.”

I tensed at his words.
Them and us? What freaking dissimilarity could this idiot artist have captured?

“Everyone stop for a minute and come look at Tisa’s sketch,” Jacobi called. “Lainy, take five.”

I blew out air and stretched my arms, raising my hands over my head. All the Supes rushed over to Jacobi. I made note of the artist everyone was circling. I had to catch a glimpse of her drawing and check out this alleged difference.

A flash brightened the room for a second. It had come from the classroom’s door. No one noticed it as far as I could tell. Everyone was too busy listening to Jacobi lecture about the sketch. I turned in the flash’s direction and scowled at Cassie as she held her camera. She gave me a weak grin from the open doorway and closed the door, probably returning to the bench that she was supposed to be sitting on outside.

I turned my attention to the right side of the stage and gazed longingly at my white robe, which hung on the back of a chair. The class had been going on for an hour and ten minutes. I was eager to hurry up, put my clothes on, and question Jacobi. How was I going to question him? I didn’t know.
Hey, Professor, so have you ever tied girls to bushes and set them up in a fire spell?
I couldn’t ask about Onyx or his dead fiancée, Shelly.
Maybe I can just ask about art and then . . . I don’t know.

“All right. This was pretty informative today.” Jacobi clapped. “Let’s go ahead and break early. Enjoy your weekend, but don’t forget that self-portraits are due next class. Remember, let’s have fun with this and be as creative as possible.”

Students rushed back to their desks, packing their stuff into their bags. Hopping off the stage, I charged for my robe and flung it on. The whole time, I kept my view on Jacobi as he went to his desk, squirted something into his palm, and rubbed it all over his hands. Someone loudly cleared his or her throat in another direction. Thinking it was Cassie, I looked toward the doorway and froze.

MeShack stepped into the classroom, bending under the doorframe so he wouldn’t hit his head. He made no point to hide that he was licking his lips or staring at my breasts as I closed my robe. He strolled toward the stage, whistling a tune.

Jacobi grabbed a black leather briefcase and nodded at me. “Good job, Lainy. The university will mail you your check in two weeks.”

“Um, Professor,” I called to him as he continued out of class. “Can I talk to you?”

Jacobi exited without pausing.
Great.
I’d gone through an extremely embarrassing situation for nothing. I glared at MeShack as he high-fived a Shifter and walked over to me in a bowlegged stride.

“You need extra money, La La?”

I started for the dressing room in the back of the class. “Who told you I was here?”

“The brunette in the corner texted me.” He pulled out his phone and read, “Your precious little Mixie is baring it all in my class.”

“She seems nice.” I glanced over my shoulder at her, presented her with my middle finger, and opened the dressing room door. MeShack followed behind me, taking up most of the space in the tiny room.

“Get out. I’ll talk to you in a minute.” I put my hands on his hard chest and tried to shove him away.

He remained there like a brick wall.

“Should I call my fire?”

He laughed and pointed up to the fire sprinkler system above us.

“How did you know that was up there?” I removed my hands.

“I enroll in a nude model class every semester. I have so many nude model classes on my transcript that the career counselor thought I should minor in art.”

“They’re not nude model classes,” I corrected. “They’re art classes.”

“No. I had it right the first time. Other people draw stuff, and I simply enjoy the view.” He came closer to me. “Take off your robe, La La.”

“You’re crazy.”

He lifted the right side of his lips in annoyance. “You just stood naked in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“No, you crazy cat.” I took several steps back and bumped into the wall. “And didn’t we just have this ‘no touching’ conversation yesterday at your frat house?”

“You’re incorrect. That was a ‘no cheating on Zulu’ conversation. You never said I couldn’t look at you.” He closed the door. The lock clicked. “These dressing rooms are soundproof if you’re worried about Zulu’s cute little sister squealing on you.”

I sighed. “I’m not taking off my robe, and I do not want you calling Zulu’s sister cute, especially not in front of Zulu. And how do you know these rooms are soundproof?”

MeShack was in front of me in a second, undoing my robe’s sash and slipping it through the loops. “How do you think I know?”

I ducked under his arm, banging my elbow and leg against the wall. Pain shot up in both areas. “Damn it. You made me hurt myself. I’m serious, MeShack. Sprinklers or not, I’m going to burn you.”

“Okay. Okay.” He held his hands up in front of him, laughing. “This isn’t the only reason why I came. We need to figure out a way to end this crap with Dante.”

“Gee, really?” I bent over, gathering up my clothes in the corner with one hand and holding my robe closed with the other.

MeShack swung my robe’s tie around his hand and whistled. “You need any help getting dressed?”

The top of the robe fell open a little, exposing some of my right breast. I quickly covered it and froze as purring filled the dressing room. Trying my best not to move too much, I glanced up to see MeShack’s eyes targeting my now covered breast.
Of all Shifters, I had to date a damn Were-cat.
They always liked to play, chase, and bat at things.

“MeShack, it’s too tight in here to chase me around,” I explained in a soft voice.

MeShack edged forward. The purring increased. I sighed and studied his feet. It was the best way to know when MeShack would pounce and which direction he would go. The back of his right foot lifted, and he leapt my way. I dropped to my left, hitting the floor. He crashed head-first into the wall, causing a crack in the drywall and screaming at the top of his lungs. Powdery white dust floated in the dressing room. I quickly crawled to where he’d been standing.

“You’re insane!” I increased the heat in my core.

“Please open your robe. I promise I won’t touch you.” He lazily blinked his eyes and wiped the dust off his head.

“Do you promise to stop playing cat and mouse with me so I can get dressed?”

“Yes. I promise,” he whispered and leaned back against the wall. The gold in his eyes gleamed with each slow blink. I opened my robe and let it drop to the floor, knowing I would probably regret this later. Thankfully, MeShack didn’t move. His purring was the only thing I could hear. It rocked the walls. Soundproof or not, Cassie would hear that.

What an interesting conversation this will be when I tell Zulu.
And I would. We weren’t committed, but I would want to know if he was flashing his nude body to an ex-girlfriend, so I had to at least give him the same respect.

MeShack extended his arms out to his sides. Claws pushed through his fingertips. His eyes traveled down my body’s curves. “I miss you.”

“You can’t miss me. We live together.” I bent down, picked up my panties, and put them on.

His claws retracted back into his fingers. New puncture marks were now in the walls. Crumbling cement and dirt sprinkled down from the holes and scratches he’d left.

“You’re destroying this room and going to get me in trouble with this professor.”

“Sorry,” he muttered and appeared right in front of me as I put on my jeans.

My entire body stiffened into a ball of stress. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you put your clothes on.” MeShack put his hand right in front of my unbuttoned and open jeans for several seconds as if he were waiting for me to say something. I bit my lip as a lusty heat swirled around the area where his hand was hovering.

“I love to hear your heart beat fast when I’m close to you.” His hands went to my jeans and slowly zipped them up. “I’m being good, right?”

“Yes,” I said in a low voice. My nipples hardened as the zipper slid up.

“I could tear off these jeans and panties in seconds and be inside you like I want to.” His breath brushed against my forehead. “But you don’t want that, right?”

“No, I don’t.” My voice cracked with each word.

He kissed my X brand and stepped back. “I was thinking that since you’re only dating Zulu, maybe you could date me sometimes too.”

I turned my back to him and slid on my bra. “Don’t you think there’s enough going on already? We need to find an apartment, Dante wants several million dollars from us, and I’m currently an amateur detective for the habbies.”

He stopped purring. “Zulu’s cute sister said this professor is your top suspect.”