Page 9 of Wicked Vows (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #1)

Verik

C hecking the hallway, left and right, I smile.

Alone. Not surprising. This hallway is deserted at the best of times.

Only three rooms are housed down here, and the occupants of the other two rooms are creatures I’m not even sure I’ve seen around or even really know what they are. Not that it matters.

I pull the knickers out of my pocket and pin them neatly to Lysithea’s door.

This would make a much more impactful statement if other students were around to see them.

I narrow my eyes and pluck them from their magical pins.

I want the other students to see them. It doesn’t matter to me if they know who they belong to or who defiled them.

But she will see them, and she will know.

I make a doorway to go up two floors and over to the building that houses the dining hall.

The large noticeboard outside is cluttered with the usual student detritus.

I wave a hand, and the papers rearrange themselves with a collective sigh of displaced reality.

A perfect square of empty corkboard appears in the centre, a blank canvas awaiting my masterpiece.

The air around it shimmers with residual hellfire.

With two obsidian pins I conjure from the shadows, I fix the black cotton knickers to the board.

The white, sticky stain is a stark declaration against the dark fabric.

A trophy. A brand. I trace the outline of the knickers with my finger, leaving a thin, smouldering line of hellfire etched into the cork.

It is a carefully placed architectural element in the design of her downfall. A foundation stone.

The bell rings for lunch time, and I fade back into the crowds of students tumbling out of nearby classes, hungry and ready for a break from their studies.

At first, no one notices. Then there are sly glances and chuckles.

Some move closer to inspect them and see the cum stain.

They baulk and snicker, the question of to whom they belong floating through the air. I watch. I wait.

Dathan arrives and pauses, his lips twisted into a smile as he looks around and finds me casually leaning against a wall. “Your handiwork?” he asks, coming closer.

I examine my fingernails. “Do you even have to ask?”

Dathan leans against the wall beside me, a silent partner in the architectural sabotage. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?” he murmurs, his silver eyes tracking the growing crowd.

“Subtlety is for cowards,” I reply. “This is a statement of intent. A declaration of works.”

He doesn’t disagree. His hunger sharpens as students whisper, their unease a rising tide. It’s a pathetic little fear, but Dathan drinks it in like a fine wine.

Then, she arrives.

Lysithea stops dead, her gaze locking onto the noticeboard. For a split second, her mask of cold indifference cracks. I see it. A flicker of raw humiliation, a flash of pure, white-hot fury. It’s a beautiful, intricate stress fracture in the foundation of her control.

She walks towards the board. With a calm, deliberate motion, she plucks the obsidian pins from the board. She holds up her knickers with one finger and a luscious smile that kick starts my cock into action.

Her eyes find mine across the hallway.

Her smile goes colder. It’s a chilling, predatory thing that doesn’t reach her eyes.

She walks over and stops in front of me.

Dathan straightens up, expecting a fight.

Instead of yelling at me, she simply hooks her finger into the pocket of my black jeans, stuffing the knickers inside with deliberate movement.

“Keep them,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “They’ll keep you warm, seeing as you can’t have the real thing.”

She turns on her heel and stalks into the dining hall with several pairs of eyes glued to her back before they swivel to me and start laughing and whispering.

Dathan lets out a low whistle. “Well,” he says, the amusement clear in his voice. “That wasn’t in the blueprint.”

“Little bitch,” I growl, but I’m not angry.

I’m fucking impressed. I expected her to break, but she rose up and gave as good as she got.

Better even. She humiliated me, and instead of wanting revenge, I fell for her harder than I’d like.

She is meant to be a means to an end, not a fucking queen who can sit on a throne next to me.

Evren appears, and I turn my head to him to see if he witnessed her display. He is actually smiling. For the first time since he was resurrected, he’s actually grinning like a Cheshire cat. It’s creepy as fuck.

“Shut up,” I growl, even though he didn’t say anything and won’t. But his smile speaks a thousand cutting words.

I shove my hands in my pockets, fingers brushing against the soft cotton she stuffed there. A trophy she’s given me. A fuck you that would have me annihilating anyone else. Dathan’s laughter is a low rumble beside me, and it grates against my nerves like grinding stone.

“That,” he says, “was magnificent.”

Evren’s grin fades back into the void of his face. He gives a single, slow nod. Agreement. They’re both enjoying this. My humiliation.

“It’s part of the process,” I say, my voice tight. “Destabilise her sense of security. Force a reaction.”

“You forced a reaction, alright,” Dathan snorts. “She wiped the floor with you, mate.”

He’s not wrong. She played it perfectly. She took my power play and made me look like an amateur.

I pull the knickers out. Her scent is still on them, mixed with mine. A violation. A union. She gave them back, but now they’re something else entirely. A challenge.

“The next phase needs to be accelerated,” I say, my gaze fixed on the dining hall doors. “Observation is over.”

Evren’s ice-blue eyes meet mine. There is no humour in them now. Only the cold, hard certainty of the grave.

“Midnight. The Blood Pit.”

It is the only place that will protect us from her scream.

And she will fucking scream. I’ll make sure of it. Whether it’s one of pleasure or one of pain, that remains to be seen.