Page 25 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Twenty-Three

Rose

I pull the sheet up over my chest but the damage is already done, and my sheer tank top isn’t hiding much.

I’m going to have to start sleeping in flannel granny nighties I guess, just in case certain vampires, ghosts, and incubi can’t respect boundaries.

Lucien hasn’t moved from my doorway despite my very clear directive to get the fuck out, and I’m still slightly disoriented from being woken up. The room still reeks of sex and magic.

“I said get out,” I repeat.

Lucien steps fully into my room, because clearly he has a hearing problem, and closes the door behind him with a quiet click. His whole body is rigid, that perfect vampire composure back in action.

“Did you invite him?” His voice is even, controlled, but underneath I hear something darker, something that makes my stomach flip.

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” I pull the sheet higher, which is ridiculous. “Get out of my room, Lucien.”

“Answer the question.” He takes another step forward. “Did you give that demon permission to feed from you?”

The accusation hits like a slap across the face and my cheeks burn with humiliation and rage. “How is that any of your fucking business?”

“Everything about you is my business,” he snaps, and I know there’s a dangerous little crack starting to form in his tightly wound facade. “I’m responsible for you. When an incubus violates?—”

“Violates?” I laugh, but it sounds wrong, hollow. “You literally used vampire compulsion on me in the library. Or did you forget about that little invasion?”

His face tightens further, if that’s even possible. “That was different.”

“Right. Because when you do it, it’s for my own good. At least Soren doesn’t pretend he’s helping when he takes what he wants.”

The truth of it makes me a little unsettled.

Because I knew. In that dream, I absolutely recognized what was happening.

Felt him there, the real him, not just the fantasy my subconscious created.

And I didn’t want to stop it. I let him feed, let him take, let him make me feel things I haven’t felt in, oh, ever.

Nope . No. I’m not going there.

“He’s using you. Incubi don’t just feed on energy, Rose. They create dependencies. Addictions. He’ll keep coming back, and eventually, you won’t be able to keep him out.”

“Like you’re any better?” I shoot back. “Following me around, watching me sleep? Oh wait, that’s Drake’s thing. Where is he anyway?” I look around the room like the ghost might materialize from the shadows. “Funny how he’s never around when shit actually goes down and I’d like him here.”

Lucien goes completely still, and that tells me I’ve hit a nerve I didn’t even know existed.

“Drake.” The look on his face is like he just bit into a lemon.

“He’s been more real with me than you ever have. At least he told me the truth about what the Accord really means. About what the Coven plans to do to me.”

“Drake is a ghost with his own agenda,” Lucien says. “Whatever he’s told you?—”

“Is probably more truthful than anything you’ve said.

” I scoot to the edge of the bed, still keeping the sheet wrapped around me because I just remembered I’m only wearing panties and this fucking guy does not deserve to see them, even though they’re cute; black lace with little embroidered white ghosts with big eyes.

I was actually kind of proud of myself for conjuring them up, and I have to admit I had Drake’s reaction to them in mind when I came up with the idea.

“He told me all about how the Coven is going to suck out my life force like I’m a supernatural Capri Sun. ”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Blah blah blah. You said that before. It always is with you, isn’t it?” My anger is building again. “Nothing’s ever simple. Everything has layers and politics and reasons why you can’t just tell me the fucking truth.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up that perfect vampire aesthetic.

For a second, he looks almost human. But then he opens his stupid mouth.

“You think Drake doesn’t have his own reasons for befriending you?

You think a ghost who’s been trapped here for over a century suddenly develops altruistic tendencies? ”

“At least he’s not reporting my every move to the Coven,” I snap.

The silence that follows is deafening. Lucien’s face shifts and he looks away.

“He told you that too,” he says quietly.

“He didn’t have to. It’s obvious. You’re their lap dog, remember?

Following me around, making sure I don’t step out of line, probably writing up little reports about my magical surges and who I talk to and—” I stop because the look on his face tells me I’m right.

“Oh my god. You actually are. You’re literally writing reports about me. ”

“Rose.”

