I also kind of like it. In the way one likes the thought of death, I suppose.
“Says the petulant little tart preventing me fromcollapsing on my bed because she’s wandering the halls past curfew.”
She pouts, glaring at me. “I did not know there was a curfew.”
I sigh, crossing my arms.
“You must be new here, then,” I say, taking pity on the poor girl.
She bites her lip. “I am. I arrived merely an hour ago and I have yet to find anyone who can tell me where my dorm is or?—”
I could just walk away from her, leave her to her wandering and eventually she would discover her destination. And sometimes, it is best to do these things on our own, but there is also a small ember inside of me, sparking. Not a full blown fire, but a desire to help this poor girl.
Because I know what it is like to be a fish out of water, to be sent here. Everyone who’s sent here has sustained some form of rejection, and judging by her tone, I could see why she might be here.
Why some poor asshole may have rejected her based on her attitude alone.
And maybe it’s because I’m out of sorts because of Wes’s words, or perhaps it’s exhaustion from an intense workout, or maybe it’s just my melancholic disposition and preference for solitude have taken a siesta at the moment, but I sigh, relenting.
“All vampires share the same dormitory. I am headed there, myself. You may follow me, if you wish.”
I don’t waste time waiting for her response, because Ireally am quite tired, and I have an early class tomorrow. Mental Manipulation, second year.
That class is draining and I need my mental rest as much as my physical rest.
Her shoes clatter against the floor as she catches up to me.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice strangely warm and soft. The ember inside heats from the tone of her voice.
Yup, definitely exhaustion.
“Ivy,” she says carefully as she catches up to my side. I know she’s staring at me, at my exposed chest. For starters, I can feel the heat of her gaze, but I can also smell her. Beyond her deathsday floral scent. I can smell her bloodheat, sharp and tangy with a hint of sugar, like burned caramel.
My cock twitches, knowing that scent well. But my body does not understand this scent belongs to a woman and not Wes, though their bloodheat smells almost indistinguishable, save for the fact Wes’s bloodheat carries a hint of cinnamon and cayenne amidst the tart scent of his arousal.
I do my best to ignore her arousal and my twitching cock, and keep my eye on the hallway.
“My name is Ivy Elara Reign. I am?—”
“The princess of Reign, huh?” I drawl with disdain. I’ve heard the name, mostly in passing from my father’s mouth in hushed whispers with his councilmen. Ivy Reign was prophesied to be Wyatt Castor’s vampiress, that much I knew.
I cast her a glare as I chew on the fact she’shere.Which means she has been rejected, by a prince no less.
“So you do know my name,” she says plainly.
“I knowofyou, yes. Just as I knowofyour prince charming, Wyatt Castor.”
The man who stole my lover’s entire life.
“He is not my prince charming,” she bites.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Clearly, since you are here. Annoying the ever loving fuck out of me at ten thirty at night.”
She has the audacity to cross her arms and pout like a child, as if I have upset her.
Good, I hope I pissed her off. She’s pissing me off the more she speaks, making me reconsider my momentary lapse in judgment.
“You did not tell me your name. Should I just call you asshole?”
