Page 17 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Fifteen

Rose

The fourth floor is as empty and abandoned as always when I push through the creaky door, the only thing moving is the dust suspended mid-air in the weak November sunlight coming through the windows.

"Drake?" I call out. "Where are you?"

I walk the length of the hallway, peering into abandoned rooms and the storage closets. Each room sits in various states of dusty disarray, forgotten furniture draped in sheets. There are several doors boarded up, and I wonder what’s in them.

"Drake, come on. It's me."

Nothing. Not a whisper, not a chill in the air, not the faintest hint of a body materializing. My heart sinks. Maybe it was all just a desperate dream, including what came after. I brush my fingers against my lips, remembering the impossible hardness of his mouth on mine.

No. It was real. He’s real.

Hank wriggles, as if sensing my distress.

"I know," I tell him. "I'm worried too."

After a while, I have to accept that Drake isn't here. Maybe he's avoiding me. Maybe he can't get back. Maybe Ash did something more permanent this time. The thought makes my blood run cold.

"Let's get out of here," I say to Hank. "I'm starving, and you've been stuck in my pocket all morning. We deserve a little snack."

The dining hall is mostly empty when I arrive, with just a few stragglers grabbing late breakfasts or early lunches.

I keep my head down, grabbing a chocolate chip muffin and a bottle of orange juice from the counter.

I really should find out what frogs eat.

I slip a bottle of water into my bag too, thinking Hank might appreciate some hydration.

The cafeteria worker eyes me with barely concealed suspicion.

“All set," I say, plastering on a fake smile. "Just grabbing a quick snack."

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

I shrug.

Her expression says it's not her job to police my attendance. She waves me through, and I make a beeline for the exit before anyone else can question why I'm wandering the halls when I should be learning how to turn water into wine or whatever magic school stuff I'm missing.

The weather is crisp; it’s cold but not unbearable, and the sky is a clear, bright blue that’s almost blinding after the dark interior of the school.

I find a hidden bench behind the east wing of the building, partially sheltered by an enormous weeping willow tree that still has most of its leaves.

It's the perfect spot to hide from prying eyes, with a decent view of the grounds so I can see anyone approaching.

"Here we go, Hank," I say, setting my frog familiar on the bench beside me. "Breakfast is served."

I tear off a small piece of my muffin and offer it to him. He eyes it dubiously, then turns his head.

"Right. I guess chocolate chip muffins are not really frog fare."

Hank makes a small croaking noise in agreement, then flicks out his tongue to grab a beetle crawling up the arm of the bench.

Fair enough.

I unwrap the rest of my muffin and take a big bite, suddenly realizing how hungry I am. Between the drama with Ash and Helena, and the search for Drake, I hadn't noticed my stomach trying to eat itself.

"So, what's our plan?" I ask Hank between bites. "We can't keep playing along with these psychopaths forever. There's got to be a way out of this mess."

Hank blinks his big eyes at me.

"Yeah, you’re right. Easier said than done." I sigh and take another bite of my muffin. "But we've got to try something. Maybe if we can find Drake again, he'll have some ideas. He's been here for, what, a century? He knows some secrets about this place."

The sound of approaching footsteps makes me tense. I instinctively reach for Hank, ready to hide him in my pocket again, but I'm too slow.

"Miss Smith." Lucien. "I believe you're supposed to be in Professor Pimley's class at the moment."

I don't bother looking up at him. "Good morning to you too, Lucien. And yes, I am fully aware of my schedule. I just decided that after being threatened by not one but two megalomaniacs this morning, I deserved a mental health break."

He moves around the bench to stand in front of me, blocking my view and the weak November sun. His crisp suit is immaculate as always, not a wrinkle or speck of dust to be found. His crimson eyes study me, like I’m a strange bug.

"The headmistress summoned you?" There's something in his tone I can't quite read.

"And Ash," I confirm, taking another bite. "They had a little power struggle over who gets to torture me more. It was super fun."

Lucien's voice changes almost imperceptibly, but I clock it. "What did they want?"

I shrug. "Same old, same old. Helena wanted to remind me that I'm property of the Blood Moon Coven now, and that she'll make my life hell if I step out of line.

Ash wanted to remind Helena that I'm his property specifically.

" I make air quotes around "property" with my free hand.

"You know, typical Thursday morning stuff. "

Lucien doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he looks around, taking in our secluded spot. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

"I'm not alone," I say, gesturing to Hank. "I've got my good friend Hank here."

Lucien's gaze drops to Hank, who puffs up slightly as if trying to look more intimidating. The corner of Lucien's mouth twitches, almost a smile but not quite.

"I'm sure your familiar is very capable," he says dryly. "Nonetheless, you should be more cautious. The campus is busy with preparations for Family Day, and there will soon be many unfamiliar faces around."

"Family Day?"

"It's an annual event," Lucien explains, finally taking a seat on the bench beside me, though he maintains a careful distance. "Parents visit the academy, tour the facilities, meet with faculty. It's quite the production."

"Sounds like a nightmare," I mutter. I can't imagine anything worse than a bunch of rich, entitled carbon copies of the students here.

"It will be this year," Lucien agrees. "The first Family Day under new management. Helena is determined to make it a spectacle, to solidify the Blood Moon's position and convince the influential families that the change in leadership is for the best."

A cold gust of wind sweeps across the grounds, and I shiver. My hoodie is decent for indoor wear, but it's not exactly November- in-New-England appropriate. Mrs. Bright and I never thought to conjure up a coat for me.

Lucien notices immediately. "You're cold."

