Whoever or whatever killed her had gutted her and removed most of her vital organs. He was sure that it was the work of a supernatural, but authorities and experts from the academy weren’t so sure. After she was gutted, her body was covered with leaves, only her face left exposed, and she was just left there. He often wondered what her last thought was, but then he remembered the look of sheer terror on her face, and he knew. She was afraid, even terrified, and he hated that was her last thought before she died.
Duff kicked him under the table and nodded to Professor Burnham. “Mr. Kirkpatrick,” he said. “Did you hear my question?”
“Which one of us are you calling on, Sir?” Duff called. “Anson or myself? Because I heard you ask if my brother had taken any pictures when he found Miss. Gunderson’s body. I can’t answer for him, though. Did you hear the professor ask you that, Anson?” Duff asked.
“Um—yes, of course,” he lied. “And no, Professor, I didn’t take any pictures of Gen. I had just gone for a run and shifted, so I didn’t have my camera with me. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have been proper of me to take a dead girl’s picture.”
“You were friends with the victim?” the professor asked.
“Yes,” Anson said. “I was. She was one of my best friends, Sir.”
“Did she have any enemies?” Professor Burnham asked. Anson had already spent countless hours answering these same questions—first to the authorities and then to the academy’s board and faculty. For some time, he was even a suspect in her murder, as if he’d ever be able to take a life in the way that her’s had been snuffed out. He missed her still and the idea that someone murdered her just felt impossible to him.
“I believe you were in the hall when I answered that same question for the authorities that day, Sir. I don’t believe she had any enemies,” Anson said. His brother shot him a look and he shrugged, not caring if he sounded as flip as he felt.
“I remember,” the professor spat. “I was just hoping you might have thought of something new to share with us. We’re all here for the same purpose, Anson—to find out what happened to Miss. Gunderson. She was my grad student if you remember.” Anson did know that. In fact, he wondered why Professor Burnham wasn’t a suspect. Once they released Anson as a person of interest, the case kind of died off no other suspects were questioned. He wondered if they’d ever find her killer.
“Yes, Sir,” Anson said. “I remember.”
“Does anyone have anything else to share with the group?” the professor asked. He looked around the classroom full of about thirty shifters, and then back to Anson and Duff, his eyes resting on the two of them. No one spoke up. It was so quiet; Anson could hear his own heart beating.
“All right,” the professor breathed. “We will meet again next week to talk about steps that we can take to keep the undergrads safe. It’s all of our responsibilities to watch out for the younger shifters at Graystone academy. Remember—no shifting or hunting alone. Groups of four or more are encouraged, and report anything that seems out of the ordinary—no matter how small or inconsequential.” Anson barked out his laugh, garnering him attention from the professor again.
“That will be all,” the professor said. “Thank you all for your time.” He turned his back to them and started to erase the chalk board.
“Well, that was a fucking waste of time,” Duff complained. “I kind of feel bad for pulling you away from your sexy, little witch,” he said.
Anson rolled his eyes and stood. “She’s not my sexy, little witch,” he protested.
“She looked to be into you,” Duff said. “Well, until I came in the room and stole the show. You know she checked me out, right?” Anson shoved his brother out of the way and started for the door.
“She wasn’t into you,” Anson grumbled. “She was shocked to see two of me. You know how it works—people do a double-take when they see the two of us together.” “They’re probably trying to figure out how I can be so much better looking than you, Anson,” Duff teased. “I mean—I’m pretty sure that’s what your sexy witch was thinking.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get by, man,” Anson said. “I’m going to grab some food before I go back to the townhouse—you in?” They had shared a room their entire time at Graystone, and when it was time for them to move off campus as graduate students, they decided to buy a townhouse together near campus. It was easier that way, but there were days that Anson wished for a little alone time from his brother.
“You know I’m always up for food, brother,” Duff said. “After dinner, maybe I’ll head over to the witch’s dorm and properly introduce myself to—what was her name again?” His brother was egging him on, trying to get a rise out of him, and he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. He didn’t have the energy to deal with his brother tonight. He wanted a burger, a hot shower, and then his bed—in that order.
“Eden,” Anson breathed. “Her name is Eden Graystone.”
Duff
“Well, shit,” Duff said. “She’s a Graystone?” he asked. He was trying to keep up with his brother who seemed to be hell bent on getting to the dining hall in record time. He practically had to jog along side of Anson to keep up with his pace.
“She’s not a Graystone—she’s one of THE Graystones. Her father is Theodore Graystone—part of the founding family,” Anson said.
“Double shit,” Duff growled. He was beginning to understand why his brother insisted that he wasn’t interested in
