I walk, or try to. My legs feel distant, like I’m piloting them from somewhere three feet behind my skull. The birds are chirping asI step out of the building and back into the quad. Flowers are starting to bloom and it’s pretty, but nothing has color.
Not right now, anyway. With a heavy sigh, I head into the main building and head towards Business and Banking.
Halfway down the hall, I round the first marble column and stop. There is a shadow where there should be none.
Julian Roth leans against the far wall, one arm propped above his head, the other tucked into the pocket of his tailored coat. His shirt is open at the collar, and the tanned skin at his throat is marked by a bruise, shaped exactly like a bite. I wonder who left it. I wonder if he wanted them to.
He doesn’t move when he sees me. He just watches.
The silence is a new kind—electrical, shivery, full of teeth.
I try to keep walking, but his gaze hooks into me, reeled in on invisible line. There is nothing polite in it. Nothing even remotely safe. He looks at me the way my father looks at the Marcus crest: a thing to be wielded, not loved.
For a second, we just stare. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I feel a flush creeping up my neck. It’s so quiet I swear I can hear the blood move in my veins.
Julian’s eyes are grey today, winter-light and glassy. They’re not cruel—not exactly—but they’re full of lust. Desire. It’s not justthat he wants something from me. It’s that he understands, down to the bone, what it’s like to be caged.
He straightens, slow, deliberate, peeling himself from the wall in one seamless motion. He doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t have to. The entire hall bends around his presence.
I want to run, but my feet are rooted. My skin goes prickly, all the hairs on my arms standing at attention.
We’re the only two people in the world, and I know, with sick certainty, that he’s not going to let me leave first.
For a second, I think he might speak. Instead, he just tilts his head, eyes narrowing the tiniest fraction, and I realize he’s waiting for me to flinch.
I do and look away, hunching my shoulders inward, trying to make myself disappear under his scrutiny.
The moment breaks, and I speed-walk down the hall, trying to keep my composure. My pulse is erratic, thudding so hard I can taste it.
I don’t dare look back, but I feel him there, watching.
The school feels different now. The arches loom higher, the colors in the stained glass are sharper, more violent. I move through the corridors fast as I can, past the haunted armor, past the portraits of dead assholes.
My hands are shaking when I reach the dorms. I jam my key into the lock and slam the door behind me, the echo ringing out like a warning bell.
Inside, the air is warmer, but the chill lingers in my bones.
Pulling my boots off, I leave them in a heap and lean against the door, pressing my forehead to the wood.
My heart refuses to slow. Every cell in my body vibrates with the knowledge that this is only the beginning.
I close my eyes and see Julian’s face, not as it was in the hallway, but as it will be: closer, closer still, until there is no air between us.
I open my mouth to scream, but what comes out is something smaller and so much more dangerous—a name, spoken like a wretched hymn.
“Julian.”
Chapter 4: Julian
TheskyoverWestpointAcademy looks apocalyptic as the sun starts to set. I lean against the hood of my car, a black Audi R8, and watch the main doors for signs of movement. The evening is too warm considering yesterday it was ten degrees cooler and a slick of sweat beads down my back
Fucking humidity.
My suit is black, bespoke. The collar of my shirt is crisp, slightly undone, showing the top of the bite mark that blonde left me. I don’t bother with a tie. Formal, but not funereal. The cufflinks are family crest, platinum, inlaid with diamonds. Subtle flex.
I check my watch, then the entrance again. There’s a single light on above the entry arch, making the rest of the façade look even more gothic. At the top of the stone steps, two girls in pleated skirts linger, cigarettes burning down between their fingers. One glances at me and I can hear the velocity of gossip spike. If I wanted to, I could fuck either, both, or neither. I would choose neither.
Time slows. The doors open, and she steps into the frame like the first movement of a dance number.
