Page 9 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Eight

Rose

If there’s anything more embarrassing than waking up to the sound of your own orgasm after a dream where you’re being tongued by a dude you’ve just met—your professor, no less—it’s waking up to the sound of someone clapping for it.

My skin is slick, my heart racing, and my brain helpfully replays the highlight reel of hands on my throat, lips on my skin, Soren’s mouth and tongue, and… oh God… Lucien sitting there watching. Even if it was just a dream, it’s still mortifying.

I jerk upright as the clapping continues. My eyes adjust to the light and there he is, Soren, lounging in my desk chair like he owns the place.

“Get out,” I sputter. My body double-crosses me though, still tingling, still wanting, still responding to the dreamed sensation of his mouth on me. Some dark part of me wants him to stay. Wants to know if reality would feel as good as the dream.

How fucked up is that?

“Technically, I was never in,” he says, examining his nails. “Well, not physically.”

The implications hit me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. That wasn’t just a dream. He was there, in my head.

And the worst part? Part of me wants him to do it again.

The thought of it makes me want to scream. Or grab him. Or both.

“What is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. “I’m an incubus. It’s what I do.” He says it like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “You’re lucky. Most girls only get a cameo, not a full feature.”

I grit my teeth, grab the closest thing, a large heavy book, and throw it at him. He catches it, easy, and sets it on my desk without breaking eye contact.

“If you ever pull that shit again, I will burn the balls right off of you,” I say, voice trembling but steady. “I’m not here to be your midnight snack.”

“You say that now,” he says, and his smile goes from lazy to hungry. He glances deliberately at my chest, then at my face. “I congratulate you on your initiative. Most girls wait for me to start the action, but you were already dreaming of me, sweetheart.”

My cheeks are burning. “Is this part of the curriculum? Sexual harassment 101?”

Unfazed he steps in, closer, and the air shifts, as if he brought a draft in with him. He smells like everything carnal and forbidden. “If you prefer private tutoring, I can make the time.”

“I prefer you out of my room.” This fucker. I don’t know how they do things at this academy, but this is not the way. Not at all.

He grins. “I could leave. Or I could help you with an encore performance.” He gestures casually toward me. “Most witches beg for that.”

Asshole. I swing my legs over the edge, clutching the covers like they’re the last thing between me and my doom, which is entirely possible considering I’m alone in a room with a demon. Why the hell would they employ an incubus in a school? “I’m not most witches. Now get the hell out.”

He leans in, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “I’ll leave,” he says, “but you should know, you taste like nothing I’ve ever sampled before.” He looks at me with an honesty that’s somehow more invasive than everything else he’s done. “It’s addictive. You’re addictive.”

“Terrific,” I say, refusing to blink. “Go be addicted somewhere else.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he studies my face. “You’re scared,” he says, softer now. “But not of me.”

I bristle. “I’m not scared.”

“You can lie to yourself, Rose, but don’t try it with me.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. I stare him down until he sighs, rolling his eyes like I’ve disappointed him.

“You think the witches are the worst thing here? Or the vampires?” He shakes his head. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What I know is that I don’t need you crawling into my head.”

He shrugs, unashamed. “I’ll make you a deal.”

I’m listening, though I wish I wasn’t.

“I won’t touch your dreams again,” he says. “Not unless you ask. But you have to promise something.”

I feel a prickle at the back of my neck. “And that is?”

He leans in close enough that I can see the ring of gold around his black iris, the not-quite-human sliver that makes my lizard brain want to sprint for the hills.

“Promise you’ll come to me if things get bad.

If you’re in trouble. If it’s more than you can handle. Not the headmistress. Not Lucien.”

For a second I think he’s joking, but his mouth is dead serious. I don’t like the implication that I’m going to need his help, but I like the idea of him in my brain even less.

I’m about to tell him exactly where to shove it when my door slams open, nearly pulling off the hinges.

Lucien. He fills the doorway in a sweep of black coat and icy rage, fangs already down and eyes glowing like red embers. His gaze snaps to Soren instantly. “Get. Out.”

Soren puts his hands up. “Relax, L. We were just negotiating a truce.”

Lucien’s voice is hard. “Now.”

Soren’s mouth curls. “You know, you starred in her dream too. I didn’t even have to improvise.” He winks at me. “You should see yourself through her eyes.”

Lucien’s expression dares Soren to keep going, and for a second I think he’s going to cross the room and strangle the demon with his bare hands. Soren just laughs.

