Page 41 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Thirty-Eight

Rose

I don’t remember getting from the dining hall to my room.

One minute I’m watching Ash force Helena to her knees in front of the entire school, the next I’m sprawled face down on my bed, clutching my pillow like it’s a life preserver.

I don’t summon Hank, I don’t want him to get upset seeing me like this.

If I live to be a hundred—highly unlikely after today—I’ll still remember every second of what happened.

Helena’s voice, the hush in the room, the bone-deep certainty that if Ash hadn’t intervened, I would have ended up in the infirmary, or in the grave.

The way he called me his, like I belong to him.

Part of me liked being protected, even if it was by the world’s biggest asshole. I hate myself for that. I scream into the pillow until my throat goes raw.

“Rose?”

The voice is soft, just a whisper. I sit up so fast my head spins.

Drake is standing in the corner, almost hidden in the shadow, and his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You saw,” I say. My voice is not a question.

“I saw.” He steps out of the darkness, and the surrounding air goes cold with his presence. “I wanted to help.”

I wave my hand. “Nothing you could have done.” Come to think of it, I did see the lights flicker.

Drake sits on the edge of my bed. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I kind of do,” I say, to my own surprise. “If I don’t, I’ll go nuts.”

He shifts so that his thigh is pressed against mine, cold through the denim. “Okay. Talk.”

So I do. I word-vomit everything, starting with the kneeling. The shame. The weird thrill of being protected by Ash, and the even weirder aftermath, where I don’t know who my real enemy is anymore.

Drake doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, nodding sometimes, his thumb tracing absentminded little circles on my knee. He doesn’t argue when I admit the fucked-up parts, the parts I’m most ashamed of. The part where I didn’t want to let go of Ash’s hand, even if I thought he’d let me.

When I finally stop talking, I feel less like a shaken soda bottle about to explode and more like a tired, wet rag. I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. Can you just stay?”

He pulls me in, and I tuck myself under his arm, cheek pressed to his chest. He’s cool like a winter wind, and it’s helping me clear my head.

We stay like that until there’s a knock at the door.

I don’t want to answer, but the knock comes again, this time with more force.

“It’s probably Helena,” I grumble. “With a firing squad.”

Drake snorts. “It’s not Helena.”

He’s right. There’s a distinctive, sharp series of raps. It’s Lucien.

I sigh, extricate myself from Drake’s embrace, and open the door.

Lucien is standing there in his three-piece suit, tie loose, hair a little mussed. He looks agitated, which is rare for him.

He steps inside, eyes going immediately to Drake.

For a moment, there’s a tension that hangs in the air, an elastic band stretched so far that it’s about to snap.

Then Lucien seems to decide it’s not worth it.

“Am I interrupting?” Lucien says. His tone is neutral but his eyes flicker between me and Drake.

“Not at all.” I wave him inside.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the desk chair.

“Yeah.” I flop onto the bed again, patting the space next to me for Drake, who sits without hesitation.

Lucien watches this, a frown crossing his face before it’s smoothed away. “How are you feeling, Rose?”

“Oh, you know. Mortified. Terrified.”

He gives me a slight smile. “You handled yourself well.”

I snort. “I did not.”

“You didn’t kneel,” he says. “That’s more than most would have managed.”

Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t really feel like much of a win. It feels like I’ve just painted an even bigger target on my back. “Listen. Today was fucked up. But I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I point a finger at both of them. “I just want to not be alone.”

“Of course.” He looks at Drake. “You have my gratitude for staying with her.”

Drake’s eyes are serious. “We look out for her, yeah? All of us.”

Lucien nods.

There’s lazy thump on my door, and it opens before I can say anything or stand up to open it myself.

Soren strolls in, hands in his pockets, taking in the scene with me on the bed, Drake beside me, and Lucien perched on the chair.

“Well,” he says, “I see you’re having a party and didn’t invite me.”

He sits next to me on the bed, so close his leg presses into mine. The room is not big enough for all these men, but no one seems inclined to leave.

Soren looks me over, concern flickering on his face before he puts on a smirk. “Rough day, little witch.”

“You could say that, but we’re not talking about it anymore.”

He arches an eyebrow. “If we’re going to talk, whatever shall we do?” He reaches up, brushes a stray hair from my cheek, and leans in. “I could make it better.”

Lucien bristles. “Not now, Malric.”

Soren grins. “Why not now? Rose looks like she could use some serious distraction.” He glances down at my hand, clasped in Drake’s. “From the look of things, you two were about to get started without us.”

I laugh. It feels good to laugh.

“Am I wrong?” Soren tilts his head, regarding me with open hunger.

The room is so charged it’s practically buzzing. I look at Drake, who’s staring at me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the world. I look at Lucien, whose eyes have gone from polite maroon to molten red in three seconds flat. I look at Soren, who’s always unbuttoning his shirt.

I don’t have to choose. They’re all here. They all want me.