The once-clear sky was swallowed by a mass of angry grey clouds, holding darkness within them.
The fat droplets were just as angry, hitting whatever came in their way with wet slaps.
Students, still lounging in the open areas, ran back inside the campus.
Some grumbled at the lousy weather, which seemed as unpredictable as the questions in their exams. There were those who shrieked playfully and splashed water at their friends.
Others, less fortunate, slipped on the slick stone and went down in graceless heaps.
Elijah stood beneath the overhang, watching the chaos.
It had been two days since the exorcism.
And now, under Chase's persistent insistence, he was headed to Anatoly's house to check on Nikolai.
He glanced at his watch.
Ten minutes.
What was taking Chase so long? From the car stand to here was barely a three-minute walk.
Perhaps he'd gotten distracted. Maybe chatting up Glen's brother.
Not exactly a rare occurrence.
Recalling how desperately Chase had begged for help with his cousin, Elijah's lips curved up in a small, almost imperceptible smile.
At least the boy's heart was in the right place.
"Wow," a voice drawled, low and amused. "Didn't think anyone could smile at their watch."
The words snapped him from his thoughts. His smile vanished with the same precision as the rain sliding off the edge of the roof.
Even without turning back, he could guess from that Russian accent who it was.
Alexei Vetrov stood there. A slightly wet red shirt clung to his torso in places. From his open collar, the lines of tattoos were visible.
Not exactly a surprise considering the background, but Eli found it hard to understand the notion of inking one's skin. That too, especially without any clear motive.
If it were runes or blessing symbols, that would have been more understandable.
Aware of the gaze on his chest, Alexei's mouth tilted in that lazy smile that promised disorder.
Stay away from trouble. That was the motto Elijah had been living with.
And this young cub was exactly the thing he wished to avoid. He was too red, too loud.
Elijah shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his gaze toward the rain-hazed path.
It will get cold tonight, he thought absently. I'll have to use another duvet.
Alexei's tongue clicked, the sound sharp in the damp air. "Your name's Elijah, right? Eli, for short?"
"Don't call me that."
"Don't call me that," Alexei echoed, dropping his voice low in a bad imitation of Elijah's accent.
He snickered when it came out all wrong. He was no British gentleman, and he didn't care either.
Because this was the second time he had gotten the same response.
If it were anyone else, by now they'd be on their knees, dripping blood and begging for mercy.
"What if I like the way it tastes?" He shoved wet hair back from his forehead, blue eyes glinting. "You let Chase call you that."
Elijah didn't bother answering.
"Do I have to earn it first?" Alexei tilted his head, studying him with the same intent focus a cat gave a cornered bird. "Be your friend, maybe?"
"No."
"Why not?" Alexei's patience was slipping away, and it was evident in his furrowed brows. "Do I have to be your friend to call you that? No, what are you? Fucking four?"
"We can't be friends." The words were simple, flat.
To Alexei, who was used to being fawned upon, those dull words felt like a personal slap to his charm.
His smile turned sharp. "You wound me, priestling."
Elijah directly turned around. From the looks of it, Chase might be gone for longer.
He tended to forget about time when he was flirting with someone.
"Is it because of that lust demon?" Alexei asked hastily.
Before his brain even understood, he was already grabbing onto his wrist.
Elijah's gaze dropped where his skin made contact with the foreign heat.
He'd noticed it the night they'd been standing far too close for comfort. This teenager was a bit bigger than him. His hands were bigger, too.
Was this the gene effect? He silently mused to himself.
Perhaps Alexei himself was startled by his own action, so when Elijah struggled, he let go.
He watched the pretty priest walking toward St. Peregire's building in almost a trance.
The strange warmth on his fingers brought him back to his senses.
Then, he lifted his hand to his face, breathing him in like a shameless pervert.
It was the same scent he had smelled on Elijah during that Exorcism.
The smell of ... something.
He wasn't a goddamn perfume maker! How the fuck was he supposed to name it?
All he knew was that it hit like the purest vodka, burning its way down and leaving that floating, delicious haze.
It shouldn't make him feel like this. But it did.
And he fucking wanted more of it.
With a quick step, he followed the same path that Elijah had disappeared down.