Nightshade: An Enemies to Lovers, Dark Academic Romance (Sorrowsong University Book 1)
Nightshade: Chapter 4

Sofia is my roommate.

Sofia, who tried to kill me about—I check my watch—forty minutes ago. In the poor lighting of our room, her lips curl into a snarl.

I suppose this is a nice ending to the day, in a poetic way. It fits perfectly with everything else that’s happened. It would feel wrong if my day ended with a warm bath and a hot chocolate instead of an assassination attempt by my roommate.

She yawns, flopping onto the bed in her muddy boots and lying back on a pile of both of our pillows. “Didn’t think you’d need the desk. I doubt you’ll last around here. Lost your voice?”

“Why did you put that on my headboard?”

“It was there when I got here. The rest was all me.”

I narrow my eyes at her, trying to decide if that’s true. I choose not to believe her—choose not to believe I’ve found myself an anonymous stalker.

Sofia lights a cigarette, but I’m still frozen to the spot, my duffel dangling from my fist. I am so dead. My heart rate hits two hundred when I try to squash a moth. I couldn’t kill this girl even with a ten-minute head start. I add a headstone to my shopping list, sandwiched between vitamin D pills and a copy of Making Friends for Dummies.

I opt for ignoring her, turning my back for one second to lock all my possessions in the wardrobe. When I spin around, I jump out of my skin. Her face is right there, an inch from mine. “Don’t ignore me.” Her breath tickles my lips, eyes manic.

I keep my inhale steady, eyes on hers. “I’m not ignoring you.” Small white lie.

She steps back far enough for me to see the knife in her hand. “Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I’m having someone over.”

My sharp retort fizzles out on my tongue. I’m all for fighting it out, but not while one of us has a four-inch knife and the other has a two-pound coin and a melted KitKat. I pull my emotional support water bottle from my duffel, yank open the door, and storm out into the hallway.

An achingly familiar sense of loneliness washes over me. Growing up, Sorrowsong was at the very bottom of the universities I dreamed of attending, but circumstance has dragged me here and I’d hoped to at least get some good memories and friends out of it.

It sounds silly, but I’d imagined so many things with my roommate. Cozy evenings reading, nights out at parties, midnight cups of tea. Maybe she’d make me good at makeup, and I’d teach her how to do cryptic crosswords. Perhaps I’d finally open up to someone, and the isolation I’ve felt for so long would ease.

My eyes sting with tears. It’s an overreaction, perhaps, but there’s an ache in the pit of my stomach, a yearning to know what it is to have female friendships.

I brush the tears away before they touch my cheeks and remind myself of my real purpose here. I want justice, and I won’t allow myself to break until it has been served.

When I pull myself together enough to wind my way down the staircase, most have abandoned moving into their rooms in favor of socializing in the communal areas on the ground floor.

Chatter about share prices and ski seasons is punctuated by the sound of corks popping and ice clinking in lowball glasses. I duck my head down, skirting around the edge of the spacious foyer in an effort to go unnoticed.

I have made it no farther than the first set of red velvet drapes when a large forearm shoots across to the wall, stopping me in my tracks. In the darkness, I recognize the short-haired Italian who’s been glued to Alex’s side all day. “What did the Ivanov twins say to you?”

His voice is so deep it takes me by surprise. American with a faint Italian accent, but it’s rough and hoarse in comparison to Alex’s buttery soft. “What?”

“Under the tree. What did they say?”

“You saw that?”

He nods, and I understand he’s not in the mood for saying any more words than necessary. I huff out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Wow. Thanks for the rescue. They could’ve killed me.”

His face hardens into a frown. “What did they say?”

“Nothing of consequence. They told me to watch my back. Divya said they’re pissed because their father’s territory is shrinking.”

That earns me a gnarly smile. He mashes his bruised fist to his chest like some kind of tattooed gorilla. “Damn right, it is.” He stops leaning against the wall, freeing up my escape route. “They probably think you’re a spy. You hear one word from Sofia about anything at all, and you come right to me, yes?”

