Page 44

The jealousy is there–sharp and sudden–but it’s not rage. Not yet. It’s instinct, possessive and primal. That little flare in my chest reminding me:she’s mine. Even if she’s his. Even if she belongs to all of us.

When she finally notices me, her whole face softens. Her lips part, her eyes dart past her friends, and she crosses the studiowith that dreamy sway she has, like her body hasn’t caught up to her mind. I like seeing her like this–loose, warm, unguarded.

“Hey,” she says, “Where’d you go?”

Huh. She noticed I wasn’t in the auditorium.

“Around,” I say, letting my voice drop just enough that only she can hear. “I’ll always be watching out for you.”

A little crease forms between her brows, like she’s trying to decipher if there’s a double meaning to my words. I hand her her bag and she slings it over one shoulder. I wonder if she’ll smell it when she opens it later–feel it in her bones, realize she was part of something without even knowing.

“DK’s class should be over soon,” I say. “We can meet him at the truck.”

She nods and follows me out of the auditorium. I feel calmer now, lighter in my chest, like something toxic finally worked its way loose. I know it’s only temporary, because deep down I don’t want to live in the shadows. I want her to see me while I touch myself, when I unravel. I want her to know what my cum feels like,tasteslike. I want to see that moment in her eyes–when she realizes I’ve been starving for her this whole time.

But I’m not ready.

Not yet.

Not for the look she’ll give me when she reallyunderstandswhat I am. What I want to do to her. What I’vealreadydone when she wasn’t looking.

Because the truth is, I don’t trust myself. Not to be face to face with her, with all the heat and need I’ve been burying under skin and bone. Not to let her see me fully unmasked, without the shadow to protect us both.

If I’m that close–if she lets me in like that–I might not stop. I might let the thing clawing behind my ribs, the one that doesn’t give a fuck about rules, loose.

So I keep my eyes forward. I walk a step behind as I walk out the Fine Arts building door. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll smile when she smiles, and I’ll act like I didn’t just come in her panties while watching her move like something out of a goddamn fantasy.

15

Arianette

“Where wouldyou like your dinner tonight,” Graves asks from my bedroom doorway, “here or in the dining room?”

“The dining room?” I repeat. The question comes as a surprise. Or really, the option. I’ve never been to the dining room. Or anywhere else in the house that isn’t underground. “Will the King be there?”

“Unfortunately, the King will not be attending dinner. He has an important meeting elsewhere.”

I inhale, sucking past the pinprick of hurt that comes from the realization my King isn’t interested in me. “What about my Barons?”

“They’re participating in a BRN meeting tonight, so no, they won’t be there either.”

That information delivers less of a blow. At least I can hope to get through dinner without being pierced, prodded and covered with bodily fluids.

“I think I’d like to eat in the dining room,” I declare.

He nods curtly and says, “Then follow me.”

We take the same hallway as I did this morning when I left for school, but instead of turning left when the hallway ends, Graves turns right, deeper into the chapel. He moves quickly, our footsteps echoing off the stone floors. I try to absorb it all. The woven tapestry hanging on an empty wall, embroidered at the top, in thick yellow thread, are the Greek words Beta Rho Zeta. Below that is the pentagram, identical to the mark on my chest. Throughout the house are other symbologies of the Barons. There’s a glass case filled with animal skulls, mottled gray and white with age. On the center shelf, spotlit, is the bone chalice and knife from my initiation. I pause, looking for remnants of my blood and flesh on the tip.

“Ahem,” Graves says, urging me along. I drag my eyes from it and follow him past a wall decorated with dozens of masks. Horns and fangs, tusks and teeth. I close my eyes and try to remember the beast but the imagery is gone, more of a whisper now than a threat, lost in the trauma between now and then.

“This way,” Graves says, taking one quick turn and then another, until he enters a set of arched double doors. He steps aside and gestures for me to come in. There is a plate already on the table, covered by a silver dome. I don’t need to see the meal to know it’s there, I can smell it. Savory sauces, roasted meat, grilled vegetables. A basket of rolls sits to the side, and a small plate with a flower-shaped pat of butter. To the top right is a small plate with a piece of chocolate cake, a dollop of cream on top as well as a raspberry. My mouth waters and my belly grumbles, signaling how long it’s been since I had the coffee in the student union.

There’s only one place setting, and Graves pulls out the chair. “Sit, Baroness. Enjoy your meal. If you need anything feel free to ring the bell by the door.”

He removes the dome, revealing the plate of food. The instant he’s gone, I reach for the rolls, stuffing one in my mouthbefore grabbing another. The beef is tender–so soft there’s no knife supplied other than the short blunt one next to the butter. I taste a bite of bitter asparagus and snatch another roll, this time using the little knife to shave off a curl of butter. As I slather it on, something catches my eye on the wall to my left. It’s a floor-to-ceiling mural, at least twelve feet tall, and divided into four panels. When I finally recognize what it depicts, a tremor runs down my spine.

Bread still in hand, I inch closer. The imagery is dark; feral. The first panel displays the vivid imagery of the Baron King on his throne, horned mask covering his face. At his feet are three hooded barons, kneeling to take their oath. I feel the flicker of the torchlight. The scent of the burning fire. My eyes dart to the next panel and instantly I’m taken back to the pitch black of the forest. Crickets chirp, creating a cacophony only drowned out by the beating of my heart. I smell the dirt, the blood. Taste the salt on my tongue. A figure cowers among the trees in fear. I’m her. She’s me. While cloaked hunters follow steps behind.