“No.” I stand up, dragging the sheet with me, and for once I don’t care how ridiculous I look. “You don’t get to ‘Rose’ me right now. You’ve been spying on me this whole time. Documenting every single thing I do. For them, the people who are going to take my life in twenty-four fucking months.”

My magic stirs, responding to my anger, and the bloodmark on my arm starts to burn.

The glass of water on my nightstand begins to vibrate, and I feel like I want to scream.

I want to set something on fire. I want Drake to show up and do his poltergeist thing just so I’m not alone with Lucien and all his justified reasons for being a complete asshole.

But Drake doesn’t come. Just another disappointment in this trio of men who claim they want to help but really just want something from me. My body, my power, my compliance.

The worst part? I let them. I let Soren into my dreams. I let Lucien kiss me against that desk. I even let Drake watch me sleep. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Lucien takes a step toward me, then another, and I automatically back up because having him this close when I’m wearing very little but a sheet and some shame is not happening.

But my room is small, and there’s nowhere to go.

My hip hits the edge of my nightstand, and the bump sends the cup I left there teetering.

“Don’t,” I warn, but he keeps advancing slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. Which maybe he is.

“You need to understand something,” he says, and his voice has lost that icy edge. Now it’s just tired. Centuries-old exhausted. “The Coven isn’t just some organization you can rebel against and walk away from. It’s a system. A hierarchy that’s been in place longer than this country has existed.”

“I don’t care about their history.”

“You should.” He’s close enough now that I can smell him, that vetiver and mint that makes my body want to overrule my brain. “Because that history is what’s keeping you alive right now.”

I try to sidestep, but my elbow knocks the glass. It falls in what feels like slow motion, hitting the floor with a crash. Water spreads across the floorboards, mixing with sharp fragments.

“Shit,” I mutter, immediately moving to clean it up, but Lucien holds up a hand.

“Don’t. You’ll cut yourself.”

And then he does something I don’t expect. He kneels.

Lucien, the vampire lord, the Coven’s perfect soldier, gets down on his knees in my shitty dorm room and starts picking up pieces of broken glass with his bare hands. His movements are careful, as if this is the most important thing he has to do today.

A shard slices his finger, and I see blood well up before the cut heals itself in seconds. Vampire advantages. He doesn’t even notice, just keeps collecting the pieces in his other hand.

“The Coven has eyes everywhere,” he says quietly, not looking up. “When they assigned me to watch you, it wasn’t a request. It was an order backed by my family’s oath.”

“So you chose your duty over telling me the truth. Over my life.” It’s not a question.

He looks up at me then, and there’s something raw in his eyes. “Yes. And I’d do it again. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been trying to protect you within the constraints I have.”

“Protect me?” I laugh. “By lying to me?”

“By telling you as much as I could without triggering the oath’s consequences.

” He stands, carefully depositing the shards in my waste basket.

“Every word I say to you is monitored by the magic that binds my family to the Coven. If I directly contradict their interests, if I actively work against them, the oath activates. Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head, even though part of me doesn’t want to know.

“It means I forfeit control of my mind, my actions, to the Coven. I’d be their puppet, not just their servant. But I’ve been walking a very thin line trying to give you what information I could.”

“Why?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “Why risk anything for me at all?”

He reaches out like he’s going to touch my face, then thinks better of it.

His hand drops. “Because you’re not like the others who’ve been bound before.

Most accept their fate. They’re grateful for the power, the education, the chance to be part of something bigger.

But you fight everything. You question everything.

You make me question everything. You didn’t come from this system, and you didn’t ask to be a part of it.

You were free. You remind me of what that was like. ”

“Wickersly wants detailed reports,” he continues, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “Not just about your magic surges, but about your associations. Who you talk to, who you trust. She’s particularly interested in your connection to Drake.”

“Why?”

“Because Drake died attempting to break the Accord. He found something, some possible loophole or weakness, but he was killed before he could act on it. Wickersly thinks he might try to use you to finish what he started.”

“And would that be such a bad thing?”

