Page 5 of Stalked

Her expression softens. “Your brother is eight, right?”

“Good memory.” I'm surprised she retained that detail from our lab conversation. “Little terror. Smart as hell though.”

“Must run in the family,” she says, then looks like she regrets the compliment immediately.

I smirk, but it feels forced. “The Blackwood charm and brains. Only things our parents left us that distant relatives couldn't take.”

“What do you mean?”

I shouldn't be telling her this. But something about the music, the dim lights, the way she's looking at me—not with pity, but genuine curiosity—loosens my tongue.

“Dad had money. Mom too. Family business. But it's all locked in trusts until we're twenty-one.” I take a swig from my empty cup, forgetting there's nothing in it. “Meanwhile, dear Uncle Richard and Aunt Helen were happy to claim everything else while leaving us to foster care.”

“That's awful,” she says, and I hate how sincere she sounds.

“It's whatever.” I shrug, uncomfortable with her sympathy. “Xavier's twenty. In one year, he gets his share. Then things change.”

“And until then?”

Until then, we scrape by. Until then, Xavier works himself to exhaustion. Until then, Landon pretends he doesn't hear Knox crying at night, asking for parents he never knew. Landon was never good with crying. Luckily, I can handle Knox better, after all, I'm not entirely psychotic.

I clamp my mouth shut, suddenly aware I've been spilling my guts to Lia Morgan of all people. First in chemistry, now at this stupid party. What the hell is wrong with me?

She's looking at me with those amber eyes that see too much, and I can't stand it. I need to break this moment before I tell her something I'll really regret.

“Let's dance,” I say abruptly, nodding toward the crowd of bodies moving in the center of the room.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “No freaking way.”

“Why not? Afraid you can't keep up with me on the dance floor either?”

“I can keep up with you anywhere, Blackwood.” Her chin lifts in that defiant way that always makes something tighten in my chest. “I just don't want to dance with you.”

“Bullshit.” I step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “You're scared.”

“Of you?” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “Please.”

“Not of me.” I lean in, my voice dropping. “Of this.” I gesture between us. “Whatever this is.”

She crosses her arms, but I notice the slight tremble in her fingers. “There is no 'this.' There's just you being an ass and me tolerating it.”

“Is that what you're doing? Tolerating me?” I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and notice her sharp intake of breath. “Because it feels like something else entirely.”

“Don't.” She steps back, but not before I catch the flush spreading across her cheeks.

“Don't what, Morgan? Don't notice how you watch me when you think I'm not looking? Don't call you out on the fact that you could've switched lab partners weeks ago, but you didn't?”

“You're delusional.” Her voice lacks conviction.

“Am I?” I move closer again, backing her against the wall. Not touching her, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body. “Tell me to walk away right now, and I will.”

Her breath catches as she looks up at me, lips parted slightly. The music pounds around us, but all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, all I can see is the way her eyes darken as they flick down to my mouth.

“I...” she starts, then stops.

Her hesitation is all the answer I need. I grab her wrist and pull her through the crowd, ignoring the startled looks from her friends. The pounding music covers her protests as I navigate through sweaty bodies toward the hallway.

“Vane, what are you?—”