Page 37 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Thirty-Four

Rose

Weekends are always quiet on campus, since a lot of students leave, but this one is particularly so. Lucien's off doing something for the coven, Soren's buried in books at the library (which is weird enough on its own), and Drake's done his disappearing act again. It's me and Hank today.

Hank's asleep on my bed, his chest rising and falling, completely unbothered.

I'm a little jealous of his peace. I pull on my jacket—the one I successfully conjured after three embarrassing attempts, thank you very much—just in case I run into Lucien, who will give me a lecture if he catches me outside without it, and decide to get some fresh air before the sun goes down completely.

The weekend emptiness of the academy is a blessing. No classes mean no Thorne and her pack whispering about me. No Helena lurking around corners, looking for excuses to torture me. Just a regular Sunday afternoon with the late afternoon November sun hanging low and golden through the bare branches.

I head toward the woods at the edge of campus, craving the solitude of nature.

I know I can’t go too far, just the distance that Serpentine’s protective wards extend.

My boots crunch through the carpet of fallen leaves, and the crisp autumn air fills my lungs, clean and cold and delicious, with just a hint of woodsmoke.

This is nice.

The trees are mostly bare now, their branches reaching up like spindly fingers against the overcast sky. A few stubborn leaves cling, brown, deep red, and gold. I walk deeper into the woods, following a narrow path worn by generations of academy students.

I find a fallen log and sit, letting my mind wander.

If you’d asked me if I thought this would ever be my life, I would have told you to get your head checked.

Sleeping with a ghost, a vampire, and a demon, dodging one evil warlock who quite literally owns me, and trying to stay safe from a psychopathic witch who'd like nothing better than to see me dead. Just your typical college experience. Hell, I didn’t even have any intention of ever going to college, let alone a crazy supernatural academy like Serpentine.

The truth is, I’d never been able to picture myself in the future, not really.

It’s like there was something fuzzy there when I tried to imagine it.

Static, instead of a clear scene when I tried to visualize it.

It’s pretty difficult to take control of your own destiny when you can’t even visualize what your life might be, five, ten years down the road.

But I do know I couldn’t have come up with this bizarre reality, not in a million years.

I touch the mark on my arm. It doesn't hurt as much as it did in the beginning, but I'm always aware of it, like a cut that never fully heals.

The connection to Ash is always there, an awareness in the background of my consciousness.

I hate it. I hate him. I hate that he can feel my emotions, that he knows when I'm afraid or angry or turned on.

Most of all, I hate that I’m beginning to suspect there's a part of me that responds to his power, to his darkness.

The blood mark pulses, as if it knows I'm thinking about it. As if he knows.

Get out of my head, asshole.

The woods are growing darker now as the sun sinks lower behind the trees. I should head back, but I'm not ready to return to the academy, to the reality of my situation. Out here, I can pretend for a little while that I'm just a normal girl taking a nice, normal autumn walk.

A branch snaps behind me.

I turn around, heart suddenly pounding. The path behind me is empty, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm not alone.

"Hello?" I call.

No answer.

If it were Lucien or Soren, they’d announce themselves, not wanting to scare me. For fuck sakes, it better not be Thorne or Harry.

I scan between the trees, looking for any movement, but I can’t see anyone. It's probably nothing. A squirrel or a rabbit. But the mark on my arm itches again, stronger this time, and a familiar sensation tugs at the back of my mind.

Ash.

He's nearby. I can feel him through the mark, like the way a passing boat makes waves that roll in over the shoreline.

"I know you're there," I say. "Spying isn't a great look, even for you."

For a moment, there's only silence. Then he steps out from behind a large oak tree, his tall figure materializing like he's made of the shadows themselves. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and his green eyes catch what's left of the fading light.

"Not spying," Ash says. "Observing."

"Semantics, but okay." I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look unaffected despite the anxious flutter in my stomach. "What do you want?"

He moves closer, his steps silent on the carpet of leaves. How does he do that? "I felt you through the mark. You were thinking about me."

"Thinking about ways to break the blood contract isn't the same as thinking about you." I take a step backward, maintaining the distance between us.

"Liar." His mouth curls up at one corner. "I can feel it, Rose. Your anger. Your fear." He pauses, his eyes darkening. "Your curiosity."

"You flatter yourself." I turn away, heading back toward the academy. "I'm going back now."

"Stay." It's not quite a command, but it's close enough to make the mark on my arm heat up.

I keep walking. "No thanks."

"Rose." His voice is sharper now. "You're not to run away from me."

I stop, bristling at his tone. "I'm not running. I'm walking. And I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"Will you?" He's closer now, though I didn't hear him move. "We both know that's not entirely true."

I turn to face him, anger rising. "What are you going to do? Force me to my knees again? Real classy move, by the way."

A look crosses his face, one I’d almost take for regret, but Ash doesn't do regret.

"That was, perhaps, a misstep," he says.

"A misstep?" I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "You humiliated me in front of the entire school because your ego couldn't handle being told no."

"You needed to be reminded of your place. And of mine."

"My place?" I take a step toward him. "And where exactly is that? Under your boot? On my knees?” Anger makes me reckless. “In your bed?"

His eyes flash dangerously. "Careful, Rose."

"Or what?" I challenge, moving closer still. "What are you going to do to me that you haven't already done? You've taken control of my magic, my freedom. What's left?"

We're standing so close now that I can see the flecks of gold in his forest green eyes.

"Trust me, Rose. There's so much more I could take."

His tone sends chills down my back, but there’s something that's not entirely threatening. The way his eyes linger on my lips, the slight tilt of his head. It clicks suddenly. The possessiveness, the jealousy, the way he's always watching me.

"Oh my God," I say, a startled laugh escaping me. "You like me, like me."

He stiffens. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You do," I press, suddenly seeing everything more clearly. "That's what this is about. Not just the contract or the power. You're actually into me."

"You're my property," he says coldly. "Nothing more."

"Bullshit." I'm on dangerous ground, but the revelation gives me a strange kind of power. "You hate that I'm with Lucien and Soren and Drake. It drives you crazy."

His expression darkens. "I don't care who you fuck."

"Now who’s the liar?" I throw his own word back at him. "I can feel it too, you know. Through the mark. Your anger when I'm with them. Your jealousy."

"You mistake possession for affection," he says, but there's a slight tremor in his voice that tells me I've hit a nerve.

"Do I?" I take a deliberate step back, watching his eyes track the movement. "Then it shouldn't bother you if I walk away right now."

"I told you, you're not to run from me." There's an edge of desperation in his voice now, barely perceptible but definitely there.

I smirk, feeling a surge of reckless courage. For once, I have the upper hand with Ash, and it's a trip. "And what are you going to do about it if I do?"

His eyes narrow, and for a moment I think I've pushed too far. Then his mouth curves into a smile that makes me feel something that's not entirely fear.

"Do you want to find out?" he asks, his voice deadly.

He's daring me to run, and part of me—the sensible part, which admittedly has never been the part that calls the shots—knows I should back down.

But I'm tired of being afraid, tired of being controlled.

And there's something I don't want to examine too closely.

A dark curiosity about what would happen if I pushed him past his breaking point.

I meet his gaze, letting him see the defiance in mine.

And then I turn and run.