Lucien’s expression hardens. “It would destroy everything. The Academy, the protections, the treaties that keep the supernatural world from tearing itself apart. Thousands would die.”

“Or maybe that’s just what they want you to believe,” I counter. “Maybe they’ve convinced you the world will end without them because it keeps people like you in line.”

We stare at each other across maybe a foot of space. The morning light is getting stronger, painting golden lines across the wet floor where the water is still spreading.

“What exactly does Wickersly want to know?” I ask finally.

“Everything. How often your magic surges. What triggers them. Whether you’re developing feelings for anyone that could be exploited.” His eyes glance down to my lips for just a second. “Whether you’re becoming attached to any of the supernatural entities showing interest in you.”

“Entities,” I repeat. “Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”

“It’s what I am, Rose. I’m not human. Neither is Soren, and Drake is barely even corporeal. We’re all threats to you in different ways.”

“At least you’re finally being honest about something.”

“I’ve been as honest as I could be.”

“No, you’ve been as honest as was convenient. You want points for walking some imaginary line? For being slightly less of an asshole than you could have been? That’s not protection, Lucien. That’s just collaboration with less balls. Take some ownership of your part in all this.”

“What you need to know could get you killed faster than the Accord ever will.” His control is fraying again, and for a moment, his eyes flash that deep red that means his vampire is close to the surface. “The Coven doesn’t tolerate rebellion. They eliminate it.”

“Like they eliminated Drake?”

“Exactly like they eliminated Drake.” He takes a breath he doesn’t need, visibly pulling himself back together.

“Every report I file, every observation I make, I’m trying to paint you as compliant.

Struggling but adapting. If Wickersly thinks for one moment that you’re actively working against them… ”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. I get the picture. The Coven would rather kill me now than risk me becoming a problem later.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask. “Just accept it? Let them drain me dry in two years and call it a life?” Lucien wants me to be quiet, to play along, while I wait patiently for death. “No,” I say finally.

I move the pile of clothes beside my bed and pull out the first shirt I can find. I turn my back to him, drop the sheet, and pull it on. Fuck modesty. “I’m done being managed.”

“Rose.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say, grabbing jeans, still not looking at him. “I’ll go to Soren. I’ll find Drake. Hell, I’ll march into Wickersly’s office and demand the truth directly.”

I turn around, now dressed. Lucien looks stricken.

I cross my arms. “I’ve spent my whole life having decisions made for me.

My mother hid my magic. The Coven claimed me like property.

You’ve been managing me like I’m something that needs to be contained.

I’m done with all of it. I’m going to save my own ass one way or another.

You can either be part of that process or get out of my way. ”

“These aren’t friends, Rose. They’re supernatural entities with their own agendas, and every single one of them sees you as a means to an end.”

“Including you.”

The statement hangs between us, and for a moment, his mask falls away, then it’s back again.

“Soren feeds on you. Drake needs you to complete his revenge. The Coven wants to drain you. But me? I gain nothing from keeping you alive except complications I don’t need.”

“Then why bother?”

He looks at me for a long moment, and I think he might actually answer honestly. But then his face closes off again, returning to that perfect composure that makes me want to throw things.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” he says instead. “The moment you start actively investigating the Accord, looking for weaknesses, the Coven will know. They have ways of detecting that kind of curiosity. Why do you think Drake died? It was because he started looking.”

“He told me he was betrayed. Someone he trusted turned him in.”

“There was a girl.” Lucien stares off into space. “A witch.”

He doesn’t say anything more.

“And?” I prompt.

“It’s not my story to tell, Rose. Suffice to say, things did not turn out well for Drake Winstead.”

The look on Lucien’s face says he’s not going to give me more. Probably can’t, if the contract binds his tongue as tightly as he claims.

“Fine,” I say, letting it drop for now. “But I’m not just sitting here waiting to die. I’m going to find out what Drake knew, and if there’s even a one percent chance I can break the Accord, I’m taking it.”

“If you do, you’ll be painting a target on your back.”

“Pretty sure I was born with one.”

He sighs, the world’s oldest and weariest sound, and for a second I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.