I don’t sleep.I lie in bed with my limbs burning, my throat bruised from his touch, my lips raw from the kiss I never asked for. I should have stopped him. Should have pushed him away.
Every time I close my eyes, I see his. That look, like he was about to devour me or destroy me. Maybe both. The worst part is, I’d let him. My body didn’t fight. My mouth stayed shut. Somewhere inside me, I wanted it.
And that terrifies me.
The moonlight through the window casts a silver sheen across the ceiling. I trace it with my eyes until I can’t take it anymore. I sit up. The hoodie I slept in is clinging to my skinwith heat and sweat. I strip it off and pace my room like a caged animal.
What is he doing to me?
Matteo Messina is the enemy. His bloodline is the reason my family can’t set foot in Bloodstone Hollow, the reason my uncle Liam’s hand shakes when he drinks whiskey, because he has a fucking drinking problem.
And yet he held me like I was something fragile and on fire at the same time.
I grab my ring from the nightstand and slide it onto my finger with more force than necessary. The stone cuts into the base of my knuckle. Good. I want it to hurt. I need it to hurt.
It’s the only thing reminding me of what’s real. I’m not the kind of girl who gets flustered. I’m not the kind of girl who forgets her duty. And I sure as hell am not the kind of girl who lets a Messina get into her head.
Except I am.
Morning comes,and I’m thankful, because sleep didn’t and I couldn’t leave the room in the middle of the night.
The moment my eyes opened, he was still there, in my head, my mouth, my skin.
Nora and I get dressed and leave our dorm. We move through the halls quietly; if I keep my head down, no one will notice me. I hope.
Today is orientation for the rest of the students. The school is buzzing. Uniforms are back on. Order restored. Or so it seems.
I scan the room. Rich kids. Movie-star heirs. A smile tugs at my mouth; they have no idea what sleeps inside these walls. Trust-fund babies with dark secrets, but never as dark as thisplace. Even the mafia kids carry scars from home, which aren't as dark as this place.
At breakfast, I sit with the Irish because I won’t be able to sit anywhere else. Conor’s next to me, too close, protective.
He noticed what happened last night at training but doesn’t speak about it. His eyes track me across the room, when I reach for coffee, when I open my notebook, when my gaze slides across the cafeteria for just a second. He does it too.
Matteo sits at the far end of the Messina table. His brothers on either side. Rosa beside Marco, laughing softly, chewing on a toothpick, deadly in her own right.
Matteo never looks at me. Not once, but I feel him. I shut my eyes as memory crawls across my skin, the wall at my back, his hand on me, knees weak, throat locked.
The kiss, more than a kiss. A promise. A warning. A threat.
And I don’t know which part scares me most.
“You seen this?” Nora pulls me out of my thoughts. She brings the poster in front of me. “They’re putting them all around college.”
An announcement in bold gold lettering with a black background:
BLACKSTONE ACADEMY’S MASQUERADE BALL
All students are expected to attend. Dress code mandatory. Masks required.
I stare at it for too long. A ball. A party. A performance. Another layer of the game we all play.
Conor leans in closer, eyes scanning the same words.
“Everyone will be there. Everyone will be watching.” He hasn’t said it in so many words, but that was a warning for me. Not sure what they will be watching at this stupid ball. What the fuck will I do wrong there?
“I know,” I reply without turning to him.
He leans in closer. “You need to remember who you are. What you are. You don’t get to forget that, not even for a minute.”
