“Hey,” a male voice says.
I turn my head and find Declan standing over me, his electric blue eyes boring into me.
“Who are you with?” There's no emotion in his voice. It's not hostile, the way it was during his last year of high school when he painted me as a betrayer of his friend—which I never was.
Not trusting my voice, I don’t speak. Instead I shrug, trying not to notice the delicious way he smells. It’s probably Rebel’s Creed cologne. Our All-American quarterback is their brand ambassador.
His brows crowd together. “Why are you always alone? You’ve got a clean slate here. Use it.”
A clean slate. That’s exactly what I want.
His critical tone makes me reluctant to speak because I’d like to flip him off for his arrogance, and I don’t want that to come across. For almost a year, I tried to defend myself against rumors and sneers, tried to recover my status in school. Nothing worked. Declan and Shane made sure it didn’t. I’m angry and frustrated with the pair of them, but I know better than to say so. It would be social suicide, and I’ve had a big enough taste of that.
Declan shoves a hand through his black hair, showing off bulging biceps. I almost scowl at his physical perfection, which has been bred into his billionaire bloodline through a succession of stunning trophy spouses. Not that I’m one to talk. My mom’s a trophy wife too, or so she likes to joke with a twinkle in her eye.
“You know about the disappearances, right?” His tone is impatient.
My scowl deepens, but I manage to hold back the tide of sarcasm that wants to spill out. Does he think I’m clueless? How could anyone avoid seeing the Casanova news?
“Yes, I know.”
“So if you didn't come with a group of friends, why don't you go back to your room before it gets too late?”
This little show of concern, even with its less-than-friendly tone, creates a warmth inside me. Which annoys me. It’s ridiculous to be buoyed by such a minuscule show of humanity, but after such a long time of being out of favor, any crumb of positive attention feels like a victory.
“If something happens to you, I'm not going to have it said you were at a party with Shane and me, and we let you walk home alone. That narrative will never be spread.”
Oh, right. He’s not concerned about my safety. He’s concerned abouthow things will look. For them.
“I don’t think anyone even knows my connection to Shane.”
I wait for him to contradict me, to say that he or Shane has mentioned me to their circle. Nothing comes. At least, they no longer seem interested in making me a pariah.
I glance around for an opening amongst the bodies that I can walk through to escape talking to him.
“Our families know,” he says. “No one wants to see your mother unravel again over nothing.”
My head turns back, so I can study Declan. Would my vanishing at the hands of some freak be nothing? Because there’s no misunderstanding that something sinister is happening at Granthorpe. Women have been disappearing without a trace. Their purses and phones found dropped on sidewalks or in bushes along with a lavender rose. The flower makes it all the more creepy, since we all know he’s taking them for some dark purpose. Rape? Torture? Murder? Maybe all of the above. And the not knowing is excruciating and scarier.
My glare doesn’t faze him. By Declan’s expression, all he seems to want is for me to disappear again. They were probably furious when my stepdad said I was coming to Granthorpe. Even with great grades and SAT scores, I wouldn’t have gotten in without Ethan to cinch the deal. Shane’s father Ethan and his paternal grandfather and great grandfather all went to undergrad here. Even though I’m just Ethan’s stepdaughter, I guess I still count as a legacy child.
I doubt that matters to Shane or Declan, who arereallegacy students. As demigods, they take privilege as their due. It probably doesn’t register how important graduating from Granthorpe could be for someone like me, someone whose family legacy is more McDonald’s Big Mac than filet mignon.
Declan glances at a text. He responds and slides his phone into his pocket. “You ready to go? I’ll walk you back.”
The shock of this casual offer from him overtakes me, and for a moment, I’m speechless.
I’m also torn between wanting to take a physically imposing man up on his offer to make sure I make it home safely and not wanting to give Declan Heyworth a reason to complain it’s a pain in the ass to have Shane’s stepsister on campus.
“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not that late. There should be enough people around.”
I glance at my phone. Enough time has passed for the doors to have been closed and locked. Most people migrated to the next party at the same time I did.
“Let’s go,” he says impatiently, putting a hand at the small of my back and nudging me forward. The fact that he ignores my declining his offer of help is telling. He’s already made up his mind. And what he decides is what goes. In that way, he and Shane are very much the same.
Deciding not to argue, I step forward.
For him, people part like the Red Sea.
