Page 11 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Nine

Rose

"Rose."

My eyes fly open. Drake stands before me, his form slightly transparent around the edges but solidifying with each passing second. He looks tired, if a ghost can look tired, his usual melancholy amplified.

"Drake." My voice breaks a little when I say his name. "You're here. You're really here."

"I heard you calling," he says, his voice soft with wonder. "I was... somewhere else. Somewhere cold and empty. But I heard you. How long?"

I reach for him, half afraid my hands will pass right through him. But my fingers meet solid coolness, the unique substance of him that isn't quite flesh but isn't nothing either. Relief floods through me so intensely that my knees nearly give out.

"Three days. I thought I'd lost you," I say. I can feel tears gathering at the corner of my eyes and I blink hard to fight them away. "I thought Ash had?—"

"Shh," Drake says, stepping closer, his hands coming up to touch my face. "I'm here."

And then he's kissing me, his mouth soft yet firm against mine. It's gentle at first, tentative, like he's afraid it’s not real. But I press closer instead, my hands winding up around his neck, holding him to me as if he might disappear again if I let go.

All the fear and loss and grief of his absence comes together where our bodies meet, and everything else falls away. My hands find the hard edges of his jaw, the cold softness of his skin, and I drink him in like I’ll never get another chance.

Drake makes a sound in the back of his throat that vibrates straight through my core, and his fingers tangle in my hair, gentler than I’d ever expect from someone so full of anger and sadness, but with a growing recklessness that matches the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat.

He tilts my head, tongue flicking against mine, and the taste of him is uniquely, achingly Drake.

He pushes me gently but insistently until my back thumps against the wall, the chill seeping through my shirt, and his body crowds out every last rational thought I have left.

He’s kissing me as if there’s a timer somewhere ticking down and this might be all the time we get.

His hand slides under my shirt, over my bare skin, and every nerve ending lights up and begs for more.

I gasp into his mouth, not caring how it sounds.

I want all of him, all his anger, his sadness, his hope, everything that makes him complicated and devastating.

I want to feel the ache of his loneliness and his strength.

I want to be the one thing that can anchor him, pull him out of the darkness, keep him on this earth.

He pulls back for a second, just far enough to look at me. For a moment, there’s nothing ghostly or insubstantial about him, he’s real and mine. But I can’t let go, because I’m terrified that if I let go, he’ll start to fade again.

“I missed you,” I say quietly. It feels stupid to say it out loud. “I was so scared you wouldn’t come back.”

He leans his forehead against mine, eyes closed. “I always come back to you,” he whispers. “No matter what.”

He kisses me again, harder this time, and I meet him with everything I have, clutching at his shoulders, pulling him closer, letting myself remember what it’s like when we’re together.

Hank the frog makes a tiny noise from his desk perch, but I ignore him. The world could be burning and I wouldn’t notice, not with Drake pressed up against me, his hands tracing the lines of my body like he’s making plans to conquer it.

He tastes my lower lip, nipping it gently, and I let out a soft, involuntary moan. His hand slides up, thumb grazing the underside of my breast, and I think I might actually die if I can’t get more of him right the hell now.

We break apart, both gasping for breath, me out of genuine need for air, him out of sheer habit, I guess. His eyes are searching mine.

“Rose,” he says, his tone serious. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

I shake my head, not ready to stop what we’re doing. "Not now," I say, pressing my finger to his lips. "Right now I just want this. I want you."

I pull him back to me, kissing him again before he can protest. He hesitates for just a moment, then surrenders, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest.

A disgruntled croak interrupts us.

Drake pulls back, blinking in confusion at the source of the sound. "What is that?"

I follow his gaze to where Hank sits, watching us with what I swear is a judgmental expression for a frog.

"That's Hank," I say, a little sheepishly. "My familiar."

"Your familiar?" Drake looks between me and the frog, bemused. "When did this happen?"

"This morning. In class. Long story." I wave my hand dismissively. "But he actually helped me find you, so be nice."

Drake laughs, a sound I've rarely heard from him. It transforms him, making him look younger, more alive. "I'm not sure how I feel about being watched by a frog named Hank while I'm kissing you."

"Yeah, me neither." I look at Hank apologetically. "Sorry, buddy, but you're kind of a third wheel right now."

Hank croaks again, and I get the distinct impression he's rolling his eyes at me, metaphorically.

"How do I..." I make a shooing motion with my hands. "Go away? Just for a while," I add quickly, not wanting to offend my new green friend.

Some instinct tells me to just close my eyes and imagine Hank disappearing, returning to wherever familiars go when they're not with their witches. I try it, picturing Hank fading away like mist, but with the understanding that I can call him back whenever I need him. Because I’m starting to think I might. Weird.

When I open my eyes, the spot where Hank was is empty.

"Did it work?" Drake asks, looking around.

"I think so," I say, a little surprised it was that easy. "He's gone. For now."

Drake's eyes return to my face, his expression growing serious again. "Rose, I really do need to tell you?—"

I press my lips to his again. I don't want complications right now. I don't want revelations or warnings or more bad news. I just want him.

This.

Us.