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THIRTY-NINE

DRAKE

I’m on edge. I usually am when I sense danger and tonight promises to be an evening I hope will be memorable for all the right reasons.

My duties include dealing out punch, all the time checking that nothing extra is added to it. They may be college students who drink like sailors, but when the evening is run by the academy, the principal is taking no chances.

Luckily, I’ve managed to avoid her for most of the week and only in passing did her meaningful smirk place me on edge. I’ve done everything possible to stay out of her way this week and somehow it’s worked.

I’m guessing if she really wanted my attention she would have summoned me to her room, but somehow I’ve gotten away with that and as I busy myself with the preparations, I make certain that I check out this place for every eventuality.

I wouldn’t put it past the principal to stage some kind of distraction and my heart bangs mercilessly for Imogen as I sense unease.

As the students drift into the hall that sits beside the great one, I dish out punch with a smile as I applaud them on their costumes.

They have excelled themselves. The guys are resplendent, dressed in either togas or as gladiators.

An array of masks covering their features adding to the drama.

The girls are mainly wearing togas, their hair intricately styled in the roman way, masks covering their eyes with suggestive smiles painted on their lips.

Fingers brush against mine as I hand them the drinks and eyelashes flutter behind the masks.

I’m used to this. Most of my lessons are spent fielding lascivious glances from the girls in the class, along with some of the guys.

History teachers aren’t usually built like me it seems, and I can’t wait for the day I can relax back into my jeans and t-shirt.

My leather jacket sitting comfortably on my back.

Undercover work sucks most of the time and I hate knowing that Imogen will be hit on by most of the drunken jocks here and I must be content with a front-row seat, unable to take part and watch the drama unfold.

My flesh creeps when Angela catches up with me and her hand on my arm almost gives me hives.

“Drake.” She whispers in my ear. “I have plans for us this evening.”

Fuck me. I hoped I’d escaped and she whispers, “As soon as we finish up here, meet me in my office and remember to lock the door behind you. It’s about time I welcomed you to the club personally.”

She moves away, smiling at the students who pass and I am sick to my stomach at the mere idea of what her welcome would involve.

I hand out drinks and even recognize a few of the students behind their masks, but I don’t detect any of Imogen’s friends at all. It’s as if they aren’t here—then again, the costumes are so carefully contrived to disguise, I may have missed them already.

I note two guys chatting on the edge of the group and am convinced that one of them is Frankie Majerio and the other Luca Romano.

Luca kind of gives it away by the leather tied around his wrist and the way he sets himself apart from the crowd with his usual arrogant boredom.

I’ve studied all the members of The Elusive House the entire time I’ve been here and Luca is the one who freaks me out the most. The others appear almost normal compared to him and yet he never puts a foot wrong.

He’s quiet, gets on with the work and causes no fuss—none that I’ve heard about, anyway.

A soft voice distracts me, “May I have some punch please, sir?” My heart leaps inside me as I stare into the bewitching eyes I know so well.

She smiles sweetly and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and I note the beautiful corsage tied on her wrist.

“Nice flowers.” I whisper, and she nods. “They were given to me by someone special.”

She accepts the punch and as her fingers brush against mine, I resist the urge to grasp them tightly and never let them go.

Imogen is achingly beautiful most of the time, but tonight she is a goddess. Literally. She told me she would be one, but for the life of me I can’t remember who, but it’s immaterial, anyway. Imogen is a goddess, and she is the only one who doesn’t know that.

She disappears into the crowd, and my eyes follow her, drawn to the delicate corsage adorning her wrist. Whoever gave her that is a genius because it allows me to identify her in a crowd, which I am extremely grateful for.

Something strikes me as I stare at it and her words haunt me.

“They were given to me by someone special.”

From the expression in her eyes she’s convinced that was me and a prickle of fear stabs me.

Something isn’t right.

The students are relentless and my attention is distracted meaning I soon lose sight of Imogen.

She is swallowed up in the crowd and I reassure myself that she won’t leave the room with anybody, even her friends.

Eyes on Imogen is my number one priority because with Jesse Anderson as her date, it can only spell trouble.

As soon as the punch runs out, I make my excuses to fetch some more and carefully make my way through the room.

Most of the students have already ventured into the hall and I curse the fact I stick out like a red flag in a sea of white ones.

I am without a disguise—unless. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner, and as I head determinedly towards the drama department, I aim to fix that as quickly as possible.