Page 15 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Fourteen

Rose

I spend most of Sunday in the library, partly because I need to work on the essay Doc assigned after I almost burned the school down, and partly because it’s the only building on campus where you can’t hear the constant screaming of the banshees practicing for choir.

The library is huge, and one part of the academy where the interior matches the exterior, with stained-glass windows, large, polished wooden tables that could seat twenty, and towering bookshelves.

The librarian is a woman who never seems to leave her seat, but every time you try to sneak a snack (like the second croissant I saved for later), she materializes behind you with a garbage pail and a look of disappointment.

I find a spot near the back, behind a stack of books about magical responsibilities, and try to be invisible.

I get two pages into my essay before my brain grinds to a halt.

The topic is supposed to be about how witches owe it to the world not to misuse their talents, but the only thing I can think of is how, aside from my mother, all the so-called responsible witches I’ve met have been complete assholes.

I try to phrase that in a way that won’t get me a failing grade on my paper, but give up after the third revision.

I look around. There’s no sign of Lucien, or Soren, or even Drake. I haven’t seen any of them all weekend. Not that I miss being stalked by a vampire, but it’s weirdly disappointing to be this alone.

After a couple hours, I gather a pile of books—they actually had some decent fiction—and make my way back toward the dorms. The hallways are mostly empty, except for a few students slinking around, and that black cat that seems to be everywhere and yet nowhere when you turn to look at him.

I’m two doors away from my room when someone blocks my path. Harry, from Elemental class. He’s with three of his friends, all of them built like linebackers and sporting identical buzz cuts. They form a wall in front of me.

“Hey, Charity,” Harry calls.

Oh great. Thorne’s stupid nickname has caught on.

“What’s with the books? Need some extra special after-school tutoring?” He waggles his eyebrows in a way that I’m sure he thinks is charming, but it most definitely is not.

I ignore him and sidestep, but one of the others moves to block me.

“Excuse me,” I say, voice as flat as I can make it.

Harry’s face stretches into a nasty smile. “You know, it’s not fair you get special treatment just because your a bloodline witch. Some of us had to work for our place here.”

His friends snicker, closing in just enough that I can smell their stinky deodorant.

“Don’t you mean daddy had to buy your place here?” Damn. I should just keep my mouth shut but I can’t help myself. I shift the books under my arm, bracing for impact. If they try anything, I’m ready to go for the eyes.

“Maybe you could tutor me,” Harry says, stepping close enough that his breath hits my cheek. “Or maybe we can teach you a lesson. I bet you’re into the rough stuff, aren’t you baby?”

The others snort and one of them, the smallest with a twitchy left eye, bounces on his heels, clearly excited for violence.

I square my shoulders. “Back off, or you’ll regret it.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin widens. “Gonna call your vampire boyfriend? Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Harry thinks you should share the love, baby. We should all be friends.”

I don’t have time to respond because the lights overhead flicker. A cold draft sweeps through the corridor, raising goosebumps on my arms. There’s a glimmer in the air, and then I feel it.

Drake.

The boys don’t seem to notice at first. Harry leans in, about to say something obnoxious, I’m sure, when his voice dies in his throat.

The light above us buzzes louder, then explodes in a shower of sparks.

Harry’s friend with the twitchy eye yelps as the collar of his shirt tightens around his neck, jerking him upright and choking him.

The other two try to back away, but they bump into something that isn’t there.

Harry’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

His eyes bug wide, and then, without warning, his own fist smashes into his nose.

Blood spatters the wall. He tries to pull his arm down, but something else is driving the movement, and the fist comes up again, harder this time.

The other boys panic. I feel Drake’s presence so viscerally that he might as well be standing in front of me, in the flesh.

For a second, nothing happens. Then the pressure in the hall vanishes.

Twitchy-eye slumps to the ground, gasping.

Harry staggers away, blood streaming from his nose, shooting me a look of pure hatred before bolting down the corridor.

The others follow, tripping over themselves in their hurry to escape.

I stand there, chest heaving. The lights stop flickering.

I let out a slow breath. “You didn’t have to go that far,” I whisper to the empty air. “But thank you.”

There’s no answer, but I see Drake’s outline in the reflection of the glass door, pale and insubstantial, but there. He nods once, solemn and satisfied, then fades out.

When I turn back toward my room, Lucien is standing at the end of the hall.

He’s so still I wonder if he’s been there the whole time, but knowing him, he probably just appeared, the way vampires do.

His face is impossible to read. He approaches with slow steps, not looking at me but at the empty corridor where the bullies just were.

“Are you alright?”

I search his face for any hint that he saw Drake, but there’s nothing. Not a hint of recognition. If Lucien noticed the ghost, he’s doing a great job pretending otherwise.

“I’m fine. Find someone else to stalk.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. “If you need anything… ”

“I won’t let you know,” I shoot back, already shouldering past him. The books are heavy, but I carry them one-armed, refusing to show any kind of weakness. Ridiculous, I know. But I do it anyway. I don’t turn around, but I feel Lucien’s eyes on me the whole way to my door.

Inside, I dump the books onto my bed and lock it.

I drop to the floor, back against the wall, and try to get my breathing under control.

For the first time since I got here, I think I might actually throw up.

I can handle myself with douchebag drunks, but there was something in Harry’s eyes that chilled me to the bone.

I don’t want to get caught anywhere alone with him and his friends ever again.

After a minute, the panic ebbs, and I start to laugh. It’s not a nice laugh. It’s a wrong, slightly hysterical reaction and I pinch my skin to make myself get it together. Losing it won’t help me here.

I press my forehead to my knees and try to figure out which is worse, that I needed Drake ex machina to bail me out, or that I liked it.

That I liked someone watching out for me, being protected, even if it was by a dead guy.

Maybe especially because it was a dead guy.

Oddly less creepy than a lot of the men I’ve encountered in my life.

I touch the mark where the bloodmark still burns under the skin, and I think about the look on Harry’s face when the lights exploded. I think about Drake watching me, and Lucien watching everything, and Soren, let’s not even think about him right now.

I think about the little nudge of disappointment I felt when I didn’t see any of them all weekend. How even though I don’t trust any of them, their presence made me feel a little less like I was on my own here.

And I know that sounds completely irrational.