“I’m not sure what makes you think I’ll be cuddling up with Sofia. And I won’t spy for you. Doesn’t really fit with my fly-under-the-radar agenda.”

The cloudy expression on his face clears slightly. “The whole point of a spy is to fly under the radar. That’s what they do.”

“True,” I say, through a laugh. He has a point. “But I have no intention of winding up dead in a Mafia war. Ophelia, by the way. Thanks for asking. Nice to meet you too.” I veer past him toward the library, smiling to myself slightly as I hear him tell me he’s going to get me a drink.

Maybe they’re not all terrible.

The very second I cross the library threshold, I close the door behind me and lean against it, engulfed all of a sudden by a wave of exhaustion that weighs down my limbs.

This is all surreal.

On an inhale that smells like dusty books and cigar smoke, I curse the fact that my parents were taken from me. I curse the school that kicked me out before I had a chance to get back on track. I curse the endless list of universities that turned me down and funneled me toward this one.

Releasing my breath, I open my eyes and absorb the sight in front of me. It’s heaven.

The warm air hums with the buzz of quiet chatter and glasses knocking against each other. I head straight for the shelf I’m looking for and take my favorite comfort read from between the faded spines, sinking down into a red wingback chair at the far end of the room.

The Great Gatsby. My father bought me my first copy for my fifteenth birthday, and I fell in love. I spent a whole summer lounging around in the garden beside my dad, each with a copy in our hands while my mother tidied the flowerbeds.

It was a simpler time. When summers were drenched in sunlight and the winters looked like cotton candy. Life felt manageable—fun, even. I had friends and hobbies. But like Gatsby’s, my life has turned sour and lonely. Autumns fade into winters, which melt into springs, and through it all my mind remains stuck on the same rainy November day. I don’t notice the changes in the world around me anymore.

The realization stops the words on the page wrapping me in a blanket like they usually do. It’s hard to fly away in the twisted world of the rich and famous when I am imprisoned in it right now. Each sentence I read makes me sadder and sadder, and when I skip to the final few chapters, the words are blurred by my own tears.

“Bad first day?”

I bolt upright, an embarrassed blush heating my cheeks. Belladonna regards me with a cool expression, taking in my cheap outfit as she gracefully sinks down on the sofa opposite me. “I came here to look for Vin.”

“Vin?”

“Vincenzo, my little brother. He was with you in the foyer.”

“Oh. I don’t know. The bar, maybe?” I suggest as she slips her blazer off her slim shoulders, leaving her in a white, satin camisole. Her dark hair is thick and shiny, her gold jewelry immaculately styled. Even in the miserable gloom of Sorrowsong, a deep tan kisses her tattooed skin.

I think I’d like to be Belladonna when I grow up. “So, you guys are…?”

“Mafia. Our father is the one eating away at the Ivanov’s territory. Vin will take over from my father and Kirill will lead his side too.”

I nod and pick at my tights, not sure what to say back to that.

“And you?”

“My parents…work in government.”

She narrows her eyes, waiting for me to say more. I don’t. “Very coy.”

Shit. I don’t want to get on her wrong side. “I appreciate the company.”

She humbles me with a glare as the door at the other end of the library creaks open, her brother sauntering through. “We’re not friends. Don’t get the wrong idea. Vinnie!”

Vincenzo looks up and shoots us a warm smile I suspect is reserved only for his sister. Alex is beside him, staring right at me like he’s trying to get me to burst into flames. I sink a little further into the chair as they approach. In a mansion of hundreds of rooms, of course he had to be here.

I’m determined never to speak to him again, not unless I have to.

Suddenly, I replace myself craving peace and quiet, homesick for a home I no longer have. I try my hardest to tune out the world around me, reading the same sentence over and over in a bid to keep my emotions tethered.

“One of my favorites.”

A husky voice makes me rapidly blink away the tears and I look up to see Alex and Vin sitting in the chairs around me. Vincenzo and Belladonna pour themselves a glass of red wine while Alex lazily swirls a glass of whisky, watching me intently.

