It was now or never.
I ventured from the table, pretending to take a phone call. The book would most likely be in Mr. Whitethorn’s study, but if I was caught, it would be difficult to explain what I was doing in there.
Tap, tap, tap.Each step sounded louder than the last. My heels echoed down the never-ending hallway. Heart pounding, I forced myself to keep going, rushing towards Mr. Whitethorn’s study in the back of the house.
Beautiful French doors opened to display an impressive hand-carved wooden desk in the middle of the room. The curtains were drawn wide, allowing moonlight to spill into the study. I didn’t have much time. I skimmed the built-in bookshelves lining the walls of the room.
Black leather. Gold lettering. Old.
Half the books on the shelf met that description, and I didn’t have time to examine each one closely.
Ahhh,I rubbed at my temples. So many books and so little time.
I spun around to check the bookshelves on the other wall when I noticed a stack of books on the desk. On top of the pile was a black leather-bound book with gold lettering.
The desk was meticulously organized. The entire room was spotless. I couldn’t take the book now. Mr. Whitethorn would know it was missing and that one of us had taken it. No, I needed to wait for a better opportunity, but the book was here.
A floorboard creaked. Someone was coming. My heart raced as I looked for anywhere to hide. My stomach sank as I realized there was nowhere. The footsteps echoed closer, and I seized the opportunity, tip-toeing across the hallway, praying the old wooden floor wouldn’t give me away. All the doors were shut, and I desperately prayed my memory served me right —that this was, indeed, the bathroom.
I flipped the light switch, the harsh glow flooding the room and casting my wide-eyed reflection in the medicine cabinet. My hands trembled as I reached for the cabinet, fingers fumbling with the box of Band-Aids, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Hello?” A knock sounded on the ajar door, followed by Mr. Whitethorn’s voice booming through the room.
I took a deep breath, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Yes?” I answered, sticking my head out of the bathroom and plastering on a big smile. My leg trembled where I had it hitched up on the counter, the strap of my heel loose around my ankle as I fidgeted with it.
“I thought I heard someone back here. Sometimes, it’s just the house though.”
“It’s just me. I was looking for a Band-Aid. These shoes have been digging into the back of my ankles all night.” Mr. Whitethorn’s gaze fell to my exposed thigh on full display.
I fumbled with the strap. Shaky hands made it difficult to secure the buckle.
“Here. Let me.” Mr. Whitethorn said, stepping into the bathroom with me. He easily clasped the buckle, but his grip tightened around my ankle. His eyes took in my exposed flesh, and I shuddered at the unwanted attention.
“Thanks.” My skin crawled under his touch. I dropped my leg from the counter, careful to keep my distance as I maneuvered around his large frame standing in the doorway.
No one questioned my absence, and someone had placed a slice of chocolate cake at my place setting. I slid back into my seat, picked up my fork, and forced a bite down.
Eli was right to question whether our families should possess more power.
CHAPTER 15
GREY
“This is considered stalking,” Lyra screamed from across the courtyard. The students within earshot looked eager to see the drama unfold. Lyra’s lips formed a thin line; her yelling immediately ceased when she noticed the unwanted attention.
I closed the distance between us in a few long strides and draped my arm around her shoulders, trapping her tiny frame against my body.
The book. You came to see if she found the book.
“Please, I’m begging?—”
“You never have to beg with me. Unless...” She looked up in horror and then jabbed a finger between my ribs. A raspy laugh tore from my throat, the sound so unfamiliar to my ears. “So…the book?”
“It’s—”
I didn’t give her a chance to continue. “Where is it?” I gripped her arm, turning her to face me. Those beautiful pouty lips and hazel eyes caused my breath to falter. Her scent and those curves made it hard—made me hard. For fuck’s sake. I was a centuries-old demon, not some stupid frat boy who couldn’t keep it in his pants.
“It’s in Mr. Whitethorn’s study.”
