Page 18

Damn it.
I’m moving now, too, because the last person I want to deal with is Ezra...or Damon...I don’t know which one, to be honest. But he’s walking straight to me, and I refuse to get caught up in their bullshit again.
I make it as far as Ivy and Ava, both of them glancing up to see who I’m trying to avoid.
Thankfully, Ivy snaps intoprotect-the-bestiemode and blocks his path, her mouth opening to tell him off when he grabs her by the shoulders, moves her aside without hurting her, and continues walking to me.
“We need to talk.”
“Don’t you have Hillary or Kelly to talk to? I’m sure you have a lot of planning to do since you’re going to prom with them.”
I don’t mean to sound jealous, but it slipped out anyway to land at his feet like a slimy, flopping fish. His mouth curls at the corner, those amber eyes glimmering with something I can’t name.
“That’s what we need to talk about.”
Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest, the hope I felt earlier completely dead, brutalized and murdered by the anger that’s overtaking me now.
“No, we don’t. And what did you do to chase Paul off?”
How dare he think he has the right to step in and demand I talk to him about anything? Also, how fucking dare he somehow threaten another boy who wanted to speak to me?
No, he didn’t yell, or growl in that way he does, but he did something to chase Paul all the damn way across the lawn, running as if his life depended on it.
“You don’t own me,” I snap, not sure where the words are coming from.
And then, there it is, that growl. Not as a warning or a threat, more in frustration when he loses his patience and grabs my elbow to lead me away like Paul did earlier.
Except his touch is much firmer, more possessive, sparks erupting over my skin and shooting up my arm from where our bodies are in contact.
Ignoring the way I feel when he touches me is impossible.
My legs move independently of what my mind wants as Ezra or Damon - again, I have no clue - leads me behind a thick curtain of willow branches to a spot where nobody can see us.
It takes effort to yank my arm from his hold, but somehow I manage it. I take a step back as I spin to face him, the distance meaning nothing when he steps forward to steal it, his hands cupping my face like they always do and his head dipping down to be eye level with mine.
I should say something, but I melt the instant his mouth brushes mine. Fucking melt when his tongue slips between my lips and I’m guided to where my back is against the thick trunk of the tree. Imeltwhen his scent wafts beneath my nose, something spicy and masculine...something dangerous.
His arm slips around my lower back when my knees become rubbery and it’s difficult to stand, his fingers clamping down on my hip when I open my mouth wider for him even though I shouldn’t.
My body freezes in place when his other hand collars my throat, not hard or choking, but the hint of a seductive threat that feelsrightandwrongand everything in between. My mind is short-circuiting as something else takes over.
I’m melting.
Despite how pathetic and weak it is.
Despite all the reasons for me to hate him.
Despite having no idea who’s kissing me.
He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine.
All I see is amber with green flecks.
All I know is the shapes and colors of his bruises.
All I care about is the heat radiating off his body as dappled sunlight filters between us like fireworks against his skin each time a breeze brushes the branches aside to let in more of that light.
The fingers over my throat flex just enough to remind me his hand is still there, but instead of feeling frightened, I tip my chin higher to give him better access.