I yank him toward the heavy glass door of the dorm. He stumbles, completely surprised, but follows my lead.
I shove the door open and pull him into the deserted, dimly lit lobby. My dorm room is on the second floor.
“Let’s hurry up the stairs,” I order, my voice a panicked whisper. I let go of his sleeve and turn toward the staircase.
I don’t even make it to the first step.
An arm shoots out, and my back hits the cold plaster of the wall. Raiden plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. The gentle caregiver from thirty seconds ago is gone.
His face is inches from mine, his eyes blazing with a mixture of confusion and fury.
“What the hell is going on, Patton?” he demands, his voice dangerously low. “First you run, now you’re dragging me inside? What are you so afraid of?”
8
Chapter 8
My mind is a frantic blank. I’m pinned, trapped between his solid body and the cold wall.
My friends are probably walking right past the door this very second.
“Nothing,” I manage to choke out. “Nothing is going on, can’t you see for yourself?”
His eyes narrow, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Patton? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, you drag me in here, and now you want to go upstairs.”
“Exactly,” I say, the word tumbling out before I can stop it, driven by sheer panic. “My room is on the second floor.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I see it in his expression. The slight shift in his gaze, the way the corner of his mouth ticks up. My words sound like an invitation. Very ambiguous. Damn it.
If I hesitate any longer, my friends will come inside to investigate the noise and see a scene a hundred times worse than the one outside—me, the guy who supposedly told Raiden Blackwell to back off, currently plastered against the lobby wall by the man himself.
“We need to go upstairs,” I say, my voice dropping to an urgent whisper. I grab both sleeves of his heavy coat, ignoring the jolt of electricity that shoots up my arms. I pull, trying to dislodge his six-foot-three frame. “Raiden, I swear I have something to tell you, and I can’t say it here.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse.
But then his expression hardens with a different kind of intensity, and he allows me to pull him toward the stairs. We take them two at a time.
I practically sprint down the short hallway to my door, fumbling with the key until the lock clicks open. I shove the door inward, pull him inside after me, and slam it shut, twisting the deadbolt with a decisivethump.
I lean against the door and exhale, a long, shuddering breath. Relief washes over me in a dizzying wave.
I close my eyes, just for a second, savoring the feeling of safety.
When I open them, the relief evaporates.
Raiden is standing in the middle of my small room. He’s motionless, a dark, hulking presence surrounded by my art supplies, my half-finished canvases, my books.
He dominates the space, makes it feel impossibly small. And he’s staring at me, his gaze unblinking and intense. He looks like a predator who has just followed its prey into a trap.
Trying to regain some composure, I start to unwind his scarf from my neck. My fingers are clumsy. I shrug off my jacket, avoiding his eyes, letting the clothes drop onto a chair.
“Right,” I say to the floor. “So. I wanted to say… that I’ll talk to Professor Whitmore. I’ll tell her you’ve been helping out with the party preparations this whole time. That way… you won’t get into any trouble for ditching.”
It’s the lamest, most pathetic excuse I’ve ever come up with.
A deep sound rumbles in his chest. “I don’t give a fucking shit about that,” he says, his voice flat. “That’swhat you wanted to tell me?”
My throat feels tight. “Y-yes. I didn’t want anyone to overhear that, um. That I’m going to deceive the professor… for your sake.” I swallow nervously.
