I smile, wolfish. “Perfect.”
Remy smirks, eyes darting to Amara when she returns. Her face is composed, but her walk is unsteady.
My father toasts the future.
I watch her, and she watches me, and the space between us is charged with the knowledge of what we are.
Predator and prey.
But it’s not clear which is which. She’s just as dangerous as I am, just in a different way.
After dinner, I drive her home. We don’t speak. When we reach the curb, she turns to me.
“Is this how it’s going to be?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I lean in and bite her neck, just hard enough to leave a mark.
She sighs, then lets out a hysterical laugh, then slams the door behind her.
I sit in the darkness and taste her on my tongue.
The first stage of possession is always consent.
Even if you have to drag it out of them.
Tomorrow, I’ll give her a new reason to scream.
Chapter 5: Amara
Isleepthroughmyalarm, then through the backup, and when I finally wake, my pillow is wet with sweat. The clock says 9:03 a.m. My first class started at nine.
I shower faster than I’ve ever showered before. Everything from the roots of my hair to the cuticles of my nails feels tainted byhim. I towel off, and the scratch of fabric sets my nerves on fire. The uniform, once armor, now fits like a straitjacket. I run the flat iron over my hair until the ends sizzle.
I leave the dorm with a pit in my stomach. I almost turn back twice before I reach the main hall.
My eyes are on my shoes, the step pattern so rehearsed it’s muscle memory. Right foot, left foot, up three stairs, pivot right, then down the gallery past the stone columns and under the ugly little statues that watch over everything.
I’m halfway to the lecture hall when I hear my name.
Not the full name—just Amara, stretched out and then compressed into something ugly. The word bounces off the cold stone and lands like a curse.
I freeze. My spine goes rigid and I press myself flat against the nearest wall, skin flaring with adrenaline.
Then there’s footsteps, slow and heavy. I recognize the voice: Bam. The other is Julian, clipped and quiet yet somehow deadly at the same time.
They round the corner, walking side by side.
I know I should keep moving, but I can’t. Something in me demands to listen.
They don’t see me hiding in the shadows. Bam’s head is bent low, shoulders hunched forward, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his jacket. He’s bigger up close than I remembered from the dinner. His biceps look like they could snap tree trunks. The tattoos on his hands are just visible, winding up under the sleeves.
Julian walks with the ease of someone who knows the world is watching. His blazer is crisp, the cufflinks flashing with every movement. His hair is pushed back from his face, leaving every sharp angle exposed.
They stop just a few meters from where I’m hiding.
“Can you believe they really went through with it?” Bam chuckles. “Thought for sure the Board would hold out for someone with less… family baggage.”
Julian sighs. “She’s the last of the female line. That’s the point. No one else has the pedigree. Her brother will likely marry rich, but he’s got his own shit going on. They need someone to step into Westpoint’s politics and who better to marry her off to, than me.”