“I’ll see myself out.” Soren drops an elaborate bow and flicks me a finger wave. “Until next time, Rose.” He stops in the hall. “You should try being less repressed, old man. It’s giving you wrinkles.”

Lucien watches him go, the veins in his neck standing out. For a second, just a second, I see something savage under the surface. Not the smooth, bored mask. The real him. I should be afraid. I’m not.

“Are you alright?” he says, finally turning to me.

I consider lying. “No,” I say. “But I’m getting used to that.”

Lucien’s gaze drops to the blanket I’m holding around myself. “Soren is… difficult to guard against.”

“Is this supposed to be normal?” I jab a finger at the door. “He walks into my dreams, feeds off me?—”

“He could have done worse.”

“Great. I’ll put that on my gratitude journal.” Sleeping on a park bench is starting to look more appealing, I should have taken my chances with rapists and muggers.

“Soren feeds from willing subjects.” He tilts his head, assessing me the way a butcher might a side of beef. “You weren’t hurt. He didn’t take more than you could spare.”

“I’d like to keep it that way,” I mutter, feeling exhausted. The adrenaline is gone and what’s left leaves me wanting to take a nap for a week, or punch a wall. Maybe both.

“You are vulnerable, Rose. There are things here that would—” He stops just short of ominous, then says, “You need to be careful who you trust.”

“Who says I trust anyone?” I ask. I let the silence fill up, and it gets weirdly heavy.

Lucien stands by my desk, hands at his sides, the veins on his wrists like blue ink under snow. He looks carved, unbreakable, but I see the little cracks in his composure. I wonder what it’s like to be a centuries-old monster with a code of conduct and the job of babysitting magical delinquents.

“I’m serious. You’re not safe here,” he says. “Not from Soren, not from me, not from anyone.”

“Then why am I here?” I demand.

“You’re here because someone decided you were worth more alive than dead. That doesn’t mean you’re not in danger.”

I want to laugh, but it would come out wrong. “So, what? I just learn how to fight off incubi and keep my head down until graduation?”

He glances at the blankets knotted around my body. “You’d be better off learning how to use what you have.” He says it like an accusation.

“I don’t have anything,” I snap. “Whatever magic was supposed to be in my bloodline, my mother smothered it. All I’ve got is a dead plant and a mark that feels like it’s going to eat through my arm.”

He’s silent for a minute. Then, “That’s not quite true.”

I stare at him. “What, you’re going to tell me I need to unlock my ‘true power’ before I get murdered by the next supernatural asshole who visits in the night?

No wait!” I open my eyes as wide as I can.

“Am I the chosen one?” I put enough sarcasm in my tone that even a humorless vampire with a stick up his ass won’t miss it.

Lucien’s eyes narrow, the red in them dulling down to a deep maroon. “You think this is a joke?” he says. “You think you are nothing special?” He steps closer. “The Coven has been looking for you your whole life.”

“Maybe they just want a really mediocre bartender for their next party,” I mutter.

He ignores that. “Your mother did everything in her power to keep you hidden. It almost worked. But now, you’re here. And every predator in our world can sense it.”

I hold his gaze. “So what do you want from me, Lucien?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. For a second, I almost see the man under the monster. Then he says, “To keep you alive.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he says, too fast. “And because you deserve better than this.”

He’s still standing way too close.

“Do you want to fuck me or eat me?” I ask, blunt.

The question snaps something in him, and for a moment, he bares his fangs. “Both,” he says. “But I won’t do either unless you ask.”

“Wow.” I shake my head, half in disbelief, half because if I don’t keep moving I might actually have a breakdown. “Consent king. My hero.”

I pull the blanket tighter and square up to him. “If you’re going to warn me about the Covens and the contracts and the monsters, at least give me something I can use. How do I survive this place?”

Lucien’s gaze drops to my hand, to the angry red mark still healing there. “You find allies. You never, ever trust kindness.”

That might be the best advice I’ve gotten since stepping across the gates of this funhouse.

He doesn’t wait, just turns on his heel and walks out, the door closing behind him. I let the silence run a full minute before I drop the blanket and stare at the ceiling.

There’s no sleeping after that, so I stay that way until the sun rises. I don’t expect Soren to keep his promise, but he doesn’t come back. Neither does the ghost boy, for which I’m both grateful and, in some odd way, disappointed.