Isle of Night by Veronica Wolff

Author:Veronica Wolff [Wolff, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101544112
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2011-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“We have a guest lecturer today.” Tracer Judge stoodtoto the side of the podium, his usual easy manner replaced by stiff formality. “He’ll be discussing topics in mathematics, and I think you’ll find his qualifications beyond reproach.”

Even though it was Judge who was speaking, I couldn’t drag my eyes from the vampire. Though I hadn’t seen clearly in the dark, I knew without a doubt it was him. The one from the path. I felt it in that penetrating gaze—in his very presence, an energy that hummed like a giant magnet.

“Without further ado”—Judge took a step back—“I present Master Alcántara.”

“Thank you, Tracer.” His eyes swept the room, and I could’ve sworn they came to rest back on me.

I sucked in a breath.

He gave a gracious half bow. Aimed in my direction. “I am Hugo De Rosas Alcántara.”

Hugo De Rosas Alcántara . . . it rolled off his tongue, low and accented, sounding as smoky and seductive as a snifter of Spanish brandy. Every female jaw in the classroom dropped open.

“I was born in the fourteenth century in Madrid.” He let the shocking statement hang, and a collective gasp filled the room. His response was a wolfish smile, curling one corner of his lips.

I felt Yasuo shift in his seat, maybe trying to catch my attention, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from the vampire. I was mesmerized. He looked like he was about nineteen, and I focused on that fact, ignoring his impossible-to-fathom real age, which must’ve been six hundred–something.

“My grandfather was one of the original Knights of Alcántara. A chivalric order of the Middle Ages.” Though unfamiliar to me, the way he’d said it implied something dark and dangerous. Sexy, even. Not unlike like him.

“But I was a precocious child. And a precocious boy yearns to make his own way.” He shook his head ruefully, a quiet laugh rumbling in his chest.

His black hair was longish and wavy, and so thick it seemed permanently tousled. He raked a hand through it, leaving him looking like a rock star who’d just carelessly pulled a shirt over his head. “I forsook my family’s militant ways. The wars I longed for occurred in the space of my mind, waging battles of words, ideas. Of formulas and numbers.”

He began to stroll about the room, and his movements reminded me of a panther. Exquisite, but something that could kill you in a heartbeat.

“Mathematics is a particular passion of mine. It is precision. But it is poetry, too. I traveled to the royal court in Castile, seeking like minds. King Peter was young, like me. And, like me, he was a man smitten with new ideas. Soon I was appointed court mathematician. This was the greatest of honors, not given lightly by a man whom the peasants called Pedro el Cruel. . . .”

He stopped speaking, and it was like he’d become a thing carved of marble. Impossibly beautiful and utterly still.

My heart kicked up a beat. And then I worried, wondering if he could hear my heartbeat.

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