I shoved him out the door and slammed it behind me. My heart hammered in my chest.Fuck, that was close.
I’d never heard the rats on these upper stories before, but it was just as well I did. Those tiny claws scratching against the wall had stopped me before I did something really stupid with Quinn.
I scrambled around the bed, searching for the clothes I’d tossed aside last night.What’s the time? I’ll have to race downstairs to get some fresh clothes. I hope I’ll make it to breakfast before the dining hall closes… hang on, why can’t I find any of my clothes? This better not be another of Quinn’s jokes…
…or a new torture…
I imagined walking into the living room wearing just the sheet, Trey tearing it from my body while Quinn snapped a hundred photographs, which they plastered all over school with a horse’s face Photoshopped over my head. It’d be a good Photoshop job, too – Ayaz had a rare artistic talent.
I never should have trusted them.My knees trembled. I slumped down in a chair in the corner, knocking over a stack of fresh clothing.My clothing. Someone had collected a fresh set of jeans, Dante’s old basketball tank, and fresh socks and underwear from my room. I ran my hand over the edge of my black bra, feeling a rush of heat at the idea that one of them had touched it.
What is wrong with me?
I pulled on the clothes and ran Trey’s hairbrush through my hair, trying to clear all the confused thoughts from my head. Iwantedto trust the guys, because fuck knows I needed allies at this school if I was going to defeat a cosmic god. I wanted their kisses, their touch… earlier, in bed, I didn’t want Quinn to stop. But after everything they’d done to me last quarter, being close to them made me feel untethered, like I couldn’t even trust myself.
And that wasn’t even taking into account I’d seen their graves last night, that they were walking ghosts or zombies or edimmu, and that there werethreeof them. Even if I wanted them –which I didn’t, it wasn’tpossible– I couldn’t have them all. I had to choose, and how could I choose the best of three shitty options when they were all locked into a competition with me as the prize?
Why did it have to bethem?Why couldn’t I have feelings for Greg… well, not Greg, since he was gay, but Andre? Someone else?Anyoneelse? Why did I always fall for the worst possible guys?
I am so screwed up.
I walked into the living room to find the weirdest sight – Greg and Andre sitting on Trey’s enormous couch, elbowing each other with glee as they played some dungeon-crawling game on Trey’s Playstation. Ayaz pottered around the kitchen with an apron looped over his broad shoulders, cracking eggs into bowls, while Trey leaned against the wall, drinking orange juice like he was a judge at some orange-juice drinking competition as he surveyed the room with cool detachment.
“This is awesome,” Greg held up his controller and grinned at Trey. “I can’t believe you still have this game. It’s like twenty years old.”
Trey grunted.
Andre’s eyes followed me as I headed to the kitchen. I could practically hear the cogs in his head turning. Greg may have believed my story about the monarchs, but I wasn’t sure Andre did.
In the kitchen, I peered over Ayaz’s shoulder as he stirred eggs in a pan. He was shirtless under the apron, his skin glowing under the lights.Wow, he’s cut.My throat dried up and the tips of my fingers sizzled. I had to clamp my hands behind my back so I didn’t reach up and touch him.
He might’ve kissed you in that cave to satisfy some sort of honor, but he’ssleepingwith the headmistress. That is a) gross and b) untrustworthy. Even if he is cooking breakfast for you—
An amazing smell hit my nostrils – eggs, peppers, tomatoes, a hint of chili. “What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s calledmenemen,” he said, adding a handful of chopped herbs to the pan. “My mother used to make this every weekend for brunch, with homemade bread, of course.”
“It smells amazing.” I held up a plate so he could scoop out a generous helping. On the table was a stack of warm bread, some chopped vegetables, and a container of thick, creamy yogurt.
“You made all this?”
“Yes.” Ayaz didn’t look up from the pan. “Not all of it today. I made this batch of yogurt a few days ago.”
“You know this school has a dining hall that serves three meals a day precisely so you rich kids can get used to being waited on hand and foot?” I lowered my voice. “You also know you’re supposed to be dead, right? Why do you need to eat?”
“We don’t need to,” Ayaz said. “I just like it.”
“Can you taste the food?”
“Kind of.” He ran his finger along the rim of the pan and licked it. Heat pooled between my legs as I thought about those lips around a part of me. Ayaz picked up a plate and started dishing up some of the eggs. “I get the aroma and the faintest ghost of the taste on my tongue, but I never have the sensation of being full. I—”
Ayaz snapped his mouth shut. He shoved the plate into my hands and turned back to the stove. Over his shoulder, I noticed Andre leaning over the counter, watching us with a thoughtful expression.
“Ayaz made breakfast,” I held out a plate to him. “You want some?”
Andre took the plate, but he kept staring at me, his eyes searching my face. How much did he hear?
It doesn’t matter if he heard, he’s not going to guess the truth.