"I'm fine," I say automatically.

"You're shivering," he points out, his tone hardening. "Why didn't you wear a proper coat?"

"I don't have one," I snap.

He stares at me for a long moment, then stands, shrugging out of his black wool overcoat. Before I can protest, he's draping it around my shoulders.

"That's not necessary," I say, even as I instinctively pull it tighter around me. It smells like him, mint and vetiver, refined and expensive.

"It is entirely necessary," Lucien says firmly. "Your stubbornness will get you sick, and then what good will you be to anyone?"

"Is that all you care about? My usefulness?" I challenge, even though the warmth of his coat is seeping into my bones, making me feel better than I'd like to admit.

"Don't be dull, Rose," he says, his hands lingering on my shoulders as he adjusts the coat around me. "If you insist on hiding out here rather than attending class, the least you can do is take proper care of yourself. We’ll discuss your choice of breakfast later."

He's standing in front of me now, leaning down to ensure the coat is properly settled, and suddenly we're face to face, inches apart. The crimson of his eyes deepens, and for a second, I swear they're glowing.

His hands are still on my shoulders.

"I—" My voice catches in my throat. He's so close, and despite everything, despite all the reasons I should hate him or at least distrust him completely, I can't help but notice how his dark hair falls across his forehead, how sharp the line of his jaw is, how his lips...

"Ribbit."

The sound breaks the moment. Hank hops up onto my knee, croaking loudly as if to remind us both that he's still here. Lucien pulls back, straightening to his full height.

"Your guard toad seems concerned," he says, and I swear there's a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Frog," I correct. "And his name is Hank."

"Hank the Frog," Lucien repeats, with a slight emphasis that makes the name sound ridiculous.

"Hey, don't judge. He chose me, not the other way around."

"Indeed." Lucien's gaze drops to Hank again. "You know, in France, frog legs are considered quite the delicacy."

My eyes widen, and I scoop Hank protectively into my hands. "You wouldn't."

"With proper garlic and herbs," Lucien continues, his expression deadpan, "they can be quite succulent."

"That's disgusting," I say, but I can tell he's teasing me now. "Don't listen to him, Hank. I won't let the mean vampire eat you."

"I assure you, I have no interest in consuming your familiar," Lucien says, fighting a smile. "My tastes run to more refined fare."

The way his gaze moves briefly to my neck makes my heart skip a beat.

"Well, good," I say, trying to sound firm despite the sudden warmth in my cheeks. "Because Hank and I are a package deal now."

Lucien shakes his head, and something about his expression makes me pause.

There's a softness there that I've rarely seen, a hint of the man beneath the perfect, controlled exterior.

For a moment, I can imagine him as something other than the Coven's enforcer, the stern vampire who switched sides at the first sign of trouble.

And then I remember the conversation I overheard. Ash taunting Lucien, telling him he stayed for me. Telling him he was risking everything to protect a girl who didn't even want him.

Was it true? Did Lucien align himself with Ash, with the Blood Moon Coven, just to keep me safe? The thought is laughable, but…

"What is it?" Lucien asks, his head tilting slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

I blink, realizing I've been staring. "Like what?"

"Like you're trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle."

"Just wondering if vampires can freeze if it’s too cold out," I deflect. "You know, since your whole body temperature situation is already pretty chilly."

His eyes narrow. "You're deflecting. And lying. Poorly."

"Well, maybe I'm just admiring the view," I say, because apparently my mouth has a death wish today. "Is that a crime?"

"No," Lucien says, his voice dropping lower. "But there are better things you could do with that mouth of yours than lie to me."

The air between us changes, charged like right before lightning strikes. "Like what?" I challenge him, holding his gaze.

For a moment, I think he'll back down, retreat behind that wall of perfect control. But then he moves, faster than humanly possible, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he pulls me to him. His lips find mine, hard and insistent, and I'm so shocked I freeze for a second before responding.

The kiss is not gentle, not hesitant, but confident and consuming. His other hand comes up to my face, holding me as if I'm something precious, something that might break. Or run away. My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into him, my free hand gripping the front of his shirt.

I should push him away. I should be furious. This is Lucien, the Coven's lapdog, the vampire who betrayed?—

But his mouth is kissing me in a way that makes rational thought impossible, and I find myself kissing him back with an intensity that surprises even me.

Then, suddenly, he pulls away. His eyes, now definitely glowing crimson, aren't on me anymore but fixed on something over my shoulder. His entire body goes tense.

"Merde," he curses softly, then steps back from me. "I have to go."

"What?" I blink, disoriented from the sudden shift. "Lucien, what?—"

But he's already turning away, his movements quick and purposeful. "Keep the coat," he calls back over his shoulder. "And go back inside, Rose. Now."

I watch him stride away, confused and frustrated by his hot-and-cold behavior. One minute he's kissing me like his life depends on it, the next he's rushing off without explanation.

That's when I see the cat, Galanthis, slinking along the edge of the walkway, its sleek black form unmistakable. I thought he’d gone with Wickersly, after all, he was supposed to be loyal to the Crescent Moon Coven.

But he’s apparently switched sides just like everyone else.

Its yellow eyes watch Lucien go, then he turns and trots off in the opposite direction.

I watch the cat leave, and freeze when I spot a familiar figure standing at the edge of the quad.

Ash. He was there the whole time, watching us. Watching me with Lucien.

The blood mark on my arm throbs in warning, and I know that whatever game Ash is playing, whatever power struggle he's engaged in with Helena, I've just given him more ammunition.

And I have absolutely no idea what move to make next.