Chapter 66

ALEXANDROS As I expected he would be, President Ollenshaw is waiting outside my office when I arrive. He taps his foot impatiently while muttering something under his breath, but upon seeing me, he offers a tight smile and pushes his wire-rimmed spectacles up his nose. “Alexandros.” He says my name almost apologetically. “I heard reports of …” He clears his throat. “A fire?” I offer. He nods, seemingly grateful to have been saved from his temporary discomfort. Jerome Ollenshaw might be the president of Montridge, but he is merely a figurehead—a fact of which he is acutely aware. An unremarkable man in his late fifties, if only in appearance, is a much easier sell to the humans and their families than a wolf with a temper as fragile as his ego or a six-foot8 demon whose eyes glow red when he gets pissed—as were the case with the previous two deans of Montridge. “I wouldn’t bother you with such matters. Only … People will talk, Alexandros. Uncontained fires on campus grounds are not perm