Page 30 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

Nothing but a mess.

I shake myself out of it and head for the shower. A quick rinse, a rough blow dry, makeup, clothes—I’m done in record time, though I’m already late. The party started hours ago.

If it were up to me, I’d be in pyjamas and socks with a cup of tea and something sweet, half asleep in front of The Vampire Diaries.

But no, duty calls. As one of the founding families, I’m expected to stand with the Thirteenth Circle, whether I like it or not.

I jab my insulin, throw together a sandwich, and head for the door.

The barbarian snapped the lock earlier, and it barely holds when I shut it. I make it look closed, at least, and leave with a huff.

Tomorrow I’ll have to get it fixed. Perhaps I’ll sleep in Octavia’s room tonight, there’s no chance I’m staying here with a broken lock.

St. Monarché might look safe, but people are ravenous for power, and they’ll do the most idiotic things to grasp at it.

The cold night air greets me as I step outside, and I’m grateful for the comfort of dark jeans, a cream Chanel jumper, and my favourite Burberry coat, paired with the soft UGG boots I practically live in the moment September arrives.

I follow the narrow road and cut left into the woods, my boots crunching against damp leaves scattered across the forest floor. Ahead, the faint thrum of bass and laughter guides me on.

Bellamy arrived today. The thought alone makes me smile. Tomorrow morning, I’ll finally take him out for our first ride on the island.

The music swells louder as I near the clearing. I’m certain the sound carries all the way to the main building, but noone will complain. A Thirteenth Circle event silences even the faculty.

I hear a crack behind me, twigs breaking underfoot. I stop and glance over my shoulder, but there’s nothing, just shadows shifting with the wind. My chest tightens. I’m being ridiculous. The woods are full of people tonight. I carry on.

The trees thin and the lake comes into view, lit by strings of lanterns swaying between the trunks. Music hums from hidden speakers, and a bonfire blazes by the shore. A few students are splashing in the lake, mad, considering the temperature, but with enough alcohol you hardly feel it.

The rest lounge on benches, glasses tipping as they laugh.

Beyond the clearing is the cabin, Circle ground. They use it for meetings, punishments, all sorts of things people whisper about.

I scan the crowd.

Octavia is here, head thrown back in laughter, her pink hair incandescent in the firelight.

Piper sits alone in a wooden chair by the water, hunched over her phone, strands of ginger hair falling across her face. If I had to guess, she’s reading.

Adelaide, dressed in her usual black leather, her dark curls loose around her shoulders, stands a few paces off in conversation with three men, high ranking Circle members, if memory serves.

One of them is the second in command, Lucian Ward. The true leader remains unseen, though everyone knows he attends this academy and pulls the strings from the shadows. Lucian is the face of authority, because the leader never shows his own.

I’m about to move towards Octavia when the music cuts without warning. Murmurs ripple through the clearing, feet shuffle, and every head turns towards the cabin porch.

The same three men Adelaide had been speaking with step out of the doorway, dragging a student between them. His heels drag against the wood, shoes scraping with every step until they let him drop. He crumples to his knees with a groan.

Silence falls over the crowd.

Lucian steps forward. His voice slices through the night.

“We are gathered here this evening for our customary first term celebration. Yet some among us have forgotten their place. The Circle must remind you of the order that governs this institution.”

He nudges the boy with his shoe, sending him sprawling. “This one thought he could infiltrate a family far beyond his reach. He believed he could steal what was never his. He thought himself cleverer than the Circle.”

Gasps scatter, but no one dares move.

“Tonight,” he goes on smoothly, “we shall allow our guests the pleasure of administering his punishment… a welcome gift.”

Whispers break out around me. My brows knit. He can’t possibly mean…