He looks larger, more menacing in the soft shadows of the library, the broad line of his shoulders flexing as he rubs his jaw. He crosses his ankle over a muscular thigh. “Ophelia Winters,” he drawls, slicing through the thick silence by making my name sound dirtier than it is. “We meet again.”

“Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

He smiles coldly, lips glistening slightly as he takes a sip of the amber liquid in the glass. He sits forward, moving his tanned face beneath a shard of light from the sconce on the wall. One intense green eye glows a brilliant shade of emerald. “Library’s full. Tell me what your problem with me is. I thought we had a good thing going in the car.”

Is he serious? Arrogant and ignorant. I whirl around and stare at the countless empty sofas behind me, my shoulders tensing with frustration. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I count to five on a slow exhale and turn back. I can’t club him around the head with the book. When I bring the Corbeau-Greens down, it’ll be with facts and figures, not violence and corruption. I won’t sink to their level. I stand, tucking the book under my arm. “Well, it’s been delightful.”

“Come on, Ophelia. Have a drink.” Vincenzo extends the wine bottle to me, baring his chipped front tooth to me in a cheery grin.

Alex narrows his eyes, leaning back in his seat once more. “You two know each other?”

“We just met,” I say, leaning over to squeeze Vin’s muscular shoulder. God, he’s strong. I almost go back for another squeeze. “Find someone else to stroke your ego, Vincenzo.”

His grin widens. “That’s not what I’m hoping you’ll stroke.”

I flick up my middle finger as I walk away, but I’m trying not to smile. I like Vincenzo. “I’ll stroke it with a cricket bat, if you’re not careful.”

His laughter echoes off my back as I round the bookshelves and out of sight, but I’m near enough to hear when he says, “Agree to disagree on this one, Alex. I quite like her.”

Finding one positive from the day, the late lunch served in the dining hall was delicious, even if I hadn’t heard of half of the things on the menu. The food here looks straight out of a fancy restaurant, served in a dining hall that looks straight out of Dracula.

I ate with Divya, who seems to genuinely like me. We’re going to watch a movie together later in the week. Hope swirls dangerously in my chest, but as I make the lonely walk across the gravel back to the Nightshade halls, every step nearer to my bedroom makes my stomach churn. Any other roommate would have been preferable. I have no idea how I’ll last the year in a room with her.

Maybe not any other roommate. I think being in a confined space with Alex might actually be worse. I don’t know if I can cope with being in the same building as him. My feelings towards him extend far beyond petty dislike and into burning hatred. His aloof attitude only makes it worse.

My feet come to a halt outside my bedroom door, and judging by the noises coming out from the sliver of space beneath, Sofia is having a better evening than I am.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I chime, breezing past the tangle of limbs on my desk. I unlock my wardrobe and pull out the drawstring bag I’m looking for. “Although, if you wanted to migrate over to your desk, that would be great.”

If I have to wipe a butt print off my desk tomorrow, it might be the very thing that tips me over the edge.

“What the fuck, Ophelia?”

I whirl to face her and her companion. It’s Jaden Adeoye, the fifth son of some hotshot football manager. It’s disappointing, really. He seemed nice in the dining hall. I’m not sure what he sees in the battle-axe he has pinned to the desk. “This is my room too. And I’m leaving, so…enjoy.”

“I’ll kill you when you sleep!” she screeches as I slam the door behind me.

I’ll kill her first at this rate.

Stepping out of the Nightshade Halls and into the murk of Sorrowsong Valley, I cast my eyes up to the blackened sky grumbling overhead. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a swim in before the storm starts back up again. The swimming trials are at the end of the week, and lessons begin a few days after that, and I need to make the swimming team to give Carmichael a good reason not to change his mind about letting me study here. Plus, a busy schedule might alleviate the hollow loneliness in my chest.

The winding path down to the tarn is shrouded by trees, blessing me with a reprieve from the biting wind. Near the top, I pass a group of students smoking under a tree, but it’s otherwise deserted. In fact, there’s not a soul to be seen or heard until I finally reach the water’s edge, where a groundskeeper regards me warily, stopping what he is doing to lean on his shovel and stare. His face is as weathered as the landscape around me, crumpled in a leathery frown.

“It’s not safe to swim in the tarn,” he says eventually, resuming his work while I change beneath a robe. “Swim in the loch, two miles that way.” One callused finger points to an ominous-looking path carving its way into the woodlands beside me. The sort of path that people disappear on in the movies.

Two miles. It’ll be dark by the time I get there, and that’ll be even more dangerous. Hell no. I’ve seen The Blair Witch Project. “I’m just testing the water for a few minutes, but thank you.” I place the robe on top of my bag, carefully folding my clothes beside it on the bank. It’s not quite the tiny lake I swim in at home. Up close, the tarn is a yawning abyss of inky black water, churned by the icy wind.

I turn back to ask the groundskeeper how deep it is, but he’s just a small figure halfway up the hill path, dragging the shovel behind him. Great.

I place my boots beside my clothes and tie my orange tow float to my waist, taking the first step into the water. It snatches my breath away, so cold it burns as it laps around my ankles. Fucking Scotland. Everything is either cold or wet—or both. By the time it sloshes at waist level, my breaths are shuddering, puffs of white air that vanish into the low fog around me. My hands sink first, then my arms and shoulders until I’m swimming lengths of the small lake, warmth replaceing its way into my muscles again.

There’s something about swimming for me that just fixes everything. The stress, the grief, the worry, it all sits on the riverbank with my bags and shoes, patiently waiting for me to pick it back up again.

My mother used to take me to the local pool every Wednesday afternoon after school. We’d get into the water together and she’d turn face-up, stare at the moldy ceiling with a sigh, and say, Isn’t it lovely not to have your feet on the ground for a moment? Like with most things she said, I never really understood them until she died. I wish I could hear her say it one last time.

Even here in Sorrowsong Valley, swimming brings me peace. Here, everything is going fine. Here, I don’t feel quite so lonely.

For the first time today, the sigh that leaves my lips is contented and not exasperated. I’m weightless, floating in the calm that seems to surround this forgotten lake hiding below the castle walls. The last of the evening slips away like the water between my fingers, and I allow myself to feel a little pride that I made it to university despite all the obstacles before me.

When my muscles are spent and the sun is vanishing behind the dense tree line, I flip onto my back, stare at the sky, and tell my parents about my day. I tell them about Alex, about Sofia, about being in Nightshade. I tell them the little things—the things I’d probably tell a friend if I had one—like how the man beside me on the train ate a croissant in the messiest way imaginable, and how I finished a Sudoku book in a week. Only when I’m telling them about the god-awful weather up here does an uncomfortable sensation sweep over me, an awareness prickling my spine.

I feel like I am being watched.

Buoyed by the water, I sit up and scan the shoreline, every shadow between tree trunks looking more threatening than it did half an hour ago. Branches look like arms, leaves that catch the last of the daylight look like watchful eyes, but no one else is here. All is still, yet the feeling doesn’t go away. The silence that had been calming a moment ago now gnaws at my sanity, driving me faster as I swim to the water’s edge. I haul myself onto dry land, scanning my surroundings once more.

Nothing.

I’m being paranoid, but I run the towel over my shivering skin and get dressed a little faster than usual.

I slip my tights over my feet and reach for my boots, but my hand freezes midair. The laces on my boots are gone. I spin around, eyes darting around the tarn twice as fast as they were before. For a second, I let myself believe it was an odd prank by the groundskeeper, perhaps for ignoring his advice. Then I remember he left before I even got in the water.

My stomach sinks as my eyes catch on two black shoelaces tied in neat bows around a nearby branch. Someone was here. Someone is messing with me. My trembling fingers rip the laces from the branch and put them on my boots haphazardly, skipping half the eyelets in the black leather.

It’s a harmless prank, but there’s a loud voice at the back of my head that tells me this is all more sinister than it looks.

Legs wobbly, I break into a jog toward the castle, pretending I can’t feel the unmistakable sensation of eyes on the back of my head, or the spiced scent of an unfamiliar cologne in the air.