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As soon as she made it around the next corner, she sprinted to the closest classroom door, swung it open, and hurried inside. She shut it, hand fumbling in search of the lock.

There was none.

“Are you kidding me?” she hissed.

With gasping breaths, she held very still, listening for the voices of the guards. Their footsteps were quiet, as if they were moving carefully in effort to sneak up on her.

A moment later, one of them spoke. “Where did she go?”

“I didn’t see,” another replied.

A flashlight lit up the crack under the door.

Loren backed up farther into the dark room. Back, back, back, she moved, her polished shoes soundless on the linoleum, moonbeams trickling through the windows behind her.

The security guards finally moved on, the light disappearing.

But her heart still raced. She needed a minute to catch her breath, to find the courage to leave this room and figure out how to get back to the House of Salt without being seen.

She backed up two more paces—

And stumbled into something solid. A rough hand clamped down on her mouth, silencing the scream that rose in her throat, while another arm with a strength that was staggering wound around her middle, keeping her from running.

“You’re coming with me,” a male voice whispered in her ear. A voice that was deep and richer than caramel. Suddenly, she was not afraid, and when her heart beat faster, it was for an entirely new reason as the man went on to say, “You’re not going to fight me, and you’re not going to make any indication that you are being taken against your will. Do we have an understanding?” That hand loosened, taking with it the warmth that had spread through her lips.

Loren turned her head to look up at the Darkslayer looming over her, his mouth close to hers. So close, they were sharing each other’s air.

“I feel like I’ve heard that before,” she said. Her tone was teasing, and her heart was leaping with joy. It felt like a small sun was glowing inside her, answering the light glowing in Darien, the magnets of their auras rejoicing at being close once again.

The sound of the security guards approaching the door as they came back this way had Darien’s arm tightening around her waist, his other hand returning to grip her mouth.

He pulled her up against the wall by the door, bumping the book shelf so hard that several dusty tomes nearly fell off. Flattening himself against it, he held onto her tight, her back pressed up against his front.

Together, they waited, holding their breath. Seconds dragged by as they listened for sounds that might indicate the guards had moved along.

With no lock on the door, all it would take was one turn of the handle and they would be done for. She would be done for. Banned from attending Angelthene Academy. The men were talking loudly, lingering just on the other side of the door, their conversation unending.

Finally, those voices faded away as they continued their rounds.

With her body pinned against Darien’s, she could feel every muscle of his impressive physique, every dip and curve. Could feel the heat coming off him. Could scent that delicious cologne.

And she might’ve been guilty of pressing her ass back into his groin.

He stiffened, the hand on her mouth tightening. They could still hear the security guards, though their voices were slowly fading with distance, thank the Star.

Loren stopped caring about them as Darien dragged his free hand down the valley between her breasts, his thumb snagging on the buttons in her white blouse. Her nipples hardened, and a pulsing warmth spread between her thighs as that hand traveled lower…and lower…

Loren knew Darien felt her breathing hitch under his palm, felt her stomach flutter as his other hand traveled over it. An electric current spread between her body and his, a tornado of butterflies stirring deep inside her. He eased the straps of her bags off her shoulder and lightly dropped them to the floor.

When she tilted her hips, she felt that he was hard as a rock against her backside. The feel of him had her mouth drying out, while another part of her became so wet she could hardly take it.

She grinded up against him, causing the hand over her mouth to tense, the other fisting her skirt.

He couldn’t take it anymore either.

The hand that was fisting her skirt was suddenly underneath it, yanking her panties down so hard she heard the stitching split.

Eyes wide, she twisted her head, but she could barely move beneath his grip. She tried to say his name—