“Best day of my life, gorgeous,” he murmurs. “And feel free to draw blood whenever you like. It means you’re touching me, and I’m starved for your hands on my body.”
“I might slip too deep this time and accidentally kill you,” I smirk. “Or not so accidentally.”
He leans in close. His pencil and paper are forgotten somewhere on the desk. He brushes my hair off my shoulder.
I don’t move.
Damn it, I don’t even breathe.
“I’m hard to kill,” he murmurs. “Same as you. Many have tried. To be honest, I never cared. I may even have welcomed it, somewhere deep in my dead soul.” His voice drops. “But now… now you’ve woken my dead heart. For the first time in what feels like forever, it’s beating again. So you can try to kill me, love, but you’ll never succeed. You know why?”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because now I have a reason.” His breath is warm against my ear. “You are my reason.”
I still don’t move for a few long moments, but then I snap out of it and push him away. He only watches me, amused.
“You are delusional on top of all your other issues, which, by the way, are many. We are strangers, and here you are saying things you absolutely shouldn’t.” A slow smile touches my lips. “And just so you’re warned, Iwilltry again.”
“To kill you, that is.”
I turn back to my sketch, his deep laugh attracting too much attention, but the lecturer doesn’t dare silence him.
As the music blasts in my left ear, I let myself get lost in my art.
Glad I have this, for now at least.
Because the moment I was born the older Bellanti heir, my path was written in stone.
And whatever life threw at me later only deepened it.
I am what I am meant to be.
So this—this academy, this chance to study art—is a rare kind of freedom.
My father cares little about what I study, as long as I meet all the other requirements meant to prepare me for the future, such as combat training and a long list of other things.
So I will let myself enjoy this last year I have left here, despite Adelaide, despite Markev, and despite all the other chaos thrown at me.
I allow myself this brief moment of freedom, where I can do my favourite thing in the world.
Art and Death.
Chapter 9
Octavia
The moment class ends, I shove my pencils and sketchpad into my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head straight for the door.
I need air.
But of course, Markev has other plans.
Heavy footsteps fall in behind mine, matching my pace.
I walk faster, so does he. My hand tightens around the strap of my bag.
This is far